So thats exactly what I do. I run. I run through campus all the way until I reach a path. It winds through the trees and goes on for miles. But I just run. Finally I turn around when the sun starts to set. I make it back by the time its dark. My phone reads 10:02. I ran for four hours and I am dead, defeated by the event and my method of coping.
((I would like to point out that running for 4 hours straight is, in fact, a very healthy way to deal with anger and sadness, as many turn to brownies and ice cream. Not that there is anything wrong with brownies and ice cream.))
I walk into my room and collapse on my bed. I'm exhausted. I focus on my breathing and try not to allow my brain to escape to the thoughts, I know I shoved away. I didn't even cry. You see, crying is a result of deep thought and consideration. I didn't think. I just ran.
I put my headphones in and play one of my favorite songs. It contains the lyrics, "life's too short to even care at all." I think about how true that is. I think about what the song says and how to me, it doesn't mean that you shouldn't care about anything.. But that you should only care about what you want to care about. That you shouldn't let meaningless or petty issues dictate the bountiful and peaceful life you wish to achieve. I think about life and all its paths and directions. I think about what I want to do with my life and how I want to make a difference and help people.
A knock on my door fills the silence and breaks my thoughts. I have no idea how long I've been lying here, nor do I really give a flying fuck. But I sit up and walk to the door. Harry doesn't have any clue where my room is so him waiting on the other side is very illogical. But you know me, the queen of things that don't make sense. And there he is, standing outside my door on the best and worst night of my life, Harry Styles, ripped jeans and all.
"Eleanor." he says without expression.
"Don't bother," I speak in a barely audible whisper.
"You look different," he says. "You look nice."
"Glad you approve. But please get out," I say, barely enough energy to even mutter the words.
"Your nose is pierced. I like it," he says softly.
"Thanks.. Now leave," I say somehow gaining enough energy to shout a little.
"I just wanted to apologize," he says.
"You goddamned fucker," I scream. "You think I want to hear your apologies? You actually think you're even allowed to come in here and apologize? You're a dick, Harry! You're an asshole!" Exhausted by my rant, I sit on my bed with my head in my hands.
"You stopped responding," I say, defeated. "You could have told me you found someone else. You could have ended it. But you..... you just stopped responding."
He keeps staring at the ground like the insincere, heartless man he is.
"Look. I know we were barely even together. I mean we weren't in a relationship. But you made me feel alive, I felt like I was really me with you. I fucking loved being around you, okay? So I'm hurt. I'm hurt because, although the time we spent together was minimal, my feelings weren't. And I just... I thought you felt something too," I say, finally admitting the truth to both myself and him.
