"No. You always do this, I get angry, rightfully so and you tell me we should to talk, then we fuck, just cause you want us to and I forget that I was mad at you!" He said harshly, his words catching me off guard. It took me a second, standing there and looking at him with a confused frown in my face, but slowly I got their meaning.
"You're right." I said calmly. "You should leave. Just don't fucking come back."
****
I had done this a few times before. I had cried into my pillow until I felt like I had drained myself and fell asleep and I had cried in the mornings, while the shower echoed the silent tears that slid down my face. I had done the whole staring at the ceiling while lying on my be, unable and unwilling to react to the world around me, and I had also done that thing where you're standing in front of your closet and you suddenly need to sit down and give in to the hollow in your chest. I had done it, several times and it didn't seem to hurt any less. I wasn't getting any better at losing Harry.
Folding the last shirt, I finally looked at my closet. It was done, completely and absolutely done. The skirts were folded right next to the shirts and the nice clothes was hanging from their respective hangers, right above all of my shoes. My room was bigger than the one I had back in the dorm building and I even had my own bathroom. Being back home certainly had its advantages.
The only problem was that we lived 45 minutes to 1 hour away (if I was extremely lucky) from my school and my mom wasn't too fond of the idea of driving me every day into the city. I didn't drive, I had lived in the dorms ever since I was a freshman and Harry drove me whenever I needed it, so learning how to wasn't a priority of mine, but now, it was a nuisance.
"Oh, my God, we're gonna die!!!" My mom exclaimed as I tried to slow down when I turned right.
"Mom, you're making me more nervous!!" The car still felt too fast and loose, making me more anxious as I got my left foot ready to hit the break at any second. Right, not left, I should do these things with the right.
"Sweetie, you need to look at the road at all times!!"
"Well, yeah, I can't if you keep nagging me!!!" I groaned, rolling my eyes as I gripped the wheel a bit harder, my knuckles turning white at the effort.
When the car finally stopped, I sighed in relief, at least for a second. His house was right in front of us, the door slightly open as Anne got out of it and waved at us while Gemma got into her own car. I felt my heart rate increase by the million, the tears dwelling on my eyes as I took a big breath.
"Are you okay?" My mom asked me in a soft voice this time and I nodded, smiling tightly at her before I went back to look at his house.
"Yeah."
"You can always talk to him. You know that, right?" Yeah, right. He wasn't taking my calls or answering my texts. He had even spent the night out after our fight, even when I had let him know I was coming to his place to talk. So much for communication.
"Yes."
"Are you gonna do that?" She insisted, this time asking me from the outside of the car while she held the passenger door open.
"No." I took the key out of the ignition, sighing before I turned around to the box. His black hoodie was pocking out of it and I shoved it back, trying to stop the tears for actually sliding down my face. The box had everything Harry had left behind in my dorm, all the little things that had been lying around even after I had moved out of the building and that for some reason or the other I had kept to myself: His toothbrush and one of his rings, a couple of his shirts, his black hoodie and his notebook. It was nothing, really, not when you think of all of the shit I still had in his place. I was missing nail polishes, a case of fake eyelashes, my favorite eyeliner, skirts, panties, my The Book Thief copy, a couple of handbags, my econ book and God knows what else. I was missing half of my closet and most of my make up, which was ironic, considering that the reason of all of this was that I wouldn't move in with him.
Lesson- Part Twenty
Start from the beginning
