Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Twenty-One

It was on the night that Bryon reported Harry's presence in London. I thought that after my abridged story of what went down between me and Harry, that he was going to drop the topic and put it past us like I had planned to do after that day. But a little later in the evening, an unknown number called me without a person speaking on the other line.

It was only after two hours later that I was given a name. Theo called me, completely inebriated, slurring his words. With music in the background, I could already tell he was in a pub. It was also after I had blocked his number and he called me using another one that made me conclude he was also the first nameless caller.

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"Vivien! I'm not stupid. I just thought I'd have the chance. Yo—you're lying. I know it. I can see it. You still like him. You two aren't just t—two people who know each other like you always say."

"Theo, please just go home. You're too intoxicated for this conversation we can talk again when you're better," I replied, shakily.

Even though his drunken state was anywhere near me, I felt scared. Cold ran through my body despite the thermostat set to around 80° and I was still in a sweater. He spoke in a throaty growl that vibrated throughout my body, making me feel weak.

"I like you Vivien. Fuck, I still like you," he said, frustration in every word. "And I don't understand. I don't understand how you're still hang up on that—that fucking popstar. You haven't talked to him in m—"

"Stop. Theo stop," I interrupted, fighting my stammer to sound firm. "You don't know him. You weren't with us. I have told you there was nothing going on—"

"No. NO!" he shouted. His deep voice thundered through the speaker. I don't like thunder. Like the crashing noise from the sky, he further frightened me, almost making me lose my grip on my phone. "Don't feed me the same shit please."

"Theo, I already made it clear ever since we met." I bit my lip, thoughts muddled while I figure out what to say next. "I've told you again and again. We're friends. That's all we can be. With or without Harry in the picture."

"Are you sure? I saw the way you looked when you found out he's in Lon—"

"Don't," I threatened, but with the way he is right now, I know he'd barely flinch at that. "Stop analyzing my face. Stop this, wh–whatever this is. You're drunk. You're just drunk."

He laughed with spite. His laughter was usually phlegmatic. This time, I couldn't even tell if it was his or a different wicked person's. "I'm drunk, but I'm not stupid Vivien."

"I don't like you, okay?" I raised my voice, forcing power over my agitation. I was scared, but I was also growing madder. Before this all blows up for us, I leave him an ultimatum, "Now stop this or you'll never see me again."

After that, I pressed the end button. I put my phone down. I got myself a glass of water, fighting the unsteadiness of my hands. On my bed, my phone buzzed endlessly. My fear was slowly overtaken by brimming anger as the ringtone repeated over and over again. I ran back to my bed and blocked his number.

I tolerate merely a minute of silence before incessant calls followed again. Another unknown number flashed on the screen. I answered it, and immediately, upon hearing the sound of party music, blocked it as well. I was done.

I did all that I could not to lead him on. I have been honest with him on where I stand in the kind of relationship we have. I guess it's my fault that I didn't really make sure whether he had grasped that or not. But it's all because he wasn't out of his skull drunk all the time. And he's smart.