Artgirl

6// no angels

CHAPTER 6: NO ANGELS

"Give me one good reason why I should never make a change. Baby if you hold me,

then all of this will go away." –George Ezra, Budapest.

adrian on top!!

this one's for the people I'd like to stay up on a roof talking to until early hours of morning. (Not including certain singers/actors/actresses, because let's be honest, that list would never end. but mainly, Jennifer Lawrence. And Harry Styles. And—okay you can go read now.)

Nicolas Bear Forrest

            4:30 a.m.

 SHE was crying. Soft, heartbroken sniffles drowned in her pillow. I was awake since they begun, a lifetime ago. I couldn't be too sure if she was asleep or awake, but I was having a debate on whether to go see if she was okay or not. They came and went, like rain on a Sunday afternoon. I flinched every time she emitted a sound, because she was hurt.

She was in pain.

And it was his entire fault. It could never be clear to me, why James would hurt her. Someone with a soul like hers, they weren't supposed to be crying because an arsehole chose a girl over her. Regret would come upon him later, and I would make sure to speak to him in the morning.

Seeing the picture of him—it made a silent monster inside of me claw at the cages I put around it. It surpasses my comprehension, how he could do this to her. He was the lucky bastard who could call her his, how could he dare toy with her? He loves her, I kept reminding myself. He loves her better than I ever could.

But why put her in pain? I knew alcohol—I knew what it did to people. It transformed them into a different version of themselves, without sense of reality, but with impulse that brought them in situations like this. Alcohol painted a rosy image of an ugly painting, and dripped a can full of paint on us in the after effect.

Zoey crept out of her bedroom and turned the small hallways' light on. She whimpered and dropped onto the bean bag chair by my side. Pillow in her arms, she stuffed her head into it. Her hair, from what I could see, was almost as fucked up as I was.

"Hunter?" I called out in a whisper.

She looked up and blinked, mouth dropping slightly. "Forrest? Oh no. Oh no. Get me out. I don't want to dream about him anymore," she clutched the pillow tightly and shook her head. "Please. I just want to wake up."

Her toes curled into the chair. I sat up and said a little louder, "Hunter."

"No. No. It's not you. Go away. Leave me alone. I don't want you. You don't want me. You don't love me. Get out of my damn dreams. Please," she whined, not bothering to look at me.

She had nightmares about me.

Guilt and dread shocking my fingers, I forced myself to get out off the couch and in front of her. Knees scratching the floor, I took her tear stained face in my hands and lifted it enough for her to look at me.

"Look at me," I told her. "I'm here. You're okay. You're okay. You are not dreaming. You're okay."

Her face was considerably warm. Eyelashes fluttering, she could not stop shaking. It was as if every time she took a breath, her body couldn't exhale or inhale properly. Ghostly tears touched my hands, but I did not let go of her.

"I c-can't breathe," she struggled to speak. I wondered if she even noticed my presence, "I can't."

Zoey put down my hands and chewed on the inside of her cheek. Her breaths were ephemeral and rugged. "You're here. Right. You stayed over, because you helped. James. He cheated. And you're here. And he's not," her voice was faltering. Her gaze, it was drifting somewhere else.