ceyanabbiolo - Tumblr blog

ceyanabbiolo · 16 hours ago

Text

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [27]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: angst, kissing - at this point i don't even know

Chapter 27: Be My Baby

── .✦ JULIANNA

I was curled up in bed, legs tucked under my pink fleece blanket, wearing my soft Victoria's Secret pajama set—the pale pink one with little hearts and lace along the hem. The rain outside hit the windows in heavy, rhythmic taps, the kind that made everything feel far away and warm inside.

Pretty Little Liars played quietly on my laptop at the foot of the bed, the glow from the screen dancing across my walls. I absentmindedly popped a strawberry into my mouth, sweet and cold from the fridge, wiping my fingers on a napkin as I squinted at the screen.

I was finally relaxed.

Until I heard the knock.

I froze mid-bite, heart jerking into my throat.

Another knock. Slightly louder this time.

I scrambled off the bed, quickly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and brushing crumbs off my thighs. My pajama shorts clung to my skin as I crossed the room, my socks padding gently on the wooden floor. My fingers hovered near the door handle as I paused, confused and suddenly alert. No one came to my room without texting first. Ever.

"Who is it?" I asked through the door, hesitating.

Silence.

Then—his voice.

“Jules,” he rasped, the voice all too familiar.

My heart cracked in half.

I swung the door open.

And there he stood.

Chris.

For a second, I thought I was seeing a ghost. A waterlogged, bruised, and bleeding ghost with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen.

“Chris?” I breathed out, barely a whisper. My voice caught in my throat like I wasn’t even sure it was him. My heart pounded so violently it echoed in my ears.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

He stood there, staring at me. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. His jaw was clenched, a cut split along his bottom lip, and I could see the blood trickling slowly down.

Thunder cracked outside.

“What the hell happened to you?” I asked again, louder now, sharper. My hand was still on the door, “Why are you—why are you like this?”

Still, no answer.

“Chris,” I stepped out into the hallway, the cold air biting at my legs, “what the hell happened?”

He blinked once. His eyes glistened like glass.

“I—I lost my key, Nick and Matt aren’t there, I didn’t even realize I was walking here, I just…”

He trailed off.

I stepped back to look at him fully. His left eye was already purpling, his arms trembling slightly, and rainwater dripped in puddles at his feet.

Something inside me snapped.

“Are you out of your mind?” I snapped. “You're bleeding, and you just walked here? In the rain?”

He still didn’t answer. Just took a breath, and then another.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“No, you’re not!” I yelled, pointing at his face. “What happened to your lip? Your face? Who did this to you?!”

He winced, jaw tightening, and didn’t answer.

But I was already grabbing his arm, pulling him inside.

“Jules—” he tried to protest, but his knees buckled slightly, and that was it. My hand shot to his waist to steady him.

“Shut up and get in,” I said, voice shaking.

He stumbled in, soaked clothes clinging to mine as I helped him across the room and onto the edge of my bed.

“Sit down,” I said firmly.

Chris looked up at me, face tense, hair dripping, blood drying along his temple. His eyes searched mine for something—maybe hesitation, maybe a way out—but I didn’t give him one.

I walked over and grabbed his arm, guiding him gently this time. He didn’t resist, just lowered himself onto the edge of my bed again, his shoulders hunched forward like he was still bracing for a hit.

I crossed my arms.

“Chris, tell me what happened.”

He exhaled, the kind that sounded like it hurt.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered.

“Chris.”

“I said it’s nothing, Jewel.”

My jaw clenched. That nickname.

“Seriously?” I said, voice sharp. “You show up looking like someone tried to bury you alive, and all I get is ‘it’s nothing’? You think I’m that stupid?”

He didn’t look at me. His eyes were fixed on the floor.

“I didn’t come here for a lecture, Jules.”

I scoffed. “No, you just came bleeding, half-limping, in the pouring rain, and now you want to act like you don’t owe me even a shred of honesty?”

Still silence.

I turned my back on him before my frustration spilled over.

“Right,” I muttered under my breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I guess we still don’t trust each other.”

I walked over to my closet and ripped the door open. The small white bin on the top shelf caught my eye—an emergency first aid kit. I pulled it down and set it on my desk with a thud.

When I turned around, Chris was still sitting there, eyes down, rain-soaked clothes sticking to his skin, jaw tense like he was biting back every word he wouldn’t let out.

Fine.

I grabbed a clean towel from my drawer and tossed it beside him. “Dry off.”

He flinched at the sound of the kit opening. I started pulling out antiseptic wipes, gauze, and ointment.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly behind me.

“I don’t want to do this,” I shot back, unwrapping a sterile pad. “But someone has to clean you up before you get infected and die in the middle of my room. That would kill the vibe.”

He didn’t laugh. Just sat there, breathing heavily, eyes still fixed on some invisible point.

I moved toward him and knelt so I was eye level. My heart was racing, but I kept my voice steady.

“This might sting.”

His eyes finally lifted to mine. He looked drained and cold. He didn’t speak, just gave me a quiet nod.

I leaned in.

The sterile wipe trembled slightly between my fingers before I pressed it gently to the cut above his brow.

He flinched—just a bit—and hissed through his teeth, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Sorry,” I muttered under my breath, focused on dabbing the blood away. But I felt the tension ripple off him, felt the way his eyes never left me.

“Just be little gentle, baby”

I was as gentle as I could be, and he was watching me. Not just glancing—watching. Every move I made.

My fingers moved carefully along the cut, trying not to reopen it. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and the rainwater in his hair was still dripping down his temple, mixing with blood and sweat. I brushed it back instinctively, tucking the wet strands behind his ear.

Up close, I could see just how bad the damage was. His lip was cracked and swollen. A bruise was already forming along his cheekbone, blooming purple beneath the skin. His knuckles were torn open, raw and bleeding.

I swallowed hard.

“You look like you got hit by a truck,” I whispered, more to myself than to him.

“Felt like it,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper.

I finished cleaning the last scrape along his jaw, dabbing at it one final time before leaning back on my heels.

“There,” I murmured, more to fill the quiet than anything.

His eyes stayed on me as I tossed the used wipes into the small trash bin. I could still feel the weight of his stare even as I stood, brushing my hands against my thighs.

Without saying anything, I crossed the room to my closet. My fingers hesitated on the handle. I knew exactly what I was looking for—I had known since the moment I opened that door to find him standing there, dripping rain and blood.

I tugged the door open and stared at the folded pile on the top shelf. His clothes. The ones he’d left here months ago after a late-night movie marathon. I’d told myself I’d give them back. I never did.

My hand hovered over them for a beat before I finally pulled the sweatshirt and sweatpants free. They still smelled faintly like him, even after all this time.

Turning back, I found him watching me again—head tilted slightly, like he wasn’t sure what I was doing. I walked over and held the clothes out to him.

“Here,” I said, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

His brows furrowed faintly as he took them from me. “These are mine.”

“Yeah,” I replied, crossing my arms loosely over my chest. “You left them here once.”

For a moment, he just stared down at the bundle in his hands, almost like it hurt to see them.

“Go shower,” I said finally, my tone a little firmer to mask the weird knot in my stomach. “You’re freezing. And you’re not sitting on my bed in clothes covered in blood and rain.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. He didn’t argue. He just stood, wincing slightly as he did, and headed for my bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door shut and I heard the faint rush of water, I exhaled a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.

My room wasn’t messy, not really, but I needed to move. To do something that kept my hands busy while my mind tried to make sense of the way Chris had shown up at my door.

I started with the blanket, straightening it over my bed, smoothing out every wrinkle. Then I gathered the empty strawberry bowl from my nightstand, taking it to my desk. My eyes kept flicking toward the bathroom door without meaning to, catching the faint cloud of steam escaping from under the crack.

Gosh, what could’ve happened to him? I’d never seen him like that before. Chris was always sharp edges and smug grins, that cocky ease like nothing could touch him. But tonight… he’d looked broken. It almost made my eyes sting just thinking about it.

I bent down to pick up a pair of fuzzy socks from the floor, blinking hard. He hadn’t even wanted to tell me what happened. And yet… the cuts, the swelling—it wasn’t just some random accident. Someone had done this to him.

And then Nick’s words from yesterday replayed in my head, sharper now, like they’d been waiting for this moment to resurface.

“Chris is depressed, like really depressed.”

I swallowed hard, gripping the socks tighter in my hands. Was this one of those times? Was whatever happened tonight tangled up with the things Nick hinted at.

The water shut off, snapping me out of my thoughts. My stomach twisted. I straightened the last pillow on my bed and stepped back, almost nervous about when he would come out.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Chris stepped out, a faint cloud of steam following him. His hair was damp and messy, little droplets still sliding down the side of his neck. He had changed into the old clothes I’d given him—his faded grey hoodie and black sweats he’d left here months ago—but they didn’t hide everything.

The bruises were still there. Deep, ugly shadows along his jaw and the side of his cheek, the faint swelling under his eye catching the low light of my desk lamp.

“I’m… uh…” His voice was low, almost careful. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

I blinked at him, my heart tugging in a way I didn’t want to admit. “It’s fine, Chris,” I said softly, motioning toward my bed. “Sit.”

He hesitated for half a second before walking over and lowering himself onto the edge of the mattress. His shoulders slumped forward slightly, like the weight was still there, pressing him down.

I found myself moving without thinking, stepping closer until I was right in front of him. My hand lifted, slow and hesitant, until my fingers brushed against the bruise on his cheekbone. His skin was warm under my touch, and I felt him tense just slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

“Please…” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Tell me. Who did this to you?”

His gaze flicked up to mine, but there was no answer—only that guarded look he wore when he didn’t want to be read.

I let my hand fall, frustration curling in my chest. “Was it your dad?” I asked quietly.

That got a reaction—his brows pulled together, his head tilting slightly in confusion. “No,” he said, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Then who?” I pressed, my voice firm but not unkind.

He swallowed, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he might shut me out completely. But then, finally, the words came—low, almost reluctant.

“It was Tucker.”

I froze.

The name sank into me hard, and I blinked once. No, I must’ve heard him wrong.

My mouth went dry. “...What?”

Chris’s gaze didn’t waver. “Tucker.”

I couldn’t believe it.

“You’re kidding…” I breathed, my voice wavering.

But Chris just looked at me, no smirk, no sarcasm—only that raw, tired truth in his eyes that told me he wasn’t.

“You’re serious?” My voice cracked.

Chris didn’t answer—he didn’t need to. I could see it written all over him.

“Why?” The word shot out of me, sharp, demanding.

He just shook his head, slow and heavy. “He’s…Well, he’s a disrespectful prick.”

“That’s not an answer.” My hands curled at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “Why would he—”

“Jules.” His tone cut me off, low but firm. “He ran his mouth tryna piss me off about you.”

My pulse stuttered.

Chris’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching as if the memory alone made him want to hit something again. “I told him to shut it. He didn’t. So I made him.”

The air between us went thick. I couldn’t tell if the pounding I heard was from the rain still hammering against the windows or from my own heartbeat.

Tucker. My ex. Saying God knows what to Chris.

I swallowed hard, my voice dropping. “What… exactly did he say?”

Chris exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the floor like the rainwater pooling there was suddenly more interesting than I.

“Jules… just think of the worst possible things.” His voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made my stomach twist. “I don’t wanna repeat it because you don’t deserve to hear shit like that.”

I froze, my throat tightening. The way he said it… It wasn’t just casual trash talk. Whatever Tucker had said, it had been vile.

I walked over slowly, almost without thinking, and sat next to him on the bed. The mattress dipped under our combined weight, the space between us still thick with unspoken words. He kept staring at the floor, his jaw set, hands still trembling faintly from the fight—or maybe from holding it all in.

I glanced at him again, the quiet between us pressing in. “Chris… are you okay?” I asked softly.

He slightly smirked. "You should've seen the other guy."

I scoffed in disbelief. "Sure, Chris. But are you okay?"

He gave the faintest smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… it hurts less now.”

I shook my head. “No, I mean—are you okay?”

His gaze flicked up to mine, then quickly away. “Yeah…”

“You sure?” I pressed, my voice low, almost pleading.

“Yeah,” he repeated, a little too quickly this time.

I didn’t believe him for a second. Not even close. But he wasn’t ready to say it, and I didn’t know if pushing him would make him open up or shut down completely.

So I just sat there, watching him, my chest tight.

He finally lifted his head, eyes meeting mine. They were still red-rimmed, still wet, but now they held something rawer—something that made my breath catch.

“I’m sorry, Jules,” he murmured, voice low and uneven.

I tilted my head slightly, searching his face. “For what?”

His jaw tightened. “Hurting you…”

I didn’t say anything right away. My throat felt too tight, so I just gave the smallest nod.

“I fucked up,” he breathed, almost like admitting it was pulling the air out of his lungs.

“I know,” I said quietly.

His gaze flickered, almost desperate. “But I want to make it right.”

That made me look at him fully. His hair was still damp from the shower, clinging in messy strands to his forehead, bruises standing out under the soft lamplight.

Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, “Do you still love me?”

The question hit me like a punch. My lips parted, but no words came out. I hated him for what he’d done. But my chest still ached for him in ways I couldn’t explain, and my heart… my heart already knew the answer, even if my head didn’t want to admit it.

I hesitated.

His expression shifted, something breaking through. “I love you, Jules,” he said, the words rough, like they’d been clawing at his throat to get out.

Before I could even respond, his voice cracked, and then his shoulders shook. I just stared at him, stunned. Chris didn’t cry. Not ever. And yet here he was, looking like he was about to.

He looked broken.

The moment the first sob ripped out of him, it was like something inside me moved on instinct.

“Chris—” I didn’t even finish his name before I was leaning forward, my arms wrapping around him. I pulled him toward me, guiding his head against my chest. He didn’t resist—if anything, he collapsed into me like he’d been holding himself up for far too long.

I was so angry at him, for the past few months, but at this moment I felt this urge to just sit there and hold him.

His shoulders trembled under my hands, the weight of his body curling in as if he wanted to disappear. His sobs were deep, uneven, muffled against me, but each one seemed to tear through the quiet of the room.

“Hey, hey, shh…” My fingers threaded gently through his still-damp hair, trying to soothe the way his breathing came in ragged bursts. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I could feel the warmth of his tears seeping through my shirt, his forehead pressed right above my heart. I kept rubbing slow circles into his back, grounding him, willing him to hear the steadiness of my heartbeat against his ear.

Every now and then, he’d try to say something—broken fragments of words—but they would dissolve into another choked sob before they could form.

I rested my chin lightly on the top of his head, my own eyes burning now. I hated seeing him like this. I hated that whatever had happened had broken him down to this point.

“You’re safe here,” I whispered, barely audible. “No one’s gonna hurt you here.”

His arms came around me then, tentative at first, then tightening like he couldn’t hold on close enough.

I kept rubbing slow, steady circles into his back, feeling each shaky breath he took. I felt this sudden maternal instinct towards this boy.

“What happened, Chris?” I asked softly, tilting my head down so he could hear me over the sound of his own breathing.

He sniffed, his voice low and rough. “It’s been… a rough day.”

I bit my lip, my mind instantly going to Tucker. Of course. That fight earlier. But… Chris never cried over a bad fight—not like this. He’d storm out, curse, and throw a sarcastic remark, but this? This was different.

Before I could press further, his voice cracked again. “I fought with my father.”

My hands stilled for a second against his back. “You… fought with him?”

He nodded against me, not moving away. “Yeah. And I—” He took a sharp breath, as if the words were hard to force out. “I decided to cut ties with him. For good.”

I froze completely this time, my arms still around him, but my mind spinning. “What?”

His head lifted slightly, enough for me to see the faint redness still clinging to his eyes.

“You cut him off… over me?” I asked quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Chris blinked at me, confusion flickering across his face. “How… how do you know that?”

I didn’t answer right away, my stomach twisting because I wasn’t sure if I should tell him about yesterday. I hesitated, my fingers still resting lightly against his back. Finally, I exhaled, the truth slipping out.

“Nick told me everything.”

Chris went still, then slowly leaned back enough to look at me. His jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. “I see.”

The two words carried so much weight, I almost wished I’d kept my mouth shut. His eyes darted away, like he was trying to piece together how much Nick had said, how much I really knew.

“But it’s not just that,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, almost hoarse. “It wasn’t only about you. It was… so much pressure, Jules. Every damn day. Expectations. Deadlines. Rules I never agreed to live by. I just—” His voice cracked slightly, and he rubbed at his face like he could scrub away the frustration building in him. “I just… couldn’t anymore.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had all the answers he didn’t. “It felt like I was suffocating. And then… he found out about us. And it wasn’t even about love to him, it was about… appearances. About control. And I realized—” he swallowed hard, “—I’d rather have nothing than keep living like that.”

I moved closer until my knee brushed his, my hand finding the back of his neck. His skin was warm, a little damp from the shower, and I could feel the tension still coiled in him.

“Chris…” My voice broke before I could even form the right words. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

He didn’t move at first, but when I pulled him toward me, he let me. His head rested against my shoulder, the weight of it heavy, grounding. My fingers slid into his hair, stroking slow and steady, like I could soothe away years of hurt in one night.

“I know it’s not the same,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, “but you’re not alone anymore. You have me.”

Somewhere in the quiet, I felt my own chest tighten. My throat burned, and before I knew it, a hot tear slipped down my cheek. I sniffled quietly, but it must’ve given me away because he shifted against me.

A small, breathy laugh escaped him, ragged at the edges. “Why are you crying?” he murmured, lifting his head just enough to see my face.

I blinked rapidly, wiping my cheek with the heel of my palm. “Because you’re crying, you idiot.”

That earned me the smallest twitch of his lips—nothing like his usual smirk, but something fragile and real. His hand reached for mine, holding it in his lap, and for a moment neither of us said anything.

His thumb brushed against my knuckles, and I could still see the shine of tears clinging to his lashes.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, still keeping my hand on the back of his neck. “Wait… what do you mean you left?” My brows knit together, confusion swirling in my chest.

Chris let out a slow breath, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I mean… I’m moving out of that house. For good.”

My eyes widened. “You—what? Chris, that’s… huge.”

“And,” he continued, his voice steady but soft, “I won’t be taking a seat at my father’s company.”

For a moment, I just stared at him, my mind scrambling to catch up. That company wasn’t just his father’s pride—it was the path everyone thought Chris would take, the one he’d been groomed for since he could walk.

“Chris…” I whispered, but my voice trailed off because I didn’t even know what to say.

He glanced at me, almost like he was gauging my reaction, then leaned back against my headboard. “This summer, I’m going to the training camp.”

I blinked at him, my mouth parting slightly. “You’re serious?”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Yeah. I’ve been talking to coaches, and I’ve got everything I need to start new. I don’t need to be at home. I don’t need him.”

I just sat there, my heart thudding in my ears, trying to process it all. The boy who’d been raised in marble hallways and constant expectations was just… walking away. Choosing something entirely his own.

I finally found my voice, though it came out small.

“Are you… Are you sure, Chris?”

His eyes flicked to mine, steady. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

The answer didn’t calm me—it only made my pulse race faster. “Does Matt know? What about Nick? Does your mom know?” My words started tumbling out, one after another, before I could stop them. “Where are you even going to live? What if—”

“Jules,” he cut in softly, but I kept going, my hands moving as I spoke.

“Chris, this is huge. It’s not like quitting a summer job, you’re literally changing your whole—”

“Jules.” This time, he reached forward, resting his palm gently over mine to still me. His touch was warm, grounding, but his expression stayed firm. “I’ve thought about all of that.”

I swallowed hard, searching his face for any flicker of doubt. “And your mom? She’s not… mad?”

“She’s upset,” he admitted, glancing down at our hands. “She’ll understand, she’s never been the problem.”

I shook my head, my chest tight. “You should’ve told me, Chris. From the beginning. I would’ve understood—we could’ve worked it out together.”

His jaw tensed, and he looked away. “I didn’t want to burden you with all that.”

“Burden me?” I repeated, my voice rising. “Chris, that’s not how this works. I wouldn’t have seen it like that.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he shot back, his tone sharpening.

“Protect me from what? From you being honest with me?” I could feel the heat in my face, my heart pounding harder. “Do you know how much it hurt to be left in the dark while you were going through all of this?”

He raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Jules, I was already dealing with my dad, Tucker, the pressure from the company—everything. I didn’t want you to have to carry that weight too.”

I stared at him, my voice shaking but firm. “Chris… you have nothing now—”

He cut me off gently, his eyes locking onto mine. “I have you… If you’ll still have me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. My breath caught, and before I could stop it, a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh slipped past my lips. “This is all… crazy.”

A faint, almost sad smile tugged at his mouth. “I know,” he said quietly, leaning back against the headboard like all the fight had finally left him. “Everything’s upside down right now.”

I lowered myself onto the bed beside him, my knees brushing his. My hands dragged slowly over my thighs, a restless motion as I tried to make sense of everything swirling in my head.

He glanced at me, his voice low but steady. “I’m gonna be okay, Jules.”

Something about the way he said it made my chest tighten. I met his gaze, searching his face, the tiny furrow between his brows, the faint red at the corners of his eyes from crying.

Before I could stop myself, my hand reached up, brushing my fingertips along his jaw. He leaned into my touch like he’d been starving for it, his lips parting just slightly.

The space between us dissolved in a heartbeat. His mouth found mine, warm and insistent, and I felt the tension in my chest melt into something heavier, needier. I kissed him back, my fingers sliding into his hair as his hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me closer until there was no air between us.

When he shifted, angling his body toward mine, my knees bent instinctively, letting him press closer. My heartbeat was loud in my ears, my breaths shallow, and the world outside this room didn’t exist—just his mouth, his hands, and the way he murmured my name against my lips.

He pulled back slowly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, eyes dark with something raw and conflicted. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, voice breaking.

Without hesitation, I pressed my lips to his again like I wanted to erase every doubt in that moment. His eyes fluttered closed, then opened, filled with a fierce, trembling emotion.

“I love you, Jewel,” he said, the words trembling but certain.

I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my voice steady and daring.

With a sudden, urgent motion, Chris flipped me over, his hands steady but filled with an eager intensity. My back pressed softly against the mattress, the cool fabric grounding me as he hovered above.

I’d been craving his touch ever since the breakup—the way it had been missing like a ghost in my skin. Now, having him here, feeling him so close, it almost felt unreal, like I was caught in a dream I never wanted to end.

Chris’s lips trailed down my neck, soft and warm, planting gentle kisses all along my collarbone. Each touch sent a shiver through me, a delicious mix of longing and tenderness that made my heart race.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling his head up slowly and guiding it toward my chest. His breath was shaky against my skin as he nestled there, resting like he’d found a safe place to finally let go.

I ran my hand through his hair in slow, soothing circles, feeling the tension in his body begin to soften beneath my touch.

He lifted his head just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes heavy with a raw vulnerability that sent a sharp pang through my chest. The strength he always wore like armor was gone.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick and trembling. “I’m so, so sorry.”

My heart clenched. There was so much pain wrapped up in those words, so much regret and sorrow that had been buried too deep for too long. I pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, hoping somehow to ease the weight he carried.

“Shh,” I murmured softly, voice barely above a breath. “Go to sleep, love. You must be tired.”

His eyes fluttered closed, and I held him close to my heart as the slow rise and fall of his breathing steadied. The storm outside had quieted, but inside this room, wrapped in each other’s arms, a fragile calm settled over us.

In that quiet moment, I saw him. The Christopher who was still a boy beneath it all, someone’s cherished child, fragile and wounded, carrying the weight of the world in silent pain just like me.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[ a/n: hey guys wassup, how we doing :) Like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt

@mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @mattsdivaa @wesj11 @headzgonewest @ilovesamgoldencoch @rlstarfiire @charmersturns @eden1217 @pair-of-pantaloons @beardedbernard @lilianasturnsz @tropicfessed @spookysturnz @matchaandmattlovi @franticroads @naughtynotsorry69 @kenah-sturniolo @angelxsturns @iluvchr1s

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

#ceyanabbiolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #faniction #sturniolo tumblr #the sturniolo triplets

99 notes · View notes

ceyanabbiolo · 2 days ago

Text

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [26]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Warnings: physical violence

Chapter 26: She was Never Yours

── .✦ CHRISTOPHER

I got home late last night, too late to talk to my dad, although I didn't want to.

Matt and Nick had already taken off, leaving after grabbing the last of their stuff for their trip. That left me here. Alone.

I didn’t leave my room until around 3 PM, just lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, stewing in the silence. I finally forced myself to get up. I couldn’t avoid this forever.

As I made my way downstairs, I caught a glimpse of my mom in the kitchen. She was leaning against the counter, sipping a coffee. She looked peaceful. Tired, but peaceful.

And for a second, I hesitated.

I felt guilty. Not for what I was about to do—but for what it might do to her. She’d never been the problem. My mother had always been… soft with me. Gentle. A protector in the shadows of this house. She didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire.

But this house—this environment-was suffocating me. And I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine.

I took a deep breath and walked past the kitchen. My feet dragged toward my father's office at the end of the hallway. I paused outside the door, the familiar oak wood now feeling heavier, like a barrier I couldn’t cross without consequences.

I raised my hand and knocked once, firmly.

“Come in,” his voice called, gruff and impatient as always.

I opened the door.

He was behind his desk, scribbling something into a planner, his glasses perched low on his nose. He barely glanced up.

“You’re back,” he said, more observation than greeting.

“I am,” I replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.

He finally looked up. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Maybe,” I said coolly, crossing my arms over my chest.

He leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “Then why are you here now?”

I hesitated for half a second, then met his gaze. “Because I’m done pretending everything’s okay between us.”

His brows lifted. “Oh?”

“I’ve spent most of my life trying to live up to your standards, meet your expectations, but I’m tired..”

He scoffed, setting his pen down. “So you’re here to throw a tantrum?”

I clenched my jaw. “No. I’m here to tell you I’m taking a step back. From all of it. The business and all this.”

Silence fell between us like a hammer. Cold and loud in its own way.

My father leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck are you talking about, Chris?”

I inhaled through my nose, trying to stay calm. “I mean exactly what I said. I’m leaving. I’m accepting your offer — the one you dangled in front of me every time I didn’t act like a carbon copy of you. I’m walking away.”

His face twitched, the first crack in his carefully maintained composure. “You’re being impulsive. Emotional.”

“No,” I said, sharper this time. “I’ve been silent. I’ve been patient. I’ve let you control every part of my life — the company, my future, even my damn relationship. But I’m done.”

He stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the hardwood. “You don’t get to just walk away, Christopher. You have responsibilities. You have a name to uphold—"

“I am upholding it,” I cut in. “By not becoming you.”

His jaw clenched, his hands planted on the edge of the desk. “So what, you’re going to run off and play house with that girl? Throw away everything we built—"

“You mean everything you built,” I said coolly. “All I ever did was try to make you proud. But I’m not doing this for you anymore.”

His voice rose. “You’re making a fucking mistake. You think you’re strong enough to start from scratch? You’ll come crawling back in a month.”

I didn’t flinch. “Then I guess we’ll find out.”

He scoffed and turned away, pacing to the window. “You’re throwing away your future over a phase.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, calm but firm. “I have more than enough right now. I’ve saved up. And the training camp starts in July, so I’ll be gone to L.A. for the summer anyway. I’ll start over. I’ll get my own place.”

My father’s face dropped, the color draining from it.

“Chris, don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, straightening in his chair like that would somehow put him back in control. “You’re not thinking clearly. This is—this is just a phase. A bad week. You don’t get to throw away your future over—”

“I’m not throwing it away,” I cut in, voice sharp.

“You don’t even know what that future looks like,” he hissed. “You’re acting like a child—this is impulsive, emotional. And over what? Her?”

I didn’t answer. That silence said everything he needed to know.

“Chris.” He stood now, circling the desk, panic setting into his voice. “We can fix this. I’ll handle the board. You don’t need to move out—just take a week, breathe—”

“No,” I said, standing too. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving out by the end of the month. After graduation, I’m done.”

“Don’t do this, son,” he said, voice low, almost pleading. “You walk away now, and you’re walking away from everything we built. From what I gave you.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Maybe that’s the problem. You gave it to me. I never got to choose it.”

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He looked... stunned. Like for the first time, he saw me not as a piece in his plan, but as someone who could actually walk away.

I walked to the door.

“I’ll send my assistant to handle the logistics,” I said without turning back. “And I’ll be gone by the 30th.”

And with that, I walked out.

It didn’t feel like a victory, but it felt like the right thing in some ways.

The drive back to Vivianne Hall was long and heavy, but oddly freeing. With every passing mile, it felt like I was slowly unshackling myself from years of silent expectations and unwanted responsibilities. Walking away from the family business should’ve felt like failure, but it didn’t. For the first time in my life, it felt like a choice. Like I finally had room to breathe, to figure out who I was without the weight of a legacy pressing on my back.

It was nearly an hour later when I pulled into the student lot, parking outside the dorm building. The sun was already dipping past the skyline, casting a deep orange hue across campus. I stepped out, shut the car door with more force than needed, and ran a hand down my face.

I didn’t say much to anyone as I headed inside. A couple of guys from my floor nodded at me in the hallway, and I offered a quick nod back, but I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. My mind was still spinning with the conversation from earlier, the look on my father’s face—panic, disbelief, desperation.

I unlocked my door and stepped into the quiet room. It smelled like my cologne and clean laundry. Familiar. Safe. I tugged off the button-up shirt I’d worn to that damn meeting, tossing it over a chair, and changed into a black tank top and basketball shorts. My body was tense, energy humming under my skin like a fuse waiting to blow.

I needed to move.

Grabbing my ball from the corner, I headed back down, out into the cool evening air. The court behind the dorms was mostly empty—just one guy shooting hoops who left a few minutes after I arrived. Perfect.

I dribbled a few times, then launched the ball toward the rim. Missed. I cursed under my breath, caught the rebound, and tried again. I kept going—shot after shot, cut after pivot—until my chest burned and sweat clung to my skin.

All I could think about was the way my father had looked at me when I said I was leaving. Like I was throwing everything away. Like, I was insane.

But I wasn’t.

I glanced up, my eyes instinctively drawn to the windows of the female dorms across the courtyard. A part of me—it was stupid, really—wanted to go see her. Just to talk. Just to see her face and maybe hear her voice. But I stayed rooted. I’d barely had time to breathe since getting back. For now, I just wanted the quiet, the rhythm of the court, the space to think.

A cool breeze swept across my arms, and I paused, tilting my head at the sky. One fat raindrop landed on my forearm, followed by another. The clouds were rolling in fast, dark, and heavy. Typical Boston.

Still, I kept going. The court was slick in some spots, but I adjusted my grip and pushed through, weaving between invisible defenders, the ball thudding steadily beneath my palm. My body moved on instinct, muscle memory keeping me grounded while my mind spiraled with all the upcoming changes.

I chased the ball, letting it bounce once before I went to catch it— But it never reached me.

A hand snatched it mid-air.

“Who the fuck you tryna impress right now?” a familiar voice drawled.

I turned, chest heaving, sweat dripping down the back of my neck. Tucker stood a few feet away, casually spinning the ball on his finger like he hadn’t just ghosted practice all week.

Of course.

I straightened. “Didn’t know you still played for this team.”

He grinned, all teeth and attitude. “Had better shit to do.”

I held out my hand. “Ball.”

To my surprise, he tossed it hard. I caught it with a thud to my chest.

“Are you here to argue with me about the ball shit again?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, thinking back to his rant from yesterday—how I didn’t pass, how I “froze him out.”

Tucker gave a low chuckle, shaking his head like I was amusing. “Nah,” he said, voice smooth, “although you do need to fix your attitude with that shit.”

I didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at him.

He grabbed another ball from the rack and started dribbling beside me, the rhythm of the bounce quick and erratic.

“You here to improve?” I asked, voice dipped in sarcasm as I flicked the ball behind my back. “Because I hate to break it to you, man, but it’s a little late to get good. Season’s over in a few weeks.”

Tucker snorted. “I’ve always been good, Chris.”

I scoffed—laughed, even. “Right.”

He kept dribbling, jaw tightening just a little.

“Just because we’re not all getting drafted doesn’t mean we’re not good,” he snapped. “Not everyone has your golden boy complex.”

I stopped dribbling, turning to face him fully now. “I never said that.” I leaned in a fraction. “But you? You’re just not good, Tucker. And that’s alright. Everyone’s got a role to play.”

His eyes narrowed, the smirk slipping from his face. “You’ve always had a stick up your ass, you know that?”

I raised a brow. “You came out here to give me career advice or kiss it?”

He stepped closer, chest puffed, ball tucked under his arm. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

That made me pause.

I tilted my head, genuinely confused. “My problem with you?” I repeated. “Tucker, you’ve been on my ass since day one.”

“Yeah?” he said, biting the words. “Maybe because you started fucking my girl.”

I blinked. Once.

Then I let out a breath of disbelief and actually laughed. “You’re talking about Jules?”

He didn’t answer. His glare was enough.

I took a step back, shaking my head. “She was never your girl, Tucker. Hell, she never even talked about you.”

His jaw clenched. “We dated for a year, and we had a thing.”

“Yeah. A thing. Past tense,” I said, letting my voice go low and sharp. “She got over it. You didn’t.”

He shoved me chest to chest.

“You think she cares about you? You think she’ll be there when you're not drafted, when the pressure gets to your perfect little head?”

I didn’t flinch. Just stared him down.

“You think saying her name is gonna make you look harder, tougher? All it does is prove one thing, Tucker—” I leaned in, eyes locked with his. “You’re still pissed she left you and chose me over whatever the hell you were.”

His hands balled into fists at his sides, shoulders tight like a spring about to snap.

“She was mine first,” he spat, venom lacing every word.

I tilted my head, blinking slowly like I hadn’t heard him right. “Mine? That’s how you talk about her?” I said, my voice low, steady. “Like she’s some toy you lost?”

“She was mine,” he snapped. “You knew that.”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking my head. “She broke up with you, Tucker. You don’t get to claim someone just because you had them first. That’s not how it works.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between us, eyes wild. “Doesn’t mean you had the right to go after her like that.”

My brows lifted. “What, after you made her cry every other day?”

His jaw clenched, and I could see the blood boiling behind his eyes.

“You cheated on her, Tucker,” I continued, louder now, the heat rising in my own chest. “For months. You ran around with anything in a tight dress while she was still with you, like you were worth something.”

He flinched at that—just slightly—but he masked it with a scoff.

Tucker’s mouth curled into a smug grin, the kind that screamed insecurity masked as arrogance. He stepped even closer, eyes sharp and glittering with something dangerous.

“She’ll come back to me,” he said confidently, like it was a fact. “You think you mean something? You’re just the guy she ran to when she needed a distraction.”

I let out a slow exhale through my nose, shaking my head once. “Okay. Sure,” I muttered, deadpan. I didn’t even give him the satisfaction of a real reaction.

But that set him off.

“You need to stop talking like that,” he snapped, pointing at me now. “Like you know everything. Like you’ve got it all figured out.”

I didn’t even look at him. I turned, casually walking over to grab my water bottle from the bench nearby. “Then stop listening,” I said flatly.

He followed behind. “Nah. You don’t get to act like that. Like you didn’t snake your way into her bed while I was still with her.”

At that, I stopped moving. I turned slowly, jaw tight.

“Watch it.”

Tucker laughed under his breath, and then his smile shifted into something uglier. “Why? You gonna cry? You mad cause I had her first? I know exactly what gets her going, man. That little noise she makes when you’re—”

I stepped toward him so fast, he barely had time to finish the sentence. “Shut your mouth.”

But he didn’t.

“Oh, what? You think you’re the only one who knows how to touch her? Hell, Jules begged for it, man. Always pretending to be good, but the second I got her alone—”

I shoved him hard.

First of all, I was fully aware he was lying. He didn’t know shit about Jules in that sense. She’s told me that she hated the one time she did it with him. Now this dumbass Tucker is acting like he didn’t expose their whole non-existent intimacy life at the beginning of the year.

He stumbled back a step but grinned, wiping the corner of his mouth like I’d already hit him. “There it is. That temper. Just like Jules said—you get all intense when you care too much.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I warned. My voice was no longer calm—it was strained, like I was holding something down that wanted to explode.

“You know she only went to you because she felt sorry for you, right?” Tucker went on, tilting his head mockingly. “Her little project. Poor Chris. Let me fix him.”

I clenched my fists, trying to breathe through it.

“You’re full of shit.”

Tucker staggered back a few steps from the punch, blood already smearing at the corner of his mouth. But the bastard was smiling. Grinning like he liked it. Like he’d been waiting for this.

He wiped the blood with the back of his hand, looked at it, and then up at me with a gleam in his eyes. “That's all you got?”

I didn’t respond—I was breathing hard, fists still clenched, every part of me thrumming with anger. I could’ve walked away right then. I should’ve.

But then he opened his damn mouth again.

“You act like she’s some prize,” Tucker sneered, voice venomous. “Like she’s different. But Jules? She's just another pretty face with a nice ass. You think you’re special ‘cause she moaned your name once?”

I saw red.

“Every time you’re with her, remember that you’re just getting my leftovers.” He stepped forward, deliberately, inching into my space again. “You know what she looks like under those tight little clothes? I do too. Every inch of her. And she loved it.”

Another lie, she did not love it.

My breath hitched—chest rising and falling rapidly. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.

Tucker wasn’t done.

“You think she picked you? She settled. Settled for the sad boy with the nice eyes,” he spat. “She likes broken things, remember? You’re her charity case. Nothing more.”

He laughed again. “She was always mine. And I’ll have her again. You? You’re just keeping the seat warm. The second I get her alone, I’ll fuck her so hard she’ll forget you ever—”

That was it, I lunged.

My fist collided with his jaw again, harder this time. He reeled back, but this time, he came at me swinging too. His fist clipped the side of my cheekbone, but I didn’t care. I swung again—caught him in the ribs, then the stomach, then another uppercut to his jaw.

Blood. Grunting. Skin slamming into skin.

“Don’t you ever—ever—talk about her like that,” I growled between hits, my voice guttural and wild.

He shoved me back, panting and bloody, then spat out, “I’ll talk about her however I want. Jules loved being mine.”

Was this guy slow?

I tackled him, both of us crashing onto the court floor, fists flying. He hit me again—I felt it this time, a sharp pain to my jaw—but I barely flinched. I grabbed his shirt, slammed him down, and kept hitting.

I was still yelling. “Say her name again—say her name again!” My voice cracked, raw with rage. “You don’t deserve to say her name, you piece of shit!”

The sky cracked open.

The first droplet hit the court with a soft pat—but within seconds, the rain came down in sheets. Cold and loud.

But neither of us stopped.

Tucker grunted and swung wildly, connecting with my jaw. My head snapped to the side, pain flaring white-hot across my cheek. I stumbled back, slipping slightly on the wet pavement, but caught myself before I could fall.

The rain plastered my shirt to my chest, blurred my vision, and dripped down into my eyes. I wiped at it with the back of my hand, blinked—and then Tucker came at me again.

He tackled me.

We hit the court hard, my back slamming against the slick surface with a bone-jarring thud. But adrenaline numbed the pain. I grabbed his shirt, flipped us, and straddled him, fists raining down just like the sky above us.

Punch.

“You don’t get to talk about her.”

Punch.

“You don’t get to think about her.”

Punch.

“She was never yours.”

Tucker coughed, blood spurting from his mouth, painting the rain-slicked pavement. His eyes were dazed but still holding that smug glint, like he wasn’t taking any of this seriously. Like, I was just confirming everything he thought about me.

I grabbed his collar and yanked him up, our faces inches apart. My teeth clenched, chest heaving.

“You treated her like shit,” I spat, rain and blood dripping from my chin. “You don’t get to act like she meant something to you now. You threw her away.”

He coughed again and grinned, bloody teeth showing.

“She’ll crawl back. They always do.”

I slammed him back down. Hard. His head bounced off the pavement, and he let out a groan, the grin finally cracking.

Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a deep rumble of thunder.

The rain mixed with sweat and crimson, soaking through our clothes, washing the court in chaos. Every swing of my arm hurt. He fought back just as hard—elbowing my ribs, kneeing my side, pushing me back long enough to land a few more hits of his own.

My lip split. My cheek stung. My knuckles were raw.

I felt like all the anger I had was coming out at this moment.

Because this wasn’t just about Tucker. This was about everything. The past four months. The silence. The guilt. The hurt. Jules.

It was about losing her.

And he thought he had a right to speak her name like that.

Tucker collapsed against the chain-link fence, one eye nearly swollen shut, lip busted open. I stood a few feet away, bent at the waist, spitting blood onto the pavement.

The rain kept coming.

The squeal of tires cut through the rain.

A black SUV skidded to a stop at the edge of the court, headlights blazing through the downpour. I barely had time to register it before the doors swung open and a bunch of guys spilled out—some in team hoodies, some half-dressed, most of them soaked within seconds.

“Yo—Chris!”

It was Eli. He was the first one on the court, eyes wide, skidding slightly on the wet pavement. Two others followed closely. All of them were Tucker’s crew. My teammates, too, technically.

“Get off him, man!” Eli shouted, rushing toward me.

I didn’t move. My fists were still clenched, blood dripping from my knuckles. My chest heaved, and the look I gave him was feral, breath ragged.

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Eli shouted as he reached me, grabbing my shoulder. I yanked it away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

“Chris,” one of them said sharply. “Enough, man. You’re gonna get us all in shit.”

Suddenly—crack.

A fist slammed into the side of my face. I didn’t even see who threw it.

I stumbled, the world spinning. My knees hit the pavement first, followed by my palms, scraped raw again as I caught myself. Blood dripped from my mouth.

It was Eli.

“You done now, tough guy?” he sneered. “Fucking psycho.”

They were already pulling Tucker up off the ground. He could barely stand, leaning into Eli as they dragged him toward the car. He looked half-dead, lips busted, his eye swollen shut, but still grinning through it all like he’d won something. Like I hadn’t already beaten the shit out of him.

“C’mon—get in!” someone yelled from the car.

One by one, they piled in—still glaring at me, and then the SUV doors slammed.

Tires screeched. The car peeled away, red taillights slicing through the storm, and just like that, they were gone.

Leaving me bleeding, soaked to the bone, alone in the rain.

I got up, not letting myself look more pathetic than I did.

Every step hurt.

My face was on fire, my ribs ached like they’d been crushed, and my legs—fuck—my legs were barely holding me up.

Blood dripped from my jaw, mixing with the rain and sliding down my neck into my shirt, which was soaked and clinging to me like a second skin.

My knuckles throbbed with each pulse.

I was limping. Dragging one foot behind me as I made my way across campus. It was late. Probably past midnight. The walk back to the dorms felt like miles, even though I knew it wasn’t.

Every time my sneaker hit the pavement, it sent a sharp jolt up my leg, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

My ears were still ringing from the punch Jackson threw. My head was pounding, both from the fight and from whatever the hell Tucker had said that pushed me over the edge.

I reached the dorm building, staggered up the two stairs to the front door, and reached into my hoodie pocket—

Empty.

I checked the other one.

Nothing.

My back pocket.

No. Fuck no—

I patted down every inch of myself, my hands shaking.

“Shit…” I breathed, already knowing.

I didn't have my fucking keycard.

I turned to the door and pressed my forehead against the glass, eyes burning.

“Fuck!” I slammed my hand into the metal frame. “Fuck.”

The rain was still coming down, cold and ruthless, and now I was stuck out here.

I spun around and forced my legs to start moving again—this time back toward the court.

Each step back was worse. Slower.

The fight was replaying in my head, again and again. His words. My fists. Jules’ name was spat out of his disgusting mouth like she was just some object to fight over.

My stomach turned.

By the time I got back to the court, it was darker than before. Only one streetlight was flickering at the far end, casting a sick yellow hue over the wet asphalt.

I crouched slowly—pain flaring through my side—and started feeling around the ground. My fingers skimmed over leaves, soaked wrappers, and the occasional coin.

No card.

I limped to the other end of the court. Nothing. I retraced every step. Searched the patch of grass near the bench where I’d first dropped Tucker.

Still nothing.

I was soaked through and freezing.

My throat was tight.

I couldn’t tell if it was from the yelling or if I was about to lose it.

Get it together, I told myself. You’re not gonna break down in the middle of a damn basketball court.

But still, I stood there—drenched, bleeding, and alone—staring down at the cracked pavement like the ground itself had swallowed it whole.

I stood there for another minute, just breathing.

Soaked. Bloody. Empty-handed.

I've never felt so alone.

I checked my pockets again out of sheer desperation, already knowing that damn keycard wasn’t magically going to appear.

Nothing.

I looked up at the sky as the rain pelted down harder. Like it had some kind of personal vendetta.

“Cool,” I muttered under my breath, my voice hoarse. "Cool"

And then it hit me. My brothers weren’t here. They weren’t even on campus tonight. They were on a shitting cabin trip, which I refused to go on.

I was completely on my own.

No brothers. No keycard. No backup. I couldn’t go get a new keycard till morning.

The cold wind bit at my skin as I stood there, staring blankly at the empty sidewalk ahead. For a split second, I considered just crashing at the court. But my body wasn’t going to let that happen—I could barely stand as it was.

I looked around like something would magically solve this. Then—

My eyes landed on the dorm buildings across the quad.

The girls’ dorms.

And my chest did this weird, painful squeeze.

It was a long shot.

A terrible, humiliating, last-resort kind of shot.

But it was the only one I had.

One person.

One door, I might have a chance of her not slamming it in my face.

I swallowed hard, rain dripping from my jaw as I stared up.

Fuck it.

I started walking towards her dorm.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[ a/n: CLIFFHANGER AHAHAH. next chapter about so be gooood :) Like and reblog! mwah] - ceyana

@mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @mattsdivaa @wesj11 @headzgonewest @ilovesamgoldencoch @rlstarfiire @charmersturns @eden1217 @pair-of-pantaloons @beardedbernard @lilianasturnsz @tropicfessed @spookysturnz @matchaandmattlovi @franticroads @angelxsturns @iluvchr1s @naughtynotsorry69 @kenah-sturniolo

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

114 notes · View notes