𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐘 ☀︎︎ cmb [✓]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 43

FANBOY,
chapter forty-three
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THIRD PERSON !
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°Los Angeles, at Charity's apartment
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|☀︎︎|

HIS FOOTSTEPS ECHOED through the hall way, keys jingling as Corbyn let them tangle around in his hands. With an abrupt stop, he stood in front of her door, a small voice inside his head doubting his decision making.

She knew he was coming. She knew he was on his way and he could let himself in because of the key she gave him. But still.

To him, it felt like he was invading her privacy. Invading a place from which he could count the amount of visits he made to on one hand.

Gently twisting the door knob, he entered the silent apartment, making him feel slightly nauseous.

Her home didn't feel as welcoming as last time. It wasn't filled with music blasting through the air, the positive vibes greeting them like a warm hug, and the soft laughter making his heart fill with joy.

Instead, her home felt cold, intense.....lonely.

Nothing like Charity, the girl who carried positivity around as if kept her alive.

If Corbyn didn't know better, he would have thought nobody was home. But once he wondered around the rooms, reaching for hers— he could hear the soft sound of her breathing behind the closed door. With a gentle knock, he took a deep breath. "Char? It's me." He waited for a response.....not getting one. "Can I come in, please?"

The blonde eyed the door for only a second, nodding her head like the boy behind it would be able to see it.

Taking the silence, Corbyn sighed and prepared himself for the worst, knowing he was going to see her in maybe her worst state yet. And he couldn't let that sight paint a new image of her in his head, drowning the last one out. He couldn't let it change all he knew about the girl, because it was only a part of her. She's so much more than only what she shows others.

She can't be all sunshine and rainbows.

And when he opened the door, the dark room engulfing him—it was proven.

There she sat, her almost lifeless body hidden in the far corner, her dirty strands of hair covering her face like a damp blanket. Her legs tightly pulled close against her chest, head resting on her arms—you wouldn't even see her if you didn't know she was in here.