𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑⁰¹ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ✓

prologueㅤㅤㅤ──𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏

"Aiden, please get out," I said, pointing to my door and watching him roll his eyes at me. "We broke up months ago! You can't just keep coming back here,"

He took a step forward, raising his hand, and I felt my heart stammer at the action. For a second, I thought time had finally come that he'd do it. But he didnt. He paused mid-air, clenching his hand to a fist, before turning away and sighing heavily into it.

I released my own fist from behind my back, loosening the tension from my shoulders and breathing in to calm my drumming heart.

Aiden turned back to me, doing those puppy eyes whenever he wanted something so badly. Maybe it should've been some compliment to me that at least one human found me tolerable and wanted me badly, but it's nothing good when said human is our very own Aiden Lowe.

I used to give in everytime he did those eyes, convincing myself that he was all I had and that I could never find anybody who'd want me more than he did - no matter how bullshit the love was. It took seven months, a few breakdowns, and a lot of my pride to finally listen to those Instagram posts about loving and having respect for yourself.

So I had long concluded that without Aiden Lowe in my life, I, therefore, would be gaining self respect. In some way, it made sense to me - in another, it was utter bull that could never work.

"Clem, we were together for a year! One year." He said as though that whole year we were together there weren't any neighbour-complaint worthy arguments. "Don't tell me that didn't mean anything-"

I almost scoff at his hypocrisy. My eyes narrow at him and I take a step closer, my cheeks burning from the anger I was holding in. "What the fuck? It didn't mean anything to me?" I repeat his question and he nods. "To me, Aiden, to me? Are you fucking sure? Are you sure it was me who pranced around the city slipping his dick into every moving thing? Was it me who slept with different fucking girls every fucking week?"

I hadn't noticed I'd been stepping closer and closer towards him as my voice grew. His eyes darted at anywhere but my own and I could tell I'd had him cornered.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "So, I will ask you this, can you tell me that that year meant something to you?"

He doesn't say anything, even when I wait for a minute. Still nothing.

"Get out,"

"Clem, you -"

"Stop calling me that. Get out."

"You know I didn't care for those girls!" He shouts as I shove him out my open front door. I try to slam it close but he slaps his hand on it, preventing me from fully closing it and only leaving a few inches. "Clementine, come on, please,"

I paused for a moment. Thinking. My brows furrowed for a second, eyes small and lost in thought-giving him hope, as I could tell from his expression.

I look up, face unchanging. "For all I know, you don't care for anything." I see his hand loosen on the door and I take it as my chance to slam it shut. And I do.

I leant back, listening closely as he bangs on the door a few times, calling at my name that was strung along with other excuses as to how he loved me more and how they meant nothing. He stopped when my neighbour went out and called on him, asking him to stop and go away.

And so he did. I waited by the door until I heard the lift's bell ring and the doors groan to a close. He was gone.

My stomach churned at the thought of his return-he was bound to. I never wanted him to but he always did, he has been for seven months since our breakup. He never took it well the first time and I'm always left to wonder when the charade of coming and going and avoiding would end.