for the most part - h.s.

Forgetting

I hated myself everyday for being so mean to him. I was going to apologize by calling, but I couldn't bring myself to do that, assuming he had deleted my phone number a long while ago. I had decided to just try and forget him, but that wasn't working. Every day I would find myself scrolling through his Instagram or Twitter feed, and I once came across his old pictures he had posted on Instagram from a long time ago. They didn't have very many likes, considering most girls didn't scroll to the very end of his pictures. As soon as I liked them management must has gotten ahold of his account and deleted all of his old photos. I was even in a few of them. Every time I thought of Harry I wanted to just run up to him and beg for forgiveness. And since Harry is the nicest person ever he'd forgive me. But since I know how much I hurt him I'd never forgive myself.

My fingers quickly exited out of his profile picture and the Twitter app before I could start looking through more of his posts. I opened my messages and clicked on mine and Gemma's messages. Entering in the letter quickly, soon my message was sent.

so why wasn't I informed Harry was coming home?

After a minute or two of me messing with my fingers, my phone's screen buzzed to life and Gemma's name popped up.

I didn't think it was important.

I rolled my eyes at her reply. I loved Gemma, but sometimes (most times) she was as annoying, if not worse, than Oliver. Gemma had gotten really popular since Harry auditioned, and although she didn't seem stuck up, she had been feeling a bit too important lately, especially with Harry's career taking off extraordinarily well. Nothing could ever change my love and respect for Gemma, but some days she really irritated me.

I see where Harry gets it.

As soon as I sent the message I knew I had gone too far for both of us to handle. I almost considered sending an apology, but then decided against it as I noticed my mother unlocking the front door. She would be on my arse about who I was texting as soon as she entered the house. I locked my phone screen as my mum walked into the sitting room where I had formerly sat myself.

"Hello Charlotte." Mum said as she came up behind me and placed a kiss atop my head. I looked over her perfectly prim and proper business suit and wondered how she would feel when she saw my lazy day outfit. Mum had a super "fancy" job at a printing company. She would talk to the clients about how they wanted their books to look and stuff like that. The worst part about that was that whenever we were talking, she would bring up the "how do you want this to end?" or "do you think other people will like that?" questions. I think that her being so strict and such a perfectionist was actually one of the reasons for Oliver's tattoos. He had "been at a friends house" which was code for "out getting tattoos and gauges". Let's just say he wasn't aloud to "go to a friends house" for a while.

"Mum." I acknowledged her by smiling. A knock was sounded at the door so I put my phone in my pocket and ran to the entryway before Oliver could get there first. Looking out the peephole, I saw Anne's familiar face on the other side. My face broke into a natural smile. Anne had always been like family to me, no matter what happened with Harry and I. As soon as I had opened the door Anne smiled and took me into an embrace.

"Hi Charlotte! Did Gemma tell you Harry was visiting?" She asked as we hugged. When she pulled away I led her into the kitchen where my mum and dad were sitting at the bench, waiting for us to enter.

"No, actually, I got to find out from a Twitter mention." I tried to smile to hide my slight discomfort at the fact that apparently Gemma had been supposed to tell me. Anne's smile faltered slightly, but I think I was the only one to notice. She just nodded and got to chatting away with mum. I went to lock the front door which I had forgotten to do when Anne had come in, and it was then I noticed Gemma sitting in their car. I wondered if I had irritated her with my earlier statement. She hadn't replied afterwards, but that might have just been because Anne and her were coming over for dinner, like they do almost every Sunday night. Sighing rather loudly, I decided to go talk to her.