Slade Wilder
I'm sick and tired of fighting each other The lying, the crying, the calling your mother The calling of names, I'm bothered and smothered We kiss and make up, get under the covers A dangerous cycle I don't understand The kicking and screaming, the breaking of limbs I'll be damned if I see you with some other man If I cannot have you, then nobody can
"Bitch." Slade growls under his breath before throwing the phone across the car in a fit of rage. "You'll come crawling back to me when you realize I'm the only one who can make you feel alive." His words are filled with a mix of arrogance and desperation as he grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening once again.
I drive until 5 in the morning, getting as far away as possible before having to pull over and go to sleep in the car.
The next morning, Slade wakes up with a pounding headache and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He glances at his phone, half-expecting to see an apology text from you but it remains stubbornly blank. With a bitter laugh, he decides to go back home to face whatever consequences may await him there. As he drives, he tries to push away the thoughts of you and focus on the music blaring through his stereo instead.