Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 29 - Tell Me That You're Sorry

I was getting good at reading Harry.

I could, at the minimum, tell when he was lying, and when he was not.

And he lied a lot. I think he thought he was doing it to protect me or something, but his lies did the opposite of that. And he was an idiot for not understanding that.

I could tell he was lying to me during our fight. He lied about not being able to do this anymore. He lied about not loving me. He lied about me being nothing more than a good fuck. He lied about it all.

But that didn't make his callous words hurt any less. He knew how to hurt me, and he didn't even attempt to hold back. And I didn't either.

I hated that I felt guilty for the things I said to him in return. He deserved it. He deserved my harsh words and he deserved to think that I meant it. But, I felt guilty and awful that I had hurt him just because he was pushing me away.

I should've tried harder. Tried to hold on—tried not to allow him to push me away. But, he was good at pushing people away, and he knew it.

I don't even think I was mad at him—I still wasn't. I was just disappointed. Disappointed that he didn't try harder. Disappointed that he was more afraid of whatever Marc had said to him than he was willing to trust me and tell me what was going on. Disappointed that he was willing to let everything we had built together—shared with each other—go to shit.

That didn't mean I had forgiven him, though. I knew he hadn't meant any of it, but I was just upset that he had even gone so far as to try to hurt me like that in the first place. He loved to self sabotage, but I don't think he realized that he wasn't the only victim to it.

It had been three days since our fight. We hadn't spoken or seen each other since. I had missed two days of practice, but I texted Sarah telling her that I was feeling sick, and couldn't make it. She had simply told me to feel better, and call if I needed anything. I knew she probably suspected something was up, but she was kind enough to leave me to initiate any conversation.

I knew I had to go back to practice soon—possibly even today, no matter how badly I didn't want to. I wouldn't let Harry and I's fight fuck this up for me. All I'd ever wanted to do was play bass professionally, and I refused to let that be taken away from me now that I had it. But I didn't feel ready to see him yet.

I was hurt, and I was terrified to look into those clear jade eyes again. I didn't know what I would find there.

Just because I knew he had been lying—pushing me away—didn't mean that he wouldn't stand by it. It didn't mean that we would get back together. And as much as I shouldn't want that—it was all I wanted. I would never stop wanting him.

So, there was no way that I was ready to look into those eyes again, knowing they didn't belong to my heart anymore.

But I didn't have much of a choice in seeing him if I wanted to stay in the band.

After I had left Harry, Gemma, and Anne standing in that hallway, I had rushed to my car—but I didn't start it. I didn't think I'd be able to drive without crashing. I had sat there with my forehead pressed to  the steering wheel and cried until I couldn't anymore. Cried until the skies turned pink, and my eyes turned red. I cried until I was numb.

Then, I started the engine and drove home in a daze. When I arrived, I dragged myself into the house, keeping Harry's borrowed shirt on, and crawled into bed with Margot. She had immediately woken up to scold me.

"Ugh, Stevie, it's way too fucking early," she mumbled, eyes still closed. I wrapped my arm around her waist, and buried my tear stained face against her back.