#try-hood

“Listen, y/n, there’s no easy way to say this, but I think it would be best if we,” he had to pause and swallow the lump in his throat. Looking at you hurt because he could see in your eyes you knew where this was going. No. He had to do this. “-it would be best if we you know, broke up?”

“What?”

You’d only spoken one word, but it was all he had to hear to know he definitely broke your heart, and he’s never felt more of an asshole than in this moment.

“I just think we should start seeing different people. It’s not that I don’t love you anymore-“

“-it’s just that you’re not in love with me anymore. I get it, Cal, and if you want me to go, I will.”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna be the girl that hold you back. I’m not selfish, Calum; and I don’t want to be in the way of your chance at happiness.”

You were gone in a couple of hours.

He stared at the nearly empty bottle of vodka in his hand, swirling it around and watching the liquid spin as if it were a time machine and he could go back treat you the way he should have; love you the way he should have.

His cheeks were stained with tears and he watched fresh ones drop onto the carpet beneath his feet. Fuck; you chose that carpet. He hated that the flat had so many things that reminded you of him; the socks you left in the wash the day you left, the dent in the kitchen tiles where you dropped a plate because he surprised you by coming home from tour early, his favorite shirt (that you got him) in the closet, the baby maltese you guys got because he’d begged for a dog for hours on end, all the voicemails you’d ever sent to him (that he replayed the previous night).