Ivy

Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. Help. I need help, but what's one to do when no one's there to help you? Cry? Scream, perhaps? I already did at Aaron, and it didn't make me feel any better. If anything it made me feel worse.

Sitting in his room is doing something to my brain, almost keeping me paralyzed in thoughts of him. His scent, his voice, his laugh-his presence lingers in my mind. And even though I told him to leave me alone hours ago, I still can't quite piece together what my life is becoming.

When I feel like that I tend to make lists-it keeps things organised- and this is one of the lists running through my mind.

1. I know nothing about my boyfriend, his family, or his past.

2. He knows everything about me, my family, and my past. Things even I don't know.

And three, the most damned truth of them all.

3. I'm just not good enough for him.

I walk around his room, looking at the various guitars he has, and imagine what it'd be like to watch him play. What it'd be like to hear his voice whisper sweet melodies into my ear. Things someone else is going to experience.

"Ivy." I hear Aaron knocking on the door, and I quickly wipe away any tears, and open the door. He looks concerned, brows furrowed, and green eyes staring into mine.

"Are you okay?" he asks. I nod, going to sit on the bed, and him following behind me. "Do you want to talk?" he continues. I nod again, and he waits for me to start talking.

But I can't start talking. I fall into his arms, weeping. Weeping hysterically. And he holds me. He holds me, stable, and unwavering, and warm, and I just want to melt.

I can feel his heart beating through his t-shirt, and I hate that this might all be over, and I should be mad at him. I should be so, so mad at him, and I hate that I'm more scared of losing him than anything else.