The Only Exception | W2S

TWELVE.

"I know," I reassure her gently. "And I can't change how I reacted to everything, or how I shut all of you out, but I'm sorry. I was trying to protect myself," I admit meekly, hating how small and insecure I sounded.

After the breakup, I'd hidden myself. From nearly everyone, really. During our relationship, I was still living at home with my family. We'd split our time, I'd go over to the states to stay with him, and he would come back and stay with me. So, when our relationship broke down, I'd run away.

George and Arthur were both looking for a new place, and I'd arranged to move in with them both. I'd left early in the morning one day, and didn't tell my family where. I was barely even functioning as a human being during that time, and being at home just didn't feel achievable.

"I really love you, Holly. So do Mum and Dad. We're all glad you came back, even if it did take you over a year," Jess says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

"I promise I won't let it be that long again. I'm going to come down and visit more often, and you're welcome to come and visit me in London."

She looked impressed. "You're actually going to tell us where you're living?"

I give her a small playful punch on the arm. "Don't remind me, I know it was stupid."

"It doesn't matter anymore. You're home, you look healthy, and you finally look happy. That's all that matters."

The smell of lasagna wafted through the house as soon we opened the front door, alerting our parents that we were back.

"Is that lasagna I smell?" I ask aloud, kicking off my shoes as Henry raced off around the house.

"Course it is, you're back for one night, they're pulling out all the stops," Jess grinned, following me through to the kitchen.

"We're home," she announced, my mum opening a bottle of wine, and my dad behind the kitchen countertop.

"Ah, my girls! Nice walk? Henry might need a bath," mum chuckles, leaving the wine and coming over to fuss over me.

"Great. I forget how little scenery there is in London compared to home," I laugh, allowing my mum to fuss considering she hadn't seen me face to face in a year.

"That's why you should come home more often," my dad pipes up, playfully raising an eyebrow.

"I will try, I promise," I tell him truthfully. "Do you need any help in here?" I ask, although the table already seems to be set.

Mum shakes her head. "No, no. We've got it covered. Go upstairs and chill for a little bit, dinner will be ready in twenty minutes," she coaxes, and I don't need telling twice. The walk had tired me out.

"Alright. Call me down when it's ready," I say, trudging upstairs to my bedroom, which had been left exactly how it was when I'd moved to London.

My parents had taken the courtesy of removing anything relating to Matthew, for which I was grateful. Even now, a year later, the thought of seeing something that would explicitly remind me of him would be enough to send me into an emotional breakdown.

But even the room itself — it was covered from head to toe with memories of my time with him.

I had been sat on my windowsill, reading a book when I'd looked out of the window and spotted him in the garden, holding up a sign asking if I'd be his girlfriend.