Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 74 - Scarlett

Note: I wrote this whilst listening to 'Half a Heart'. So if you wanna cry as I did just put it on replay while reading. Good luck. HA.

                                                                     74. 

                                                             ●•Scarlett•●

I’d been staring at his door for something like fifteen minutes now. It wasn’t like I was thinking of coming back, knowing he was as disappointed on me as I was, but I couldn’t make myself walk away, either. Just the thought of spending the next week all alone – without Harry’s caresses (all of them) – was terrifying, and I couldn’t quite let it go.

It hadn’t been exactly the best of the weeks, I must admit, but I couldn’t help myself. Since his confession, everything inside his flat seemed to hold much more of a meaning. It was like every single corner had a memory of his ex-girlfriend, even if there wasn’t anything particularly like her there.

When I looked at the piano, I thought of all the songs he’d written before he even met me; thought of him smiling at the sheets whilst writing something down just like he does now. And I’m not even sure which of the two of us he’s thinking about when he thinks of those lyrics and melodies. Sometimes he’d play them for me, and they just sounded so sweet and fragile, somehow, that I couldn’t help but think it wasn’t me, there. I’m not sweet. And I’m not fragile. Most of the time.

When I went to the kitchen, there it was, that girly mug, and one or another things that his friends probably gave him for just teasing, but still, made me think of Meena. And if I had that reaction, Harry certainly would, too. In the bathroom, there were a couple of perfume bottles hidden behind all of his, something I’d never noticed before, but now were screaming ‘hey, I’m still in love with the girl who died years ago and you’re just some distraction’.

In the back of his drawer, there was still the photograph and the ring – he hadn’t even bothered to get rid of those – so how was I supposed to believe he was really over her? Besides, there were a few of her clothes there; her parents probably gave them to Harry because he was so close to her since ever, and I don’t know. Most likely he still calls her parents once in a while to talk to them like old friends, just to have something of hers that’s still alive to hold on to.

During the whole week my head had been revolving around those little things all the time, and I knew – God, of course I knew – I’d been distant; I knew I had acted completely different with him, I knew I couldn’t touch him properly anymore, because damn! She’s all over his body. How was I supposed to ignore the memories inked to his skin? Was I supposed to look at the images and smile, like ‘oh okay. You were head over heels for her, but you got over her for me, so I’m satisfied’? Sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

Harry probably hated me right now; he was so sick of dealing with me. And I wanted, I really wanted to go back inside and fall to my knees, beg him for forgiveness, for him to understand, even though I probably wouldn’t give him any explanations because he would say I was insane; he wanted me, not her, or whatever, because, even if I was right, why would he admit it? He’d lose me, and the whole purpose of being with me, then, wouldn’t he?

He needed his time. So did I. And with that in mind, I finally gathered strength to turn around and walk down the steps to the street, being greeted with cold and more cold, again.

It was even colder, now.

It was even stupider of me to go to Zach’s dad’s old café, when Zach himself wasn’t there – he was usually the one whom I talked to when I had absolutely no one else, and now I had not even him, either – but still, I did so. The signboard had one of the letters completely black, and the other ones that still shone in red were blurred by the haze.