justin bieber, Letterman, 2012

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

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

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

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

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

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