Emmalina Santiago's Story

Ashley sat on the edge of her bed, not crying... just sitting. Ashley Beaumont didn't cry. Ashley Beaumont never ever cried. She was far above that Yes, her heart had just been shattered, and her pride bruised, but crying was out of the option. Her friends didn't even know yet. How could she possibly mourn before she had a gaggle of sympathetic teenage girls at her side? That was how things normally went. She would call up a friend (or five) and cry to them, asking them to come over. Then she would cry into her pillow as they told her that she didn't deserve that F on the exam, or how a month of detention was way too much for posting some girl's weight (give or take ten pounds... or so) all over the internet. What stopped her from calling then was unknown. Maybe it was that, this time, she was actually upset.

Ashley picked up her phone, holding the tiny thing in her hand as if it were some sort of life-line. She was upset, but the stabbing in her chest was now accompanied by something else called anger. She wanted to hurt him instead, make him sorry for leaving her. She had done EVERYTHING for him. She had loved him even, and how did he repay her? By leaving her over fucking text message. He had never been very romantic, but over text message? That was low. It didn't give her a chance to throw whatever she had in her hand at his face. It gave her no chance to slap him, or kick him in the groin. Hell, she couldn't even yell at him. She had no closure...So maybe it was a mistake. Her opinion changed quickly, as it often did. But seriously, maybe he had made a mistake. People sent overemotional texts all the time. Maybe he was just upset. Ashley stood up hurriedly... and then sat down again, covering her moth with her left hand as a small sob escaped it. No, it wasn't a mistake. Her brain had flipped again, this time to the right side. There was no use in deluding herself anymore. He didn't love her. He never had, had he? She should have known a long time ago. Ashley opened her phone again, gazing back at the text message, not quite feeling that it was over. She had just kissed him yesterday.

Hey, Ashley, it's me, Yoru. I think we should see other people. Honestly, it's me, not you. I hope we can still be friends or something like that.

~Yoru"

Reply

Can we talk about it? Please... I'm sorry

-Ash

After sending out that pathetic text, Ashley wiped her tears (When had she started crying?) away with swift, jerky movements and laid down. For a few minutes, she did nothing but stare at the pink ceiling. And despite the pain that she was in, she fell asleep that way.

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Now, she wasn't quite sure how she got there, but two hours later, after a box of tissues, half a pint of mint ice cream, and with her phone tightly in hand, Ashley was standing a few blocks away from her family's apartment. This building was all too familiar, as she had walked past it many times on her way to Yoru's house. She had never gone inside, not for the AA meetings held their every week, not for the book clubs every Wednesday, and certainly not for the Heartbreakers Inc. office. She remembered having laughed at the concept of Heartbreakers Inc. Who would even go to something like that? Well... apparently her. Ashley stepped inside and made her way to the office, not quite sure what she would do, just sure that it would probably be stupid and out of character.
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"Hey, baby. It's me, I just wanted to see if you were ok. I know...that I um, That I am in the wrong and I'm sorry for following you, not trusting you." Eric waited a few seconds and listened some more, trying his best to keep a calm composure "Um, I get it Eric. And I wish you nothing but a wonderful, happy life.....I love you. Bye."

"Listen, uhm, if you have a girlfriend... I'm just going to go." The red-head in the backseat of his truck sat up and pulled on her shirt, brushing her fingers through her hair and biting her lip nervously. She reminded him a lot of Emmie... except for her personality. And for a reason that he wasn't sure of, that broke his heart even more. He should have been happy. He had just slept with a beautiful woman, broken up with his clingy girlfriend, and spent a night away from his family. But he was anything but happy. First off, he missed his family. Rigt now, he deserved to have the shit beat ot of him. He deserved worse. He had just broken up with someone who was beyond perfect. And he had loved her.

Yet, instead of calling her back, he turned to the girl beside him and kissed her "She was no one, just some girl who liked to follow me around. A bit of a stalker really." He flashed her one of his famous smiles and placed a hand on her waist. "Don't worry about it beautiful, I like you. Don't let her ruin it." After he was done spewing out lies, he kissed her again. And like most kisses with girls that he had never learned the name of, one kiss turned into over an hour of messing around in the back seat of an old blue pickup truck. he entire time, he was thinking of Emma though. He was thinking of her hair and her eyes and her lips and just... her. He was thinking of the tears in her eyes the last time he had seen her.

"Leave," Eric said harshly to the girl nestled against him, "Just go. Now." He had pulled away mid kiss, all signs of affection gone. Only a second ago he had been snogging her, now he wanted nothing more for her to leave as quickly as possible.
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For a 'stalker,' Emmie was certainly having an effect on Eric. Half an hour later, after his unnamed red-headed lover had left in a hurry, he was drinking. It started with one shot, to stop him from crying. One shot didn't work though; it never did. If anything, it just made him more upset. One shot turned into five; that stopped the tears. Five turned into twelve and over the span of three hours, twelve turned into more then he could count. That night... well at three in the morning, he found himself drunker then he had been in a while, with his cell phone in hand which was never a good combination. The first number that he dialed was his friend Emmett's, a complete mistake due to trembling hands. The second number was the right one. Of course, Emmie wasn't awake when he called, she was more sensible then that. But that didn't stop him from leaving messages, each one more slurred and angry then the last. In one he recalled calling her a "fucking Jesus-freak who didn't give a damn about anyone but herself,"... and that was one of his first calls.