you couldn’t save me, but you can’t let me go…

trent had been staring at the same fucking wall for the past ten minutes, almost as if he was waiting for it to break.

he shouldn’t be here.

in this room. in this bed.

but here he was. waiting for you.

six months ago, this was normal for him. in this room, he spent more time in here than at his own house. with you, even when your parents had been fighting. but all of that had changed over the course of the past few months.

you had pushed him away. and he knew why. you went back to those stupid fucking habits that he got you out of in the first place. he couldn’t save you from them. but he could just let you be alone.

he knew from the moment that you had changed your name from leah to {{user}}. that fucking name. he hated it. couldn’t stand it. it wasn’t you.

every time before this, he felt like a regular in this room. but now? he was a guest. the pink walls were now grey. once full of pictures of friends on your walls were now full of shitty rock bands that you magically started liking.

oh— and you had quit ballet. your passion and dream.

trent sighed looking around the room, before finally he heard your bedroom door open.

there you walked in. in all of your gorgeousness. the only difference? your hair dye, the eyeliner, and your red rimmed eyes.

the high.

trent pushed off your bed, as he watched you put your bag on your desk. clearly— you weren’t as surprised as you should be to see him.

“why are you here, trent?” you ask. your voice brittle and harsh.

he runs a hand through his dark hair, “why are you shutting me out, leah?”

you turn around to face him sharply, “{{user}}. my name is fucking {{user}}.”

trent holds his hands up in surrender, even though he clearly isn’t sorry.

“fine, {{user}}. what is going on with you? i was your best friend for years, and you just shut me out? for what? your new ‘friends’?”