For Him - Shawn Mendes

rain that pours for ever and EVER

HANNAH

Outside it began to rain. Thunder struck in unpredictable patterns and clouds rolled over the moon.

My footsteps against the gravel made me angry; the textured surface restricting my speed. I didn't want to run, I wanted to sprint.

Water trickled down my cheek, the droplets falling messily into my mouth. My hair was wet from rain, but the droplets in my mouth were warm, salty and made my throat burn.

I reached the esplanade, the yellow streetlights welcoming the stone walkway. Beneath the eves I allowed myself to breathe, sheltered from the storm. My dress was soaked, the fabric clinging to my skin like a wetsuit.

"A dress in the middle of January!" A voice from behind me boomed, "Are you mad?"

I lifted my head, the familiar voice bringing me back to life. His lopsided smile entered my line of sight, eyes softened behind concern.

"Mhm," I hummed, embarrassed by my tears. I wiped furiously beneath my eyes, laughing with disbelief at the situation.

It's raining, he can't distinguish tears from rain.

"Are you crying?" His voice was coaxed with concern, "Hannah? We can talk about it?"

Greg slid his back against the glass behind us, his knees folding carefully to his chest. He motioned for me to do the same.

He didn't look me in the eye, but instead at the wild sea in front of us; white caps dancing carelessly over waves.

Shawn liked you, Hannah. You kissed him and he kissed you but you threw away your chance at him. Idiot.

I breathed out, allowing my heartbeat to return to normal. "My friend kissed his ex," I started, the words sounding scarily simple as they escaped my mouth. It didn't feel that simple.

"Your best friend? Shawn?" Greg asked.

I wasn't sure whether Shawn was my best friend or not. Though he was everything a best friend ought to be, the title seemed disrespectful to Nico. God, how I missed Nico.

But I nodded. "Yes, Shawn. And I shouldn't care, I mean, I've been here, what?" I paused, counting my weeks in Canada, "barely a month and I already like this boy."

"You like him?" Greg repeated, eyebrows raised with question.

Shrugging, I tried to change the subject. "But it's the fact that he kissed his ex. I mean, she cheated on him, left him for his best friend," I paused to wipe underneath my eyes with the palm of my hand, "she lied to the whole school about what really happened, slapped me, disappeared, and now she does this!"

Greg's lopsided smile faded, the glimmer in his eyes disappearing altogether as he turned to face me. "She slapped you?"

I bit my lip, my throat burning with dehydration. "Yeah. But it was a while ago. She apologised through Rayah a week later. Really, it's fine."

He could see the pleading in my eyes, the begging for him to change the subject. I missed Nico; the safety of our friendship something I seemed to take for granted. There were no secrets between us, no cheating and for so many years, no complications. And then I lied to him. Straight to his face. Maybe I deserved this.

"For what it's worth," Greg smiled, watching as droplets fell from the eves even after the rain had stopped, "Shawn asked where you'd gone."

I expected Greg to elaborate; for his lopsided smile to return as he'd tell me that they both meant well and that he didn't kiss her back and that he was on his way right now. Right this minute. But he didn't.

He got up, his dirty blonde hair disappearing underneath the hood of his sweater as he began walking back down the esplanade. I got up too, the clearance in weather giving me the freedom to leave. I didn't want to go home, but staring at the waves reminded me of just how far from home I really was.

SHAWN

31st of January, 2014.

I am not dead. I touch my fingers to my wrist, the quickening beat reassuring me. People around me laugh as I clamber from the pool, a soaked flannel dripping from my shoulders. My lips sting.

"Lauren made you wet, eh?"

I try to ignore his voice but I've known Lyall since I was little. His voice is so familiar to me; and words like this even more so. I want to scream.

I grumble at him, not emotionally stable enough to play his stupidity back. Not when I'm this mad. I push my way through the crowd that surrounds Lauren and I, and people move quickly, smug looks on their faces as they clear a path. I don't need to touch my face to know it's alight with fire. I'm fuming.

I want to believe Hannah didn't see, but every single person I ask tells me she's left. Anger throws itself at guilt and I have to lean against Vera's front door and check my pulse again to make sure I'm still breathing. This is not your fault.

I pull at the door, eyeing the puddle of water I've left at her front door as I stepoutside in a rush to avoid the faces of people around me. They're laughing, and for once I don't feel humiliated. I am used to this, which, as I'm running down Vera's driveway and turning left toward the beach, realise isn't something I should be proud of. No one should ever become accustomed to that. Ever.

I'm running and my already drenched clothes are layering themselves with rainwater. My legs are shaking and I have to stop beneath the tree at the end of Vera's street to breathe. I'm shaking, and it takes me a moment to realise I'm crying too.

Lauren made you wet, eh?

I try to tell myself that I don't care, that I made a mistake by going to this party and, as I squeeze my eyes together, salt stinging my eyelashes together, that I don't have time to be sorry. At least, not for myself.

For Hannah is another story, one that I seem to keep trying to avoid. But suddenly, with my stomach keeling over my legs in an attempt to steady my breath, I'm thinking of lyrics.

I don't have time to be sorry. I make my best mistakes.

And I'm running again, my feet squelching against the wet tarmac as I head away from the beach and toward the school, the river glimmering against the crescent moon. The path beside it is pitch black, but even through closed eyes I know the route better than I know the back of my own hand. Better than I know the chords I'm playing against my leg as I run.

C chord? I can't remember. But I do know that the minute I reach the cafe, dig my guitar out from behind the shed that sits at the edge of the clearing, and allow myself to burst with creativity, something will come.

We don't have to be ordinary, I jump a log, my feet landing softly on the other side of the long fallen tree, I make my best mistakes. Make your best mistakes? Your mistakes. Avoiding the hole on the edge of the river bank, I allow my wet feet to carry out a rhythm as I trudge along. I can see the lights of the cafe by now, the familiarity of the location sending a spike of warmth across my skin. We don't have the time to be sorry, so baby be the life of the party.

By the time I'm sitting with my guitar pressed to my wet fingers, I'm practically yelling. I'm going mad, I think, smiling hysterically at how my new lyrics echo through the trees, I'm truly going mad.

But I don't care because I'm ruling it. The chords are mine, ones that flow with the lyrics that I scream like it's this or death. It's music or death. I don't care that it's 12 am, and I don't care that I'm so soaking wet and that dried tears sting my cheeks. I almost don't care about Hannah, because I just fucking wrote a song.