⟾ 22 | DON'T

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LOUIS🗡

Wednesday, 7:23am

_

FOR THE PAST TWO DAYS, Ash and I have been avoiding each other.

I'd call it insufferable, but she's always been this way, and I wasn't really expecting her to change just because I professed my 'undying love' for her last night. I still can't believe I let those words leave my mouth without so much of a thought.

She'd wait till I was out of the kitchen before she went in, and I waited till she was out of the living room before I went in. It was a mutual avoidance. We only spoke when we needed to consult something regarding the plan, but that was it.

Speaking of the plan, it was moderately finished by now. I can't tell you it, because I don't trust you not to reveal our secrets, so you'll just have to let it play out—for better or for worse. I don't know if it'll work or not, but I'm hoping.

I'd been awake since four in the morning, anxiously awaiting the day we had planned out before us. We had a mission to accomplish, but it was hard to do with this feud happening between us.

Yet I couldn't hate her for it.

Last night I couldn't sleep, watching the moon stream through the windows of the living room, bathing me in pure thought as I lay tired on the couch. I couldn't hate her. I couldn't even despise her, because I remembered turning my head to see the tattoo inked onto my wrist and feeling complete understanding.

A marking that chained me to her.

The only difference was that I chose to give my heart to her, when she was given that tattoo without a say in it. I wanted to make it better for her. I wanted to show her that she didn't have to live without love, but it backfired, because she'd spent her whole life learning how to survive alone.

It would be foolish to think she could throw away her past just because I wanted her to.

But I couldn't wait for her.

She chose her position, and who was I to pretend her refusal meant nothing? She didn't want me. I just had to learn to accept that, and while this tattoo may seem like a painful reminder, I won't regret it. It gave her happiness at one point, and that's good enough.

"Ash," I whispered under my breath, watching as the sun rose from behind the London skyline, "Ash, Ash, Ash..."

Oh, how she burned me.

Her name kept playing on repeat in my mind, even as the city began to awake from its slumber. Ash, it said, even as I watched her make herself breakfast in the kitchen. Ash, it said, even as she wrangled with her hair to make it stay into its ponytail.

When it refused to budge, I gathered my pride, stalking towards the bathroom mirror and plucking a hair-tie from the counter.

"Let me," I said, gesturing to her hair, "it'll be easier."

She glanced away. "Go ahead."

It was painfully silent as I looped the rubber-band over itself, securing the unruly locks of her hair into place. She didn't even dare to meet my gaze in the reflection. Her eyes were stuck onto the marble counter-top, cold and emotionless like she didn't know me at all.

I had barely even let my hands fall back to my sides, before she was already bolting away from me, gathering her shoes and leather jacket into her possession. I stood there awkwardly, not sure what I should say.

"We should go," she said curtly, voice absent of feeling, "the longer we stay, the more time we lose."

I nodded my head, following her towards the door and into the hallway of the cheap apartment we had rented. We didn't exchange a word, even as we strode onto the waking streets of London, slipping through the crowd of people going about their lives.

But she was walking too fast.

I struggled to keep up with her, watching as she weaved her way in between strangers, slipping farther, and farther, and farther away until she was almost—

"Ash!" I called out, dodging a passerby, "wait!"

She stopped, turning her head slightly. She made a point not to look at me when I finally caught up with her.

"Can we stop this?" I asked, "please?"

She stared at her feet. "Stop what?"

"This," I explained, gesturing between the two of us, "how can you expect us to save London while hating each other at the same time?"

She began to walk again, this time at a slower pace.

"It's called multitasking, Partridge," she said, "and besides, I know you don't hate me."

"Maybe I should." I frowned.

"Nothing's stopping you."

She was right, nothing was stopping me. I just wanted her to be the reason. I didn't want to feel rejected without the slightest bit of hesitation, but there wasn't anything I could do, because she had lived a life without love. She couldn't recognize it even when I showed it to her.

"You could at least try to be civil," I noted.

She glowered. "The last thing I'd want was to make you think I love you back."

That hurt.

"Given the attitude you have, that's the last thing I would think," I snapped.

"Good."

"You think that's good?"

"Better than leading you on," she scoffed, "then I wouldn't know if I should pity you or push you away."

We crossed the street, the thoughts in my mind nearly getting drowned out by the sounds of traffic blurring past. When we used to fight—back when I barely knew her—she had confidence in her. Now she just threw out insults like pennies in a fountain, wishing at least one would work.

"Cast me aside, Ash, it won't change how I feel about you," I said, pursing my lips, "I just won't pursue you anymore."

I noticed her pace falter for the briefest second, but it was enough to tell me what I wanted to know. She couldn't hide much from me anymore. I knew her too well. I read people. It was my job, and I was good at it. And while she wasn't my mission anymore, I didn't stop noticing the little things.

"I bet you don't like the thought of that, though," I stated curtly, "knowing I wont chase you anymore. That's what you feed on, Ash, you love it when people chase after you."

She clenched her jaw. "I don't."

"You do. You've done it from the very start, but now that I've finally caught up with you, you're scared."

"I've never been scared of you, Partridge."

I grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop, but then releasing her just as quickly. There was no point clinging onto her when she clearly didn't want that. I just needed to make sure she'd stop.

"If you're not scared of me, then you're scared of yourself," I exhaled, staring her in the eyes, "so when we're done with this mission, don't bother pretending we're friends until you figure yourself out."

Her mouth parted slightly. "Figure what out?"

"That you can trust how I feel about you."

Not bothering to waste any more time, I shook my head, turning and stalking off down the street. I was talking about my emotions—the feeling of love where it shouldn't be—and all I wanted was for her to understand. Even if she didn't love me in return, I wanted her to at least realize that none of this was a joke.

It was real.

But my words seemed to have at least breached the surface of her stony aura, because she called out after me, voice meek and unsure.

"Then how?" She asked, "how do I know what love is?"

I turned around, brushing my hair out of my face. I wasn't an expert on advice, since I could only listen to my own, but I knew the answer to this question. I had answered it for myself yesterday, even though I feel I've always known since that day the world first fell apart—when I first realized my mistakes.

"Love is where you'd do anything to keep them safe," I said, pursing my lips, "even if it means putting your own life on the line."

She paused. "Like you did for me."

"Yeah," I nodded, "it's all making sense now, isn't it?"

There was a beat, where I could almost hear the realization click into her brain like the flip of a switch. Love wasn't always about fighting, that's what it was for us.

It was the memory of jumping in front of a bullet, or tackling someone to the ground in hopes it would save a girl's life. It was the memory of staring at a computer screen in the middle of the night, stuck on a conversation with someone I knew nothing about. It was the memory of sitting in the chair of a tattoo shop, getting a symbol marked onto my wrist, because I thought she'd see how much she meant to me.

But she had never done those things for me in return, not even anything like that. The closest I felt to her was when she stitched my wound up, but even then she showed no sign of compassion.

Maybe I was a fool to think I had a chance.

"Louis, I—" She began to say, but I cut her off.

"Don't," I frowned, turning away, "let's just focus on what's important."

And leaving her standing on the pavement in disbelief, I let myself get swallowed up into the crowd, hoping to drown my feelings in the noise of the city. We had a mission to complete, and I couldn't let my mind distract both of us from it.

So if I can't save my heart, I might as well save London.

So, let's begin.

_

this book is almost over!

LP6 is on it's way :)

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