Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 74 - Scarlett

As soon as I walked in, I felt the warmth of the heater hitting me, and instantly I felt like everything was a bit better. There were just the usual group of old men at the back table, so I went for the same stool I always sat in, and plopped up silently, putting my arms on the counter and hiding my head between them, pulling the beanie down my ears a bit more.

“And look who’s here,” a voice apparently directed towards me said, and I peered up slowly, watching as a pair of tired eyes stared blankly at me.

“Mr. Owen,” I nodded as a greeting, straightening myself on the stool and fumbling with my fingers, trying to fake a smile that quite failed.

“Kirsten,” he acknowledged, nodding as well, taking a seat on the stool next to mine. The old man looked as tired as ever, his age showing on every feature of his, every movement. He was dependant of his son, now, and I felt sorry for him being alone. Obviously because of my boyfriend. “Thought you’d know Zach’s traveling with Tyler.”

I shook my head in agreement, “I know,” I said simply, pulling the sleeves of my jacket until they covered my hands completely. “Not here for Zach, honestly. I just really like this place."

“Thank you,” Mr. Owen mumbled, but I could see he still didn’t like me. Honestly, I didn’t think it was something personal; just that he didn’t like Tyler at all. His son wasn’t an angel, he knew that; knew that Zach had been quite a troublemaker before he even met Tyler, but, well, Tyler deals with more dangerous stuff and Mr. Owen fears for his son. I understand him. “You’re gonna order something?” he asked then, offhandedly.

“French toast with whipped butter and maple syrup, thank you,” the words rolled out of my tongue naturally, and Mr. Owen left me with no further interrogatory and another plain nod of his head.

I went back to my previous position, hiding from the world in my own arms, trying to get rid of the image of Harry’s eyes on me earlier. What would he be doing now? Realizing he’d made the right decision; that I would probably be impossible to deal with forever? Would he be regretting sending me away? Would he be talking to the ceiling as if Meena was there next to him? The last one made me growl.

I was kind of a stubborn idiot, but that’s okay.

It’s not like I doubted he truly liked me; I could feel he did. I don’t think he would’ve done everything he did if he didn’t really feel like he liked me or something. But then, it might be an unconscious thing. He might’ve been looking for a girl for so long that the first one that didn’t throw herself to his feet was the one he would fight for. And the truth is: I just don’t want to have to hear later something like ‘Meena loved me better than you do’, or whatever the comparison between both of us.

I’m sick of people wanting me to be something I’m not, and I’m sick of failing at being what their imagination creates for me. The only problem is that the real me is absolutely annoying and impossible and people are just not ready to handle me. They never will.

Ugh. My existence is pure sh–t.

I stopped mulling over what happened (or almost) when I heard the plate being placed in front of me, and some other guy – obviously not Mr. Owen – murmured ‘enjoy it’ before fading back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and my food, and my insignificance.

There were days where I just absolutely hated everything.

Home was empty and silent and depressing, honestly, and when I stepped in, it didn’t even feel like home, anymore. The curtains of the living room were closed and it was starting to darken already, leaving me completely in dark and cold, lonelier that what I’d felt in so long.