You took my heart, could I please have it back?

[4] You took my heart, could I please have it back?

Sorry about the slow updates guys, homework overload T.T and it's not that long either, but I should have the next one out soon (ish) :) Hope you enjoy!

.:Story Start:.

"I'm sorry," I said, sighing. I felt awful - Mr. Collins was just trying to help, and I was giving him hell.

"It's alright, Liz. I un- well, I don't understand completely, but I can see this is a tough time for you," I stayed silent, my mind elsewhere.

James was bipolar. I swear. In form, he was like all caring and considerate and then when I had my 'scene' he was just a...jerk!! And an arse!! And lot of other words! I honestly don't know what to think of him.

I was vaguely aware of Mr. Collins setting down a glass on the breakfast bar in front of me. I stared at it for a moment, before picking it up and gulping its contents; orange juice. Then I stood and excused myself, heading to the bathroom.

I stared at myself in the mirror, my hands clenching the sides of the sink. My face was pale and there were shadows around my bloodshot eyes through permanent lack of sleep. I was a mess. My head was a mess. And I just wanted to be normal...

~*~*~

{Her blues eyes stared at him, searching for an answer. An answer to his mysteriousness. Wanting to know how he felt, why he was acting this way. Why he was such a jerk.

He didn't seem to notice this, though, as he took her pale, scarred face in his hands, bent down and kissed her - }

I bolted upright, my blue eyes flying open, breathing heavily. That did NOT just happen. I have known a jerkish prick for ONE day, and I am dreaming about him. What is wrong with me?!

It was a bit weird, actually. For once, I was having a normal dream, not a nightmare, as always, but an actual dream, with no screaming, sweating or terror. I hadn't had one of those since....well, since The Accident.

I loosened my grip on the edge of my duvet, wincing as my knuckles straightened out - bruised bones, probably - my dad smashed them against the wall. I slipped out of bed, thirsty, and stared out of the uncovered window - I had no curtains.

The pitch black sky covered the hills like a blanket. The moon peeked out behind a thick, grey cloud, and I could see no stars. Typical England. Unpredictable summer weather. It was so serene, so peaceful, I just wanted to go out there, to soak up the calm of inanimate life (A/N bad grammar I know, inanimate life...it kinda makes sense...) and forget about this dreadful one.

My bare feet made no noise as they crept across the floor. My bedroom door squeaked, but I ignored it - my dad was probably passed out drunk anyway. Sure enough, as I reached the hall, there he was, sprawled across the frayed hall rug in a position that could not be comfortable.

I ignored him, too, making my way to the kitchen. My final destination - a harmless glass of water. I took the said item and gulped it down thirstily, my parched throat begging for the cooling liquid. I gasped for air, set my glass on the breakfast bar and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, breathing slightly heavily.

I rubbed my eyes, once again wincing as my bruised knuckles stretched. I sat on a bar stool, no longer sleepy, and checked the time. 2:19. Freaking perfect! It was twenty past two in the morning, I wasn't tired and I had just dreamed about I guy I met only yesterday. I was pathetic, I really was.

I groaned, standing up and dragging myself to the bathroom, and stared at myself in the mirror. Great, I had a second black eye, a cut lip and bruised knuckles on my writing hand, so I couldn't write a great amount. Anyone else would cheer for the news - for me, it meant my 'father' had come home again. Sometimes I wished he would just die of alcohol poisoning, but then I would never get my life back on track. This way, we might, just might, have a chance of resettling our so called lives.