Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 63 - Harry

                                                                 63.  

                                                            ●•Harry•●

The thing is, that night I did have to skip uni since I received a call from my mom around 7pm, telling me she was planning a surprise party for Charlie and yelling at me for not having remembered it was her birthday at all. Again.

It was not my fault, though, considering that lately I’ve been ridiculously busy and too over the moon to even recall mine.

I still felt guilty, anyways, because Charlie was probably the one person that every single year, on my birthday, found some time to go to the store – if it happened to be on weekdays, obviously – with a pathetically cute cupcake and a small candle topping it. She’d sing me happy birthday before handing me the wrapped package and excusing herself because she had things to do.

And yet, every year, I forgot about her birthday, usually going to her place late at night with a recently bought bouquet of roses or heart-shaped chocolate and something she might’ve mentioned a couple of times she wanted, and she smiled as if it was the best thing ever, even when she had already bought herself the same thing I gave her. And she did never dare to mention that to me.

And the truth is, I really, truly, deeply feel sorry for her. Feel guilty, cruel and heartless, because she’s so good and such an amazing friend, so caring and sweet, and she’s in love with me when I couldn’t be feeling anything but pity for her, mostly. And that’s something she completely understands, even if I know she’s trying her best to change my mind.

Now it’s less possible than ever, if I’m honest. Because I have someone.

And as my mom kept yelling at me for being such a bad friend and things like that, saying I should be there before eight with something decent to her (she would never get over the thought of Charlie being perfect for me, therefore I “needed to treat her right, give her the best, because that’s what she always did for me”), I kept going back to lunch time that day; kept thinking about how natural and simple and perfect it was to be around Scarlett, how good she felt in my arms, and how briefly that hour had lasted.

I kept thinking of her piercing blue eyes staring at me challengingly, in disbelief, amusedly. Kept thinking of the several ways she could smile, always following the feelings she kept inside her eyes, her whole face showing just how much she enjoyed being with me. As much as I enjoyed being with her.

And that was it, basically. I was mad over her. Totally mad over her, so it didn’t really matter whatever my mother was complaining on the other side of the call. If you ask me, I won’t have a single clue of what she kept going on and on for something like half an hour. But then, after she finally hung up, I went out and started looking for something I could give Charlie.

I really hoped it went well.

It had finally started to snow, just lightly, white little flakes falling from the sky and compiling on the floor, crowding tiny spaces on the grass, barely heaving the treetops. It was still beautiful, though, the hazy sky, darker than usual, just really fuzzy and numb, cold wind blowing.  

And I was staring at it all from the back porch of my parents’ house, with a warm mug between both my hands; sipping it from time to time, wishing I could just have my guitar with me by now, because certainly that environment was a quite lot inspiring.

I was snapped out of my thoughts with a soft knock on the door, quickly turning my head to the side and spotting a shy head peaking out of it, blue eyes showing and a messy wavy hair put up in a bun. Charlie half smiled at me for a while, just then daring to ask, quietly: