If I Could Fly

X-factor

The silence from Harry came unexpectedly, and at first I'd thought nothing of it, had pinned it to his never-ending schedule, and reassured myself with assuming that he was busy.

He was, undoubtedly, very busy I'm sure, he flew through the first few rounds of x-factor, and before we knew it, he was into the finals.

It must have been very stressful.

By this point though, I'd become acutely aware that the 'busy' title had stopped covering it a fortnight ago, he'd stopped answering my phone calls altogether, hadn't replied to any of my texts in more than a week.
It had snowballed into something more- A vast, uncomfortable silence that spanned between the two of us, and I knew that it couldn't be as simple as a hectic schedule.

It was with shaking hands on a Sunday afternoon that I'd found out the x-factor results- something we'd originally vowed to do together, but that was before we were even in high school, back when everything was sure and blissfully uncomplicated.

Despite my obvious qualms, and oblivious to my better judgement, I still decide to watch it.
I can't bring myself not.

Knowing that I can't go through with it alone, I traipse my way over to Zayn's house.
He's a friend that I'd made at the skate park when I'd first arrived.
He lets me in without even questioning it, lets me slump into his sofa with salt and vinegar crisps and a litre of Pepsi.

When Harry comes third- so close, and yet so far from number 1- I feel deflated, and though I try, all I can focus on is my need to comfort him.
It's more than shit that I can't, shit that its all I can do to watch as the winner jumps up and down on the stage, elated, and pray that Harry isn't too devastated.

I thought he would win, I really did. He had so many fans backing him, even without my bias, and it's a real shock that he didn't.
He gives a little speech about how this wasn't the last we'd hear of him and to watch out for his name, and his eyes are glassy and his voice trembles.

All I want is to hug him.

Then I remind myself that he hasn't cared to contact me in weeks, and the bitter, cold feeling washes over me again.
I'm trying not to let it hurt, trying to see this through his eyes- he's probably just caught up in his dreams coming true.

It hurts that I'm obviously not a part of that. Hurts regardless of which way I look at it.

With that though, I shudder, and Zayn brings me into a tight hug, asking if there's anything I need, and I shake my head.
Zayn's not good at feelings, not particularly, but he knows enough about what's going on, and is protective enough to want the best for his friends.

Its nice to know that he has my back, and I reassure him once again that I'm fine before he traipses off to call the love of his own life and then I'm left staring at the adverts, caught up in my head.

I haven't even gone to my mom for advice on Harry yet, and I know its because some strange part of me wants to protect Harry from judgement.

I know what he's doing to me is shitty, and part of me does want my moms sympathy, but my mom doesn't take lightly to people who hurt her children, she's fierce and protective and isn't forgiving to those who do.
I think of him too highly to know that my mom disapproves.
I saw a long future with him. It would make it too real with my mom wanting him gone. Would hurt like a dagger to my heart.

I sit with my thoughts until Zayn distracts me by wondering into the lounge with his lovey-dovey mushiness on the phone with his boyfriend Liam.

It's sickening really, to have to watch without any distraction, especially with the shit storm that is my own heart, and being forced to watch how in love they are- that shit just hurts.

Currently, they're arguing over who's going to hang up first, and It's clear that this isn't going to end soon. I get up from my spot on the sofa and tell Zayn I'll be back (though I'm mostly sure he doesn't even hear it) and it's with a racing heart that I go into the kitchen, knowing full well that I shouldn't hover my finger over his contact number with hope in my heart.

I hate that I hesitate. Hate that my need to comfort him overrides all self-preservation.

The phone rings out.

"Hi, this is Harry, I'm sorry I couldn't come to the phone! Leave a message for me, and I'll get back soon."

The beep comes before I'm ready, an I almost hang up, not wanting to push him away somehow with my clinginess. 

"Hey Haz, it's me... Louis... erm... I just wanted to know how you're doing? Erm... so yeh... ring me back when you get a chance."

I hang up and my heart sinks some more. He's just busy right? I know deep down he's not.
I know him well enough to know that he's curled up on the sofa with a pile of blankets and a tub of cookie dough ice cream, most likely watching the notebook for the millionth time.
I'd usually be right next to him. I should be right there next to him, wish I was more than anything.

My only solace is that I have just 2 weeks left here, and then I can return home, hopefully go straight into my training to become a TA at the local primary school. I've started packing already, overexcited to get home.

~~~

I've had it.
I've officially had enough of Zaim and their fluffy shit. They're all over each other constantly, and I'm done with being the third wheel.
We're sitting at a table in the corner of the bar, and I've already downed 4 beers, desperate enough to get plastered when these two are together.

Depressed enough to need a break from my own head.

"You're leaking your PDA everywhere! Would you just get a fucking room!"
Ziam break apart their steamy little exchange, but only long enough for Zayn to tell me to "bog off" and "find someone else to cock-block" to which Liam tells Zayn to
"mind his language"
Zayn replies with
"make me" and I think you can just about imagine the rest.

With a heavy sigh I down the last sip of my beer and make my way over to the dance floor.
We came here to celebrate my second last day in America, and because I need to get plastered. The stress of Harry ignoring me and the final essay I have to write for my Aunt is getting a bit too much.

I leave in two days time, and I can't wait to be back on home ground. It feels like forever since I've seen my little sisters, and I bet they have a lot to tell me. They can talk for days normally, so I hate to know how much I'll be bombarded with when I get home.

I love them really, but they do talk my ear off. All this thinking isn't really helping though, and my song is blasting though my bones so I make my way into the crowd of sweating bodies and start dancing.

It's not long before a girl with hazel eyes and long brown hair starts grinding on me, batting her eyelashes and whispering lowly into my ear. We dance for a while longer and she offers to take me back to her house.
I decline but make sure to get her number, not drunk enough to forget that I need all the distraction I can get.

Once I have the girl- Eleanor- in my contacts I decide I've had enough for tonight and I make my way out of the club. On my way home though I get lonely, and I find that the alcohol gives me unneeded courage to talk to Harry.