Dearest Juliet (Harry Styles)

Twenty Three: Forgiveness

I groaned when I realized that I again wasn't going to sleep tonight. I hadn't slept in days, but this time it wasn't because of Juliet. Yes, I missed her more than I had in awhile, but it wasn't her this time. It was Andie.

The last image I had of her was stuck in my mind. Her knuckles had turned white from gripping onto the railing, and her big grey eyes were fixed on me. Her usually soft features where tight with grief, with her red lips slightly parted as if waiting for the words that would fix everything to come out of them. She was oblivious to the cold seeping through her bare feet, because she only wanted me to come back. She wanted to explain and tell me about how I should handle this. She would have had the perfect words for me too, but did I stay? No. I left in a fit of rage that wore off the next morning.

So, now I lie here on my bed with bloodshot eyes. All the anger turned into depression. I wasn't mad at Andie for surviving, and I wasn't mad at Juliet for dying either. I was just taken off guard and responded before I had time to process what I had just heard. So, I guess, I'm just mad at myself for acting on my emotions far too quickly.

 Andie is such a personal person. She has so many secrets, and I am the one she thought was worthy of knowing about her battles and her struggles. How did I repay her? By walking out.

That's why I replay her message one more time. In the voice-mail she left, of course, she was yelling at me, but I liked hearing it. I liked knowing that I didn't even phase her with my actions. She didn't call apologizing for nothing, because she was Andie and would never apologize for her story.

The voice-mail ended and I buried my head back into my pillow, trying again to fall asleep. I was almost there too, that place where the sense of reality is wearing thin, when a sharp knocking came to my ears. I jolted upright in surprise, looking wildly towards my bed room door as if looking there would solve all my questions. 

 Getting up, I rushed to the door where the incessant knocking was coming from to find Andie on the other end. She had on her black high tops and her part of her hair was in a stubby pony tail, so apparently this hadn't been a planned trip. What was more intriguing was the fact that she looking like steam could roll out of her ears like a dragon at any moment. 

"Hi." I said warily, trying not to anger it, but that didn't work, because she pushed against my chest which knocked me back a little.

"Okay so it's been like a week, Harry! A week, and you haven't called and said 'Hey I'm sorry, Andie. I'm sorry that I'm a big jerky dirtball!' You have all these things to make up to me and all you can say is Hi?!" She started slapping me, "For a moment I felt sorry about being me!" She snarled, "I don't like it when people make me feel bad about being WHO I AM AND DON'T APOLOGIZE! So I'm asking you, Mr. Styles, do you have anything to say to me?" 

I looked down at her for a moment in bewilderment before swallowing, "You're terrifying." I breathed with a small laugh, "I mean absolutely terrifying."

Her angry facade fell for a moment, but then she went straight back to her pursed lips and strained features. "That isn't what I wanted." 

I smiled at her and started poking at her sides which made her scream and laugh. I hated angry Andie, so I decided that I needed her to just be annoyed Andie. I liked annoyed Andie a whole lot better. 

"What did you want?" I asked playfully as I tickled her again.

"Stop!" She cried out. "Harry!"

She started laughing even though I knew she hated that she was. I knew she wanted to stay mad at me, but unfortunately for her, I knew she was ticklish.

"I'm sorry, okay! I'm sorry that I was a big jerky dirtball!" I yelled over her laughs. "Would you, please, forgive me!"

I stopped and let her catch her breath. She wrapped her arms around her waist protectively as I smiled a huge smile and waited for her answer. "No." She said.