justin bieber, 2015

Even though you try, it’s obvious that you don’t suceed. The tears run down your already tear-stained cheeks as you clutch the covers even tighter to your body. You inwardly yelled at yourself - ashamed that you’re still crying. You don’t want to be, but you just can’t help it. Sniffling, you bury your face into the unan and this movement causes Justin’s familiar cologne to fill your nosestrils. You look over at his side of the kama and although you know what’s waiting - your puso still sinks when you notice it’s empty.

You and Justin had a huge fight and when you look back...

Straightening your dress, you look out the tinted window of the car. A small, almost inaudible sigh escapes your lips as you see just how many fans and reporters it is out there. You look up to the rear-view mirror when you hear your driver clear his throat.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Y/L/N. You look stunning tonight.” The driver, Mr. Rogers, smiles at you. Feeling a blush cover your cheeks, you pitaka your lips.

“Thank you, John.” You say softly, inhaling deeply just as another man opens your door.

Grabbing your purse, you plaster a smile on your face and get out of the car. Shouts and hollers...