He is Mine

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
I broke him down and I broke myself. I ruined it all and I thought it was over. I was ruined before he came back. But he came back to me and I knew then that he loved me. No matter what. And he is mine and I will never let him go again.

Submitted: July 29, 2014

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Submitted: July 29, 2014



It is dark and there is no light. My shades are drawn and I have no light. My only light is gone. He left me here, broken and alone. He left me without a goodbye and he has not come back, but I cannot hate him. I cannot be mad at him. If I were him I would leave myself too. But I am so angry, yet I am not angry at him, I am angry at myself. I am angry, because I forgive him. I am angry because I am a needy little shit who clings to his every movement. I am angry because I am self absorbed and that I am so clingy to him. I am angry that I yelled at him, angry that I accused him. I am angry for so many reasons. But mainly, I am so fucking angry at myself. 

I am so fucking stupid! I accused him of something and he told me the truth, but I am so awful. I kept asking because I wanted to know what he was thinking when he contemplated it. I wanted to know if he thought how I would react. Most of all I wonder if he was thinking if he should break it off? Damn it! I fucking hope he wasn't thinking about breaking it off. I would understand if he did, though. He has to deal with my god awful personality every day and he does it without complaint. He has to handle all my fuck ups and all my fucking splinters. My god awful personality is breaking me, making me break him. 

How could I have done something like that to him! He is the sweetest guy I have ever met. His face just makes you happy inside because he always has a silly grin on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. His green eyes are just like the color of the jungles he wants to explore. He is shorter and he is so proud of himself. He has no motivation to do what he does. He just makes you smile for no reason. And that is so fucking beautiful. He wears stupid short shorts and t-shirts and he has glasses that look cute on him that would look silly on anyone else. He likes stupid and terrible movies, but he is so wonderful. He got a tattoo to match mine, for fucks sake! He is beautiful in the way he gets sad if his friends are not happy, in the way he smiles at nothing; he is beautiful in the way he is not afraid to complain about his problems, but that he does not insult anyone. He is beautiful in his kindness, and it is showing in his green eyes that hold you and make you not want to glance away. He is beautiful for the stupidest reasons. He is beautiful in his stupid short shorts and his obsession with god awful movies, he is beautiful in his complaints and in his goofy smile; he is beautiful in the way he always talks about adventure, about what's hiding. He is so fucking beautiful... And I drove him away.

I turned his goofy grin and the spark in his eyes to sobs and rolling tears. I made him break down and I made him sob uncontrollably. Damn it! How could I hurt the boy I love! Why am I so fucked up! He is gone because of me. He just up and left with tears trailing down his cheek's and falling onto his shirt. He hasn't come back and I am breaking down. I ruined it all because I thought he was going to break it off with me. I was fucking terrified and now he is gone. God damn it! I can't control my fucking anger any longer. I throw my chair against the door and I flip the desk over. I hear it crack and I pull down the book case, making books topple down and all over the floor. I choke out when I realize our photo was on that shelf. I knock it onto the side and frantically I search for the picture. I find it and I cut my hands on the shattered glass. It was the first photo we took when I asked him out. He had even taken my shades off for it. I hold it in my bleeding hand and put it in my pocket. I grab my sword and I slash the walls repeatedly, creating giant dents on the walls. I throw it down and I punch the stone wall in the back of the room. I punch it as hard as I can and I scream when I hear my fingers crack. I fall to my knees and I sob. I sob like a fucking idiot. I'm the one who did this. I created this mess with him and with myself. I scream and stand, taking the photo from my pocket. I hold it in my broken hand, my other cradling it. I stumble to the bed and I sit down, leaning my back against it, my head resting on it. I cry and I fucking cry. I have no way to even fucking contact him.

I cry, my hand shaking as I grip the photo with my broken hand. I can't help it, I punch the wall again. I scream and tears roll down my face, landing on my shirt. I hear thunder and think about him crying in the rain, sitting in some random ass tree and it makes me sob more. I hear myself sob and I feel my face hot as the tears sting my cheeks. I put my head in my arms, against my knees and I just cry. I don't know how long, but I don't even look up when I hear the door open slightly and close just as much. I hear footsteps and I hear chattering teeth. I look up and I almost break down to the last inch of my heart.

Jake is standing a few feet away form the door, his teeth are chattering and he's soaked from head to toe. I stand up, tears still coming and I walk over to him. His eyes are watery and red, his cheeks are red, too. I see blood on his hand and look down at him, taking his wrist with my good hand. I stare at him and with my one hand I try to take off his shirt. He sees me struggling and he helps me pull it off. He shakes more in the cold room. I pull my own long sleeve shirt off and try to put it on him. It hangs low on him and I see him still shaking. I pull him to me with my one hand and I feel him sob against my bare chest, making it warm.

He pulls away and takes my shades off, throwing them on the floor and wipes me red eyes. He sees my arm shaking and looks at my shaking hand with blood dripping down it. His eyes are wide as he takes my hand, and I scream. He looks shocked as he opens my fist, looking at the purple bruises and my red swells, looking at the red blood that covers my knuckles. He gingerly takes my hand and takes the picture from it. I want to stop him but I stand still and watch as tears run down his face when he sees it. He grips it in his hand and he pulls me onto the bed. I lay on my back, tears rolling from the sides of my eyes and I feel him lay on me. His head is on my chest, over my heart, and I feel the warmth of his tears and the stickiness of blood his hand puts on me as he holds onto me. I close my arms around him and he shakes in my arms. I hear him sob and I sob myself. 

I had ruined the boy I loved, but he had come back to me. I had made him cry and I had broken his heart, but he had come back to me. And he was here and I finally had light. He had come back crying and soaked and now he was with me, healing my broken heart as I was his. We said nothing. He lied on top of me, his shoulders shaking with uncontrollable sobs, my chest shaking with sobs as I held him tight in my bare arms. This was the boy I loved. And he loved me too. I had broken him and I had broken myself but he had stitched me back together and he was mine. He is so beautiful and he is mine. I love him and I am never letting him leave me again.


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