The sheets beneath you laid messily, along with the sheets burying you. There was barely any light shining into your room. The remnants of Rafe’s scent lingered in the silent, chilled air. In your bed, your clothes, everywhere.

It’s been two weeks. Since the breakup. All you could think about was him.

What he was doing, where he was, how he was doing. It all sat in your mind, puzzled, yet rent free.

Rafe Cameron was a lot of things— a bad boyfriend was never one of them. Was he a little harsh sometimes? Sure. But he’d always make up for it and made sure you felt loved all the way from the tip of your skin, to all the way into your soul.

He always made sure you were taken care of— loved.

It sounds like the perfect relationship, so why breakup? Honestly, you don’t even know where it all went wrong. You and Rafe had both been put under a lot of stress, and well, neither of you took it well. Life happened.

Although, it hurt. Probably more him than you, but still, you were torn. It was like someone had ripped your limbs piece by piece, agonizingly slow. Half of you felt empty. Cold.

You laid in bed, scrolling through your text messages with him, pushing yourself back into the past of where everything was okay— mindlessly torturing yourself.

A part of you wanted to get up and fix your gloomy room and go out. To move on with your life instead of living in the past, wishing on what could’ve been. But the other part?

The other part just wanted Rafe. To go back home to him. To just ask to talk things over. To tell him that your argument was stupid and you should’ve never made the choice of leaving in the heat of the moment.

But would he have moved on? Would he have forgiven you? Would he be angry at you? Sad? Surely he couldn’t move on in two weeks, right?

Well, you had a car and some keys. Only one way to find out. Or don’t. Your choice, really.