Hey lovely ladies (and gents) hope you enjoy! This one is going to be... well. I'll just let you read it. Please don't forget to show me a little love by voting. The song lyrics I quoted - well I really like the song, and I curiously watched the video clip. And well. Um. It's very interesting. Check it out because it is SCARY weird how similar certain aspects are x
"Light me up a cigarette, and put it in my mouth. You're the only one that wants me to die... I'm not yours anymore..."
I drum my fingernails impatiently upon the table top, patiently awaiting the return of my dinner guest Gemma. How long does it take to get a drink from the bar?
I check my reflection in my pocket mirror, until a purse is slammed on the table, breaking my thoughtful trance.
"Wow," I comment. "Someone's fired up." I laugh. "Did they get the gin to tonic ratio off, because I really expected more from this place."
"Ebony, we have to go. Let's just go somewhere else," she suggests, downing her wine in one. "Come on, get up," she orders, as she tries to pull my chair out.
"Are you out of your mind?" I ask, genuinely concerned. "Gem, I'm not going anywhere. My appetiser was fúcking delicious, and I've been waiting for this beetroot and walnut salad ever since I Googled the menu yesterday."
"Ebony," she repeats, eyes wide as she talks through clenched teeth. "Please. We can get take out, we just need to go. It's important."
What's gotten into her? Less than ten minutes ago we were betting over the sêxual orientation of our very attractive, and very gay waiter, and now she's turned into a complete lunatic. Eyes wild, arms flailing, attempting to try and convince me to leave this lovely teahouse.
"Not until you tell me why you want to go."
"I'll tell you once we leave, just please cooperate with me on this."
I don't know what makes me do this, but her insistency is enough to get me up, following her at almost a running pace to the entrance.
"This had better be good," I warn, downing the remnants of my drink. "And I want you to know how much self control that it took for me to leave this table."
"Problem, ladies?" our waiter enquires, spotting us at the register to pay without receiving our mains.
"Something's come up," I answer, smiling politely. "But everything else was great, thank you."
"Look... I don't normally do this," he replies, voice low so that only we can hear. "But you're stunning. Fancy a drink later on?"
"She's not interested," Gemma hastily answers for me, and simultaneously paying the bill. She grabs my arm, yanking me out the door and out of the fancy restaurant.
She's right - he's straight. It must have been the manicured fingernails that threw me off. Never trust a man with better fingernails than your own.
"Ouch," I exclaim, rubbing where she grabbed my arm. "I bruise like a peach you know!"
She doesn't say anything, but instead waves her arm in the air, hailing a nearby taxi down.
She speaks to the driver briefly, before turning to me expectantly.
"Oh no you don't," I state firmly. "I'm not going anywhere else with you until I start getting answers."
"Ebony, please," she begs, eyes pleading with the hopes that I'll cooperate. "I'm doing this for you."
For me? Why would she be doing this for me?
Oh.
I turn back around, facing Sketch now, looking through the windows at the happy people eating their meals.
"He's in there, isn't he?" I ask aloud, my back to her.
She comes up from behind me, placing her hand on my arm. "Come on Eb, we'll go back to mine and eat some Thai take out." She doesn't have to tell me that he's there, her actions speak volumes.
"Was he with anyone?" I ask, my gaze fixated on the windows into the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
"I don't know," she answers quite flustered. "He was at the bar...probably for work drinks!"
I can tell she's lying. Not necessarily for her brother, but to spare my feelings. The fact that he's inside, merely 15 yards away obviously affects me, in the same way it would affect anyone that was unknowingly close to their ex. I picture him inside, having dinner with a tall, beautiful girl - probably a model with less of a personality than the excess hair I find in my hairbrush. I'm okay. I realise that I'm alive, healthy, and I'm okay. Do I have unresolved feelings? Of course, but I also have enough insight to now realise that our kind of love wasn't healthy. We were only hurting ourselves by remaining together, and I curse myself for holding on to something that was not actually there anymore. When it's getting to the stage where you have to work, to actually make your relationship work, then the relationship is over. Especially when only one of you are fighting with every little piece of you, while the other watches it burn to the ground, fuelling the fire.
"Come on," I say casually, breaking my trance and walking towards the waiting taxi. "Let's go eat, I'm starved."
She watches me intently, cautious of my unanticipated reaction, and I hold the door open for her as I get inside.
"You coming or what?" I ask her, shuffling over to make room for her.
"I am disgusting," I announce, holding my bloated stomach as I lay in a heap on the couch. "A disgusting animal."
"You and me both," she moans from her position on the floor. "But we both know I have no self control when it comes to a Thai green curry."
"Please don't move me for another hundred years," I ask, content with my positioning.
"I could say the same, but I have work at 7am tomorrow. Unlike you, I don't get to choose my schedule."
"Yeah, I can't say I miss waking up before the sun," I comment, taking a sip of my iced tea. "I'm not really a morning person."
"Or an afternoon person. Not to mention an evening person - or a weekend person for that matter -"
"We get it," I laugh, interrupting her rant. "I'm not an anything person."
"Partially why I like you," she replies. "I don't think I could handle you if you were a beaming ray of sunshine every second of the day."
We lay there in silence for a little while, both digesting the exorbitant amount of food we've just consumed, before Gemma speaks up.
"So how you doing now?" she asks, referring to the break up, and I can tell she's been keeping the question inside all night, waiting for the right opportunity.
"Better," I admit to her honestly. "Much better. I feel as though everything is getting back on track now. And Gem, I know he's your brother, but please don't ever let me go back to him. We weren't good for each other. Not in the slightest."
"I won't," she laughs, stacking the empty takeaway containers in a neat pile. "But what changed? Things seemed so great. Mum and I were convinced he was going to marry you some day. How did it get like this?"
Good question. How did it get like this?
"I don't really know," I begin. "Everything was perfect in the beginning. You know your brother - charming as anything. We just clicked. He always knew what to say. I think the problem started because we actually weren't right for each other, but we both changed parts of ourselves to fit. But we didn't fit. It only made us feel worse, and we became stuck. Stuck in a relationship we thought we wanted, but was only making us miserable. We tried too hard when there was nothing left to try for. I love your brother, and always will, but we're completely different people."
"You forgot the cheating," she adds, "Don't let yourself share equal parts of the blame."
"And the cheating, I suppose. Before the cheating there were cracks. I didn't see them, but I felt them. I was just too involved with him to want to acknowledge them. He shouldn't have done it. He knows he fúcked up, but what's done is done, I guess."
"What if he didn't cheat though?" she asks. "Do you think you'd still be together?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know," I gasp, shaking my head to myself. "I don't know why I took him back after the cheating. I never completely healed from it, and I shouldn't have taken him back. We both tried to fix the relationship from then on, but we were never quite trying at the same time. I threw myself into work, and I suppose he did too. With him being gone for the majority of the year, it makes it easier to forget your problems momentarily, but they would always resurface again when he came home. I think he felt that I never really trusted him again."
"Don't really blame you love. For any of that. Even taking him back. You make it seem like you're at fault by allowing him back into your life, when all you did was love him too much that you wanted to overlook his mistakes, but couldn't. And that's not your fault honey."
Her words really do hit home, and I'm glad that I finally took it upon myself to message her, apologising for my absence. It's not easy to admit your wrongs, and to face the sister of your ex. It doesn't help that particular mannerisms of hers, mirrors Harry's, and my mind immediately leaps to him at times. Sometimes it's the way her mouth twitches up in a smile, or the way she subtly sniffs her food before eating, but all of it makes me think of him. Though now I'm in a better place with a stronger mentality, and I can tolerate it.
"Well, it's getting late," she announces, checking her watch. "And like I said before, some people have to work in the morning."
I stand up, pulling her hands to help her off the floor, and she begins to clear up, though I stop her.
"Stop it," I order. "It'll give me something to do after you leave. And then I'm going to watch a shítload of movies and stay up 'til three after probably having consumed an entire packet of triple buttered popcorn."
"I hate you," she sighs. "So it makes leaving you with the mess much easier than I initially would have thought."
"When I see you next, I also owe you that drink," I tell her, and she stops, pausing in thought.
"Drink?" she queries, unsure of what I mean by that. "But you bought the first and only round we had at Sketch. I don't get it."
"From the bet. If I believe correctly, our very attractive, and very straight waiter asked for my number. "
"I have a gift," she jokingly explains, tapping her head with her index finger.
"Whatever you say. See you later babe," I say, walking the short distance to her and hugging her tightly.
"Don't be a stranger next time," she accuses, pulling away from our embrace. "I almost filed a missing person's report on you," she adds, as we part.
"You're so dramatic Gem, but I'll see you soon,"
"Love you," she calls out as she leaves, unintentionally letting Bette Davis out with her.
Exhaling heavily, I look at the mess I've now accumulated, but at least it'll give me something to do. As good as it feels to have the house to myself again, I also get the sad, niggling feelings that seep into your brain when you're completely alone. I feel that these feelings are always amplified for us people. The people who have loved and lost. Those who once had someone to cuddle up to on the couch to watch a late night movie with, and having someone there to help dry the dishes while you wash. It always hurts a little more when you were once part of a team, that has now been split in two.
I clear up the rest of the rubbish, and rinse off the dishes that we used, and carefully add them to the almost tauntingly empty dishwasher.
I hear a firm knock at the door as I'm getting ready to choose a movie, and something inside of me knows who it is before I even have to open the door. My heart flutters, feeling a frisson of excitement spread over me, and I can finally admit to myself that I want to see him. He makes me incredibly happy without any effort on his behalf, and I'm allowing myself to actually enjoy myself being in his company, and acknowledge that maybe these feelings actually have the potential to really go somewhere.
I quickly rush to the bathroom, fixing my hair and making sure I don't have any food on my face.
"Door should be open Alfie, come on in!" I call out.
I hear the door creak open, and walk into the main living space to say hello.
"How's your day been?" Though when I look up from the floor, I'm completely blown away. Never in a million years did I think he would be standing in the entranceway. Never did I think I would see him again in my flat, standing in a place where he's stood a thousand times, and yet my eyes haven't quite adjusted to him.
"Harry...?" I gasp, unconsciously taking a step back in surprise. "What are you? Why are you here?"
A million questions are all milling through my mind, and I'm unable to form any kind of coherent sentence. I correct my posture and my stance, standing more upright, and confident in my place, and repeat my question.
"What are you doing here?" I say.
Better.
"I think we need to have a chat," he suggests, speaking slow.
"A chat about what? Everything is pretty much said and done Harry," I reply firmly. "There's nothing left to say."
"Maybe you've said everything you need to say, but there's a lot that I haven't."
There's a long moment of silence as I deliberate over his words.
"Well did you want to sit?" I offer coolly, motioning towards the table. I sit down first at the head, and he sides beside me, sliding in his chair. "Would you like a drink or something?"
"No, I'm good thank you."
There's a moment of uncomfortable silence again, and he clears his throat, ready to speak.
"I wanted to come here to talk to you about the way things ended," he starts. "Looking back, I'm not proud of how I treated you towards the end."
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, unsure if and how I should proceed to respond, but he continues speaking.
"The way I acted went against everything I was ever taught by me Mum. I was raised better than that, and you deserve better."
I nod, returning his genuine gaze, and tears glaze over my eyes, but I'm able to hold them back.
"Ultimately, I want you to know that I cared about you - you were my first proper love, and I can't thank you enough for that. Just... we both know that it wasn't going to work out," he sighs. "And I feel terrible that I was the one to realise it sooner than you. You didn't deserve to be cheated on by me. I was just too much of a coward to end things."
"Then why did you fight so hard to get me back when I left?" I ask, wanting answers.
"Because I felt what it was like to possibly lose you. I don't like that feeling. Not at all. I was a boy back then. A stupid boy who didn't know what he wanted, when he had it right there."
"This could have all been avoided if you had just let me go then and there," I exclaim.
"I realise that now," he replies simply.
His heavy words sink in, as I try to process everything. Why could he not be so upfront and open with me months ago, and we could have avoided all of this?
"You have no idea how alone I've felt in all of this," I reply, raising my voice slowly as emotion creeps in, but I remain firm. I have to. "You abandoned me. You left to go on tour, and returned a completely different person. The day that you slept with Paige was the day you decided that having sèx with someone else was more important than what we had. But how could it be? How could you?"
"I don't know. That wasn't about you, or us. It was internal shít that I was dealing with on my own. I didn't sleep with someone else because you weren't good enough, or that I didn't love you. I wasn't myself at all. I did all the right things when you took me back. I told you all the right things, and I promised I'd make it up to you, but I unintentionally resented you for holding it over my head. Even if you didn't say it, I could see it in your eyes. The hurt behind your eyes. I couldn't do it Eb."
"It's like you never took me seriously," I reply, assertively telling him how I feel. "That I didn't matter. You expected me to put you first, but your career always came first with you. When I started putting mine first I was only criticised."
"I know, I know. I shouldn't have gotten in-between you and your work. It was incredibly out of line."
"You made me out to be the villain in this. There were days I just felt so worthless, and so depressed, and you only added to that."
"If I could take it back, I really would Eb," he replies, emotion setting into his voice, as he reaches out to grab my hand. "I fücked up. I really fûcked up."
"You know what the worst thing is Harry?" I ask, my voice raw with a slight quiver. "Is that you let me quit my job for you," I continue, absolutely disgusted. "You stood aside as I begged you to take me back." I say the words slowly and purposefully, for emphasis. "You knew I would have done anything to make it work, and quitting was the only way I knew how to prove it to you. You knew you didn't want to be with me, but you slept with me anyways, giving me false hope. That was literally the worst thing you could have done to me."
"Ebony," he says, voice breaking with emotion. Taking one of his hands, he wipes away his falling tears with his thumb and index finger, and I squeeze his hand back in comfort. "I don't expect you to forgive me under any circumstance, but I would hate to think that we can't be civil with one another. I'm just really sorry we couldn't work out in the way that we both wanted."
"Thank you," I reply, truly meaning it. I was always taught never to use the response "it's okay," when receiving an apology because, it's not okay what they did. You should never excuse someone's behaviour, but respect, and appreciate the courage it took for them to admit their wrongs if they truly mean it.
"I also have something else to tell you..." he adds, and I can see how conflicted he is inside, truly pained with what he has to say. "I'm seeing someone."
I knew it was coming. How could I not? The signs were there from the start, and I just chose to overlook them.
"I just want you to hear it from me first, rather than reading about it somewhere."
"It's okay..." I mutter. "I'm okay, really."
"You seem to be in a good place," he comments, observing me closely. "I want us to remain good friends. You'll always be apart of my life, and I don't want to just lose you. Who knows - maybe someday you'll be styling me for some fancy event?" he laughs, and for the first time this evening since he's arrived, I smile.
I stand up from my chair, and he follows suit, and I embrace him in a huge hug. We both hold onto each other tightly, almost as if we try to memorise everything about one another. We part, and we look into one another's eyes, in a wordless understanding that we're leaving everything in a good place. That each of us will be alright.
Simultaneously, we both lean in, and he kisses me briefly on the lips - slightly longer than a peck, but nothing is meant by it other than a solemn goodbye. We both know that it's over, and yet it's okay.
"I really want you to be happy," he tells me, and I nod tearfully, wishing him the same.
"Bye Ebony," he says, letting go of me in both the physical and emotional sense, and I allow him to.
"Bye Harry," I return, watching him leave and quietly shutting the door behind him as Bette Davis scurries back inside.
Until Harry showed up, I would have argued that seeing him was the last thing that I would have needed. That seeing him would have brought back feelings that I had smothered, in order to remove him from my life, and I'm fine. Seeing him was the closure I truly needed in order to move on, and is essential in my healing process. All this time I secretly thought that it was him that I needed, when it wasn't at all. What I truly needed was to hear that he cared. To hear that I mattered. To see his mistakes, and feel his sadness. As screwed up as it sounds, I needed to feel the pain he felt, rather than the disassociation he was exhibiting when we were together, because there is nothing worse than being the only one. The only one that feels, and the only one that is affected by a break up, because it makes you question almost every single little thing in your mind. The internal dialogue you have with yourself at night especially. Analysing every conversation, every fight, or text message to see if you could have done anything differently. My mind is put at ease as he has given me the one thing I couldn't give myself - validation; and for that I am grateful.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Did anyone expect Harry would do that? I feel like Harry took a little longer to realise how shítty his behaviour was, and he felt really terrible about it. I wanted you to see a different side to him, genuinely wanting for her to know how sorry he was, and to hear him say the things she needed to hear. Men generally feel the delayed heartache of a break up, and I wanted to stay true to that.
I also want to clarify that their final kiss wasn't anything romantic. It wasn't a last minute attempt from either of them to get each other back, but a beautiful goodbye to an end of a memorable relationship, that both have only just comes to terms with.
I'm also extremely curious if any of you are a little more accepting of Ivory and Harry's relationship now that Harry is being more open with how he feels/felt, and showing compassion towards Ebony. Or do you not believe him? It took a lot of courage for him to show up and admit to the things he admitted to, so I hope you take that into account.
Dedication goes to suspicioustyles for her prediction. Maybe Ebony might see Ivory and Harry in a magazine together. Time will tell... Please make sure you've voted, and that you're following me on social media for any updates!
Twitter: WordsWithGem
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04/02/15 | 461K Views | Ranked 14th in Fanfics
The lyrical quote at the beginning of the chapter originated from the song 'I'm Not Yours' by Angus and Julia Stone