CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO ME

[CHARLOTTE HIRTH]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/oceanbreezebg.png); padding-bottom: 20px;] words // 739 // outfit // click // tagged // porter middleton aka royal boy with a coin, T H E N M A K I N G A W I S H , A N D T O S S E D I N T H E S E A It had been a couple of days since the incident. He had been perfect, stroking her hair and holding her close, but nothing was helping. She felt empty and it was all her fault. There was something wrong with her, something that needed to be fixing, but she didn’t know how. The doctor’s admitted to her, with their sad and depressed eyes, that there was nothing for them to do about what had happened and that they wished her the best of luck on future pregnancies. Fucking pricks. They knew nothing of her pain, of her suffering, no one did. People pretended they knew but they had no idea what it was like to have something you were taking care of ripped from your hands. Charlotte Hirth would have never let that happen to even her worst enemy. The feeling made her want to die, and right now, she was in a sense. She had originally refused to eat, but that hadn’t worked. The only thing she was allowing enter her body was pudding and ice cream, the fattening foods. Porter hadn’t said a word as she ate herself to death, and that was alright. Hell, she didn’t want him to say anything. She wanted him to leave her alone. She couldn’t stand the thought that he was angry at her. And he had to be; she had lost his child, a child they had both wanted. There had to be some bitterness towards her hidden beneath his thick layer of skin. So Charlotte had spent the last couple of days curled beneath the blankets in the bedroom, her eyes blankly looking at the tv when she was awake, and having nightmares when she was asleep. Alcohol had been her best friend, and she was sure there were bottles rolling around the once clean floor. Her hair was matted down with grease and she hadn’t changed, and she knew that she wasn’t pretty enough for Porter to want to venture into the bedroom. He had at first, making it very obvious that he was concerned, but he had stopped. She may not have wanted him around, but she needed him. She was grieving and she sensed that he didn’t care enough. Or was getting fed up. Rolling out of bed, she slowly made her way towards the shower, and she stood underneath the hot water. The water burned her skin, but she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything. After her long shower, in which she actually cleaned up, she put on a new pair of pajamas and glanced at the bed, the sheets already changed. Charlotte slowly made her way out of the bedroom for the first time in days, wanting a glass of water. Porter was nowhere to be found and she wanted to see him, to show that she was slowly getting better. But her mouth suddenly went dry as her eyes glanced at the bedroom next to hers. The yellow room made her heart break, but it was the fact that the room was empty that killed her. Tears poured out of her cheeks as she opened the door all the way, the door making a loud bang as it collided with the wall. She stood in the center of the room and screamed at the top of her lungs, her feet stomping on the floor. Charlotte stormed out of the room and found Porter concerned in the living room and went at him. She pushed him and shoved him and punched his chest, tears pouring out of her eyes. ”You emptied the room. Why did you empty the room? Who said you could?” she screeched before she stopped and her eyes glared into his skin. ”Why are you doing this to me?” Honestly, she knew he was trying to help. But there was so much frustration and anger that she needed to take it out on someone that loved her. And Porter loved her and needed to take her anger. But the voice inside her brain was telling her that he would yell back, that he wouldn’t back down. She wanted this baby and didn’t want anything to change. He wasn’t supposed to empty the room. Fuck the healing process. Fuck it to the tenth circle of hell. There was supposed to be a crib and clothes and toys for a baby that would never be. God, she hated him so much right now. notes // watching cake boss haha

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TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY IRON & WINE

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[PORTER MIDDLETON]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #343434; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #af9390 solid; border-bottom: 10px #af9390 solid;] repair your broken wings ( WORDS ) 1246 ( TAGGED ) CHARLOTTE / THE AMAZING JESSIEKINS ( STATUS ) COMPLETE for the first time since he and charlotte were engaged the first time, porter needed something to drink. in paris, they had had it all: long nights spent sleeping together and rolling under the sheets, walks out to the eiffel tower. even when they found out charlotte was pregnant, they'd still had as much fun as porter could imagine. now, charlotte wasn't pregnant anymore, and, now, she no longer wanted him. taking a long drink from his bourbon, he sat on the couch staring numbly at the television. charlotte hadn't been out of her bedroom in days. he'd been sleeping on couch, and she hadn't even noticed. in his mind - no longer in the back as the thought had once been, but it had been promoted to the front of his thoughts - he knew she'd only been happy with him when there had been a baby involved. she couldn't forgive him for what had happened with her best friend, and it was still there in her mind. that bandage over the wound had been torn off when the baby died, and now she hated him all over again. still, porter stayed. he didn't want to leave her. even in her wretched state, always confined the bed unless she was in the bathroom, she was a drug to him, and he needed her still. perhaps it was because he felt he was losing her by the minute, not only into depression but he worried that the moment she awoke from her stupor, she would realize she had never loved him. porter took another drink. his head hurt now unless he had at least two drinks in him: he had been drinking for that long. he'd been suspended in a state between a hangover and inebriated since he'd brought charlotte home from the hospital. he'd finally told his father off just to lose her. he couldn't win for losing, and he despised himself. he could find reasons all day long why what had happened was his fault. in the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't his fault, that it was the fault of some inherited defect he didn't understand, but the guilt he felt overpowered reason. if he hadn't slept with so many women over the years... if he hadn't agreed to do a sex tape that one time... if he hadn't betrayed charlotte with svetlana... if he hadn't done many things, maybe his luck could be better. maybe then charlotte wouldn't be an innocent bystander to fate's murder on his hopes and dreams. she wouldn't be a casualty to his inner war. so deep was he in his thoughts that he didn't even notice charlotte leaving her bedroom for the first time in weeks. it wasn't until he heard an earsplitting scream that drove him up onto his feet that he realized she was awake. his brow drew down in consternation and confusion. was she having some sort of breakdown or panic attack? how much more could they handle? but no, she was screaming about the nursery. a few days after they'd moved back into their loft apartment, porter had decided to get rid of it all. he couldn't bare to look at it; it drove him into a pit of despair almost as deep as charlotte's. ophelia had actually helped him, perhaps in a peace gesture since he'd told her to fuck off in the hospital, and then she'd left to complete some business, probably with his father. she'd been gone now for two weeks was it? porter had lost track of time as he'd sat on the couch in his funk, worrying about charlotte and where this life was going to lead them. suddenly, charlotte was coming for him, and he dumbly stood and took it as she hit him and shoved him and sobbed. he couldn't feel any of it. he was numb from the alcohol and his own emotional turmoil, and he hardly even realized the sun was rising and falling every day. however, when she screeched, asking him why he was doing 'this' to her, he snapped. fire flared through his mind, burning away the haze of alcohol - or perhaps fueled by it - and his ice blue eyes hardened as he glared down at her. grabbing her wrists, he stopped her from hitting him and he squeezed hard, not intending to hurt her but probably doing so as the anger took him over. "doing this to you?" he snapped in a dangerously low voice. all of that guilt that this all had to somehow be his fault, reared its ugly head and struck out. he'd been feeling so guilty for so long that now anger was covering it over, trying to push it away so he felt he had the upper hand again. "it's my fucking apartment; i can damn well throw something out if i want to." he released her, pushing her back roughly and walking past her, catching a glimpse of that same empty room as he walked for the kitchen. the pain from the loss of the baby, and imagining he was losing charlotte too, was too much for him to handle. as he reached the kitchen, his hand went out to the countertop and he caught himself, sucking in a deep breath to keep from crying himself. no, he would not cry in front of her. he was tired of her laying around in bed all the time while he floundered in self doubt and guilt, and he was fucking tired of trying to do something to help her and having it shoved back in his face like a flaming torch. wheeling around, he glared at her, his teeth clenching as all of that anger and rage built up inside of him. "the baby's dead, charlotte," he hissed, not caring how hurtful his words were. he was too far gone in anger to give a damn. "there is no baby, so there's no reason there should be a baby's room. if you don't want to live in this fucking apartment with just me, and no baby, then you can go somewhere else." turning his back to her, he went to the fridge and found a beer, but he found he no longer wanted it. he couldn't take this anymore. he couldn't take feeling like, at any moment, she would walk out of that bedroom and tell him she was done: that she had been done for months. he couldn't stand the idea of his drug being torn away from him as he'd been imagining for the past few weeks. but still, he was angry. although he knew anger wasn't the way to solve the problem, he couldn't help it. he was a victim to his own insecurities as badly as anyone else, and it made him furious to feel like a weakling. whirling, he hurled the beer bottle at the living room and the glass shattered with a bang and a splash as the liquid sprayed over the couch, glass shards littering the floor and furniture. he shook with the after effects of his actions, and his fists clenched as he saw the emotions in charlotte's eyes. he'd gone too far, and now he couldn't take it back. he couldn't take any of it back. closing his eyes, he tried to take deep breaths. "i can't be here anymore." wiping a hand over his face, he turned and walked for the door. oooo angry porter 8( bad porter *smacks hand*

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by maroon 5

[CHARLOTTE HIRTH]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; background-image: url(http://i583.photobucket.com/albums/ss279/legendskseeker/oceanbreezebg.png); padding-bottom: 20px;] words // 876 // outfit // click // tagged // porter middleton aka royal boy with a coin, T H E N M A K I N G A W I S H , A N D T O S S E D I N T H E S E A His hands grasped her wrists and she flinched at the pressure. Tears were pouring out of her eyes from the pain he was causing her, no longer from the pain in her heart. Well, he was hurting her emotionally, but all she could focus on was the pain growing from her wrists to her arms to her heart. As Charlotte brought her eyes back to Porter’s, her heart leaped in a way that wasn’t normal. Now he was scaring the shit out of her and she couldn’t tell why. Porter, she knew, was suffering as much as she was, only he was no longer crying. No, the stench coming off of him reminded her that he had been drinking his worries away and pretending as though nothing was wrong. But Charlotte kept her head high and forced back the tears threatening to escape. Her eyes stared into his and she flinched as he spit out cruel words. ”I wasn’t aware that you were the king of the world” she hissed back before being pushed away roughly. The wall behind her came in contact and she flinched at the force, wondering if Porter had any idea of what he was doing right now. She stood away from him, knowing that everything was supposed to get fixed. He would come to his sense and apologize, just like he had done in Paris all those weeks ago. Porter loved her, deep down behind this drunk stupor, and she knew that. But he was treating her like nothing, and that was what she couldn’t stand. She was something and she had spent the majority of her life being told she was nothing. Porter had thought she was perfect and here he was, attacking her as though she was another one of his sluts from the past. No, she was Charlotte Hirth, and she was not going to allow anyone to treat her like shit. That much was for sure, and Porter was the person who would get shit served back. Her eyes flinched at his harsh and rage filled words. The baby was dead and he blamed her and this was what happened when she walked out of the bedroom. If she had just stayed in her room for the rest of her pitiful life, this conversation would never happen. Charlotte walked up to him and looked at him, her eyes boring into his. ”Well thanks for bring that to my fucking attention, asshole. I thought my heart had broken because I didn’t get a Mercedes for Christmas. “ she hissed, her eyes filled with anger. A spark that had been buried beneath her was slowly exploding towards Porter and he would now have to deal with the anger. But her heart began to break as she heard the rest of the words exiting out of his mouth. ”Do you really think I don’t love you?” she whispered, her hand stroking his cheek. ”I love you so much and I hate knowing that I’m the reason we can’t have a family. I know that’s why you hate me and can’t stand me and I’m so sorry” she whispered, tears forming in her eyes but she refused to cry. No more crying. If she was hurting, she needed to help Porter understand why. She had never wanted to admit the real reason why she was in her room all the time; she didn’t want him to hate her. The baby was all her doing and all her fault that it no longer was growing inside of her. It was her fault that she had a disease that made him hate her, and just being able to give a vague outline to her pain made her feel as though they could fix everything. He turned away from her and her brown eyes followed him to the fridge, wondering if the conversation was over. She leaned against the wall behind her and watched him closely. A short scream escaped her lips as the glass bottle exploded behind her. Her eyes shut in shock and she watched him watch her. Charlotte was scared but took a step towards him, trying to reach him, trying to love him. But she watched him walk farther away and Charlotte ran and grasped his arm tightly. ”You can’t leave me. Please Porter, please don’t leave me” the last words came out as a whisper and she felt her eyes pleading with him, begging him to never leave her. Not now, not when she was at her weakest point. But Charlotte knew he would and never come back once he left. She knew that. Porter couldn’t love her after everything that had happened. He would find a prettier girl and mention the Charlotte phase, where she had been his drug and nonsense. But he was over her and he had never been happier. And then, just like in all the cliché movies, Porter would drive into the sunset and pretend that nothing was wrong with his past life. That was how he was and that was how it would be. Charlotte would forever be alone, in control over a powerful empire that would mean nothing because she would have no one else in her life to share it with. notes // babysitting. these kids aren't killing anything haha.

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TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY IRON & WINE

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[PORTER MIDDLETON]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; background-color: #343434; padding:20px; border-top: 10px #af9390 solid; border-bottom: 10px #af9390 solid;] repair your broken wings ( WORDS ) 922 ( TAGGED ) CHARLOTTE / THE AMAZING JESSIEKINS ( STATUS ) COMPLETE porter had heard once that love and hate were two sides of the same emotion. he had never been in love before charlotte, had never believed in love before charlotte, so perhaps he had never truly hated anyone. but the pain in his chest, in his head, in his heart, was so utterly mind-numbing that he couldn't imagine anything worse. a physical injury would be paradise compared to this. the hangover did nothing to touch it. the drinking only numbed his mind long enough that he couldn't think clearly enough to remember why he was so upset. no, nothing could heal this. he had loved charlotte deeply, and now, as she screamed at him and hit him, he hated her. his words were so much harsher than he'd intended them to be, and as he saw the pain blossom over her face as his words hit her, he wished he could take them back. but he couldn't. he could never take back those words as they lashed out at her, striking her a blow he could never heal. he felt impotent to help her, and that's where his anger stemmed from, in addition to his guilt. he was angry that, for once in his life, he couldn't fix something just by willing it to be fixed or by throwing money at it. his love life had never been something that needed mending since it had never been anything serious, and he didn't know how to handle what he was feeling and what she was feeling. he didn't hate her after all. he hated himself, and he knew it, but it was so much easier to direct his anger outward than it was to admit it was him all along who had been the bad guy. so he threw his words at her like burning darts and he pitched the beer bottle against the wall, wishing even as he acted that he could just hurt himself as equally. he wanted some sort of visceral pain that he could understand instead of this empty, aching, burning pain he felt all over his insides. turning away from her, confessing he couldn't be here any longer, he heard her voice pleading with him as a small sort of conscience nagging at him. it made him angry to hear her voice so full of emotion after she'd just been screaming at him, hating him, but it also melted something within him. suddenly, he felt exhausted, drained of all emotion and feeling. he had been feeling simply too much since they had gotten officially engaged and found out they were going to have a baby and then had lost the baby. it was too much for him - a man who was used to feeling nothing other than the physical, temporary pleasures life provided him - to handle. and now, as he paused at the door with his hand on the knob, he heard that voice and his pride was the only thing left standing. he couldn't turn back and stay with her now. he just couldn't. he had just done some of the most heinous things a man could do to the woman he loved, and he couldn't just turn around and pretend that he was the type of man who was worthy of comforting her. he had physically hurt her when he'd grabbed her wrists - he saw it in her eyes before he shoved her away - and he had scared her and humiliated her with the thrown bottle and his hateful words. "i can't..." he replied, his voice low and barely a whisper that escaped from his lips. he turned slightly, almost as if to face her, but he couldn't. he couldn't see her face. the shame and the pride he felt wouldn't allow it. maybe soon, maybe in an hour or in a day, maybe then he could return and he could face her, but not now. the alcohol in his blood fizzled and made him feel groggy and misplaced, and the exhaustion from the emotions drained him of his will. he felt like his father had just stomped all over him all over again. andrew was the only person who had ever made him feel this... low. "i can't do this anymore," he admitted. he didn't explain that he meant he couldn't live in this wretched bubble of wretched recked emotions. he couldn't live knowing she hated him and didn't want to come out of the bedroom for fear she would see his face and want to end it all over again. slowly, he turned sideways so only the profile of his face was visible to her. he still couldn't see that face, so twisted with pain because of him. "you don't have to pretend anymore, charlotte. you don't have to love me. i don't have to love you. there isn't a contract anymore. it's just us: two people with free will." he turned away from her, his chest feeling as if it was going to split open as he leaned his head against the door and took a shuddering breath. "you can leave my grandmother's ring in the kitchen," he managed, almost choking on the stupid, weak tears and the pain of the words. opening the door, he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him. he couldn't face it. he couldn't face her no longer loving him and seeing that pain because he'd caused her so much hurt in the short amount of time they'd known one another. *whimper*

table by CALIFORNIA DREAMING of CAUTION 2.0, lyrics by maroon 5