Are
The first time I left the flat for something other than work without any outside encouragement was on an early Friday evening. I changed out of my work clothes, fished my iPod out of my car and embarked on what I intended to be a long run.
This quickly devolved into a short run. The city was in rush hour and I couldn't cross a street without being honked at or run down a stretch of pavement without zigzagging in and out of people. I returned to the flat drenched in sweat, holding my aching side and panting hard, but feeling unproductive and muddled nonetheless.
When I burst through the door, Fitz was there, sitting on a stool outside the kitchen and chatting casually to Finley and Niall. Those two had been careful to stand at safe distances from one another since Fitz and I had walked in on them going at it, but in that moment, they were shoulderto-shoulder as they stood and leaned against the back of the couch, arms folded across their chests while Fitz rambled on.
All three of them looked up in shock as I entered as though they'd been in the midst of plotting my murder. I halted in the entrance as I ripped out my ear buds one at a time and surveyed the scene: Finley, lips pursed and brow furrowed; over to Niall, innocent blues and sheepish smile; stopping to linger on Fitz, expression blank, neither warm nor cold.
I could have stared at her and puzzled for the rest of the day, but at the same time, I felt that if we locked eyes for another second, I'd be unglued.
So, without a word, I averted my eyes and strode to my bedroom, bending my head and lifting the collar of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my forehead. As I passed the three in the common area, they shifted behind me. The stool scraped against the floor.
"Harry," came Fitz's voice in a calm plea, and I stopped in place, not bothering to turn around. "I only came by to drop off your things." When I stayed in place, still showing her the back of my head, she elaborated, "Your stuff from my flat."
I balled my hand into a fist over my ear buds, using my other hand to push back my damp hair as I looked over my shoulder. She'd hopped down from the stool as if she'd intended to follow me, but none of my belongings were in sight.
"Yeah," I said, my eyes scanning the kitchen counter and the living room. "Looks like I left a lot there."
In fact, I had left a lot there. Nothing important or irreplaceable – underwear, socks, work and casual wear, toiletries, maybe a mobile charger and USB cords – but things I'd thought about. Things I'd considered, but decided against retrieving from her flat... partially because I didn't want to be the one to initiate contact, partially because seeing her and speaking with her, even over trivial things, was heart-shattering, and partially – mostly –because that meant it was all over. Nothing left to do or exchange. We would be well and truly finished with one another.
She shrugged, not bothered that I'd implied she was lying. "I put it away for you."
My eyes shot up to meet hers, and from the way she bit her lip, it was clear she instantly regretted what she'd said. She wasn't supposed to take care of me.
"All right," was all I could think to say.
"That's everything I could find," she added hastily. "And, um... I left my key to your flat on your dresser."
"Oh, right..." Niall chimed in awkwardly. From his pocket he produced a silver key, holding it in the air. "I took that. Lost mine ages ago. Think it's under the couch or... behind my bed... maybe at work somewhere..."
"You can just return mine whenever," Fitz said, ignoring Niall. "Or give it to Niall and he can give it to me. Doesn't matter, I suppose."
"I'll get it now," I said stiffly.
Before she could argue, I went to my room and fished out my car keys. Fitz's flat key had been on my key ring so long that it was practically rusted on. It was a bitch to remove, and I swore under my breath as I bent my nail trying to get it off. Didn't stop me from removing another keychain afterwards – a tiny sandwich that had been there even longer than the flat key. Once it was off, I tossed it carelessly across the room, listening to the clink as it hit the hardwood floor and rolled into the wall.
"Here," I said once I'd rejoined the others outside the kitchen. I placed the key in Fitz's palm, ignoring the extra thump of my heart as our hands brushed.
"Thanks," was her quiet response as she stared at our hands. "I think I gathered up the rest of my things, too. The stuff from the top drawer."
"All right."
"Is there anything I'm forgetting?"
I froze. I swallowed as I thought of her knickers underneath her pillow on my bed.
"Don't think so," I replied slowly, my voice dull.
"Okay." She cleared her throat, adopting a happier tone. "Well, we're on our way out. You lot ready?"
"Yep," Finley and Niall answered in unison, equally uncomfortable with the whole situation.
They pushed themselves off the couch while Fitz gave me one last glance – soft, but unreadable – and I watched all three of them walk out.
Niall was the last to go, pausing in the doorway.
"Want to come, mate?" he asked, more out of loyalty than actual interest. We both knew that my presence would be unwelcome and uncomfortable to all parties invited.
"Just go," I groaned.
In his eyes, he was torn. Even so, he rolled his head in the direction of the hall and his body soon followed. The door flew shut and I was left alone.
Friday night. Nothing to do, nobody to do nothing with.
At least, that was what I thought. Until I got out of the shower and left the bathroom wearing nothing but boxers to find Claire poking around in my fridge, humming a tune to herself.
"Um... hi," I said, breaking the silence to alert her that I was there.
Her head shot up from behind the fridge door, a smile breaking onto her face. "Harry! Hello!"
I looked around as though I wasn't sure I was in the right flat. "I didn't know you were stopping by."
"Neither does Niall," she said with a grin. "Just popping in on my way home from Cheshire where I was taking care of my sister." She straightened, closing the refrigerator door. "Where is my man, anyway?"
I swallowed back a groan at her uncomfortable phrasing. "Um... out."
"When will he be back?"
"Dunno."
I was hoping she wasn't about to ask who he was with, because I'd be forced to admit that he was in the company of two single women, one of whom he'd shagged and the other who... well, I didn't want to talk about her.
Especially not with any relation of Muffy's.
"Ah," she said with a nod, approaching the kitchen counter. "And where are you off to tonight?"
I feigned nonchalance. "No plans."
"Really?"
I shook my head.
"Why not?"
I waited a moment to respond, feeling increasingly awkward that we were having this conversation across my flat while she waited for Niall and I was wet and nearly naked.
"Don't feel like it, I guess."
"Rubbish," she said with a scoff. "You're young, you've got an entire city to explore... you and June should be painting the town red."
I cocked a brow in curiosity, realizing that she mustn't have heard the news of the break-up. If she'd been taking care of Muffy, that meant Muffy couldn't have known... just as I'd suspected. Fitz hadn't told her.
"Where is your lady love, Harry?" she asked, craning her neck to peer into my bedroom in confusion.
"Dunno."
Claire ruffled her hair, knitting her brows in confusion. "What? You two are never apart."
"Yeah," I said, scratching the back of my neck and looking at the floor, "we're apart sometimes. Like when we're not... you know... together."
When I was brave enough to look at her again, she was eyeing me with suspicion. "Did something happen?"
I shrugged, trying my best to continue my act of indifference. "We broke up." I let that rest in the air for a moment before adding in a clipped tone, "So. I don't know where she is tonight. Or any night. Not really my business anymore... I guess."
Claire's lips formed an 'O' as she gasped in shock. Then she covered her mouth with her hand, her brows turning in and her eyes going wide. The extent of her physical pain and torment was, quite honestly, frightening.
"Oh, Harry," she gushed, her heart bleeding from her mouth, "I'm so sorry."
Before I could talk my way out of the conversation, she was rushing around the counter and across the living room, catching me around the neck and pressing her chest flat against mine in a tight, hard hug. I stood there stiffly, not hugging back but not pushing away, distinctly aware of her nipples poking me through her flimsy shirt and incredibly uncomfortable as a result. After all... other than a pair of boxers covering my junk, I was completely bare and still damp.
"It's fine," I said, clearing my throat as a sign for her to back away. "I'm fine. You don't have to... do that."
"No, of course you're not fine," she insisted, rubbing up and down my bare back, making me cringe. "You must be absolutely devastated."
"I'm fine," I repeated lifelessly.
"Oh, you poor boy," she said, giving me one last squeeze before releasing me. I stepped back, quite afraid that she might grab me and molest me again. "Here. Put on some clothes and then join me on the couch. We're going to talk this through."
My eyes widened. "No. I really – I don't want to." I took another step back, holding out my palms in decline.
"No excuses. I'm stuck waiting for Niall and you can't be alone right now."
"Yes, I can. Alone is fine. Alone is... great."
She was having none of this. She turned on her heel, shooing me into my room and calling out, "I'll pour us some wine and we'll have a chat. Go on and get dressed. Chop, chop!"
Five minutes later, dressed in joggers and a long-sleeved tee for extra coverage, I reluctantly joined my father's wife's older sister/flatmate's recurring booty call on the couch, sitting a safe distance from her but accepting the glass of wine she passed to me.
I trained my bored gaze to the blank screen of the telly, answering questions about the break-up in dismal, non-explicit terms through three full glasses of wine. When I asked her not to tell Muffy, she clasped her chest and said she wouldn't dream of it.
Niall still hadn't returned, and though the alcohol had loosened me up a bit, I wasn't sure how long I could last alone with Claire, the rabidly horny yet innately nurturing walking juxtaposition.
"You know what I think, Harry?" Claire said after she'd topped me up on wine. I didn't respond, but it didn't faze her for a second. "You should be with someone older."
I eyed her carefully over the rim of the wine glass as I brought it to my lips and took a big gulp. White wine wasn't my favourite – too sweet – but on my third glass, I'd grown accustomed to the taste and was prepared to chug if need be.
Claire settled back against the couch, crossing her ankles on the coffee table. "Older women know what they want.
They're smart, mature, ready to commit, and between you and I... a woman reaches her sexual peak around her early thirties."
Even as I swallowed a big gulp, my throat went dry at that.
"Just ask Niall. He knows," she added, flashing me a wink.
My stomach churned.
"Gross," I whispered, too soft for her to hear.
Oh, but she wasn't finished yet.
"Even better, ask your father," she said, waving her wine glass around as she spoke. "Pregnancy wasn't in the plans for those two, but now that it's happened, you know why. You can't even fathom what shagging is like with a woman who really knows what she's doing."
Eyes wide and staring blankly ahead, I nodded robotically. Unwanted, ghastly images swirled in my mind, and no matter how I tried, I couldn't think of anything else.
"Harry?" Claire asked after a moment.
My head shot up, jolting from my incredibly disturbing trance like a deer in headlights. "I don't... I... I don't know what to say to that."
"Your father may not be home very often, but when he is, I know she can't keep her hands off him. She takes him and shows him—"
"Stop. Please... stop." I held out my hand to cover her mouth if necessary. "I'll pay you to stop."
Unperturbed, she shrugged and took a sip of wine. "I'm just saying is all. You're very mature for your age, Harry. You must know that. You'd do well with someone older. A healthy, stable relationship that's going somewhere. Isn't that what you want?"
Another gulp of wine. "Not exactly."
I felt her stare on me and knew she was frowning. "But I thought that was a reason you and June didn't stay together. You wanted all of that. The commitment, the stability. The calm certainty of it all."
"Well, yeah," I admitted, swirling the wine in my glass before taking another sip, "but... it was like... I wanted it with her."
I only wanted her.
I finished off my fourth glass with a gulp and a wince of disgust as Claire shook her head, unconvinced. "I'm telling you. With a body like that and a smile like yours, you'll have no problems from here on out. Real women want a man who's intelligent and sensitive and reliable... and you've got all that, plus raw sexual magnetism. You're the entire package, Harry. The entire package. I haven't met any man with a better package than yours, and that's the honest truth."
I nearly choked on my spit, wishing there were someone else present to witness this. Fitz would have been exchanging secret smiles with me and pretending to be interested in what Claire had to say. Later, behind closed doors, she'd laugh hysterically until her eyes watered and her stomach was sore. Then I'd take her in my arms and grin at her, not minding the public humiliation because it had given her a laugh, and I'd kiss her deeply and lay her down on my bed...
No.
I couldn't think about that. It only made me sad. Instead, I sat there and fervently wished that Claire would quit talking about my package.
Shifting away from her on the couch under the ruse of getting more wine, I managed to brush off her comment.
But she wasn't yet finished.
"Can I set you up with someone?" she asked.
I'd meant to pour myself another glass, but there was no time. Instead, I tipped my head back and drank straight from the bottle, gulping it down and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I set the bottle down.
"No," I said firmly.
"I know someone who would be perfect for you."
I took the bottle with me as I sat back on the couch, resting it between my legs with my fist grasping the neck.
"I'm all right at the moment, thanks."
"No, Harry, really," Claire insisted, reaching out and brushing my forearm. I stiffened on instinct. "She's one of Misty's childhood classmates from primary school. The two of them were such good friends growing up. She actually lives not too far from Brum. Since her fiancé broke off the engagement earlier this year, she's been single and looking to find someone. I think you two would get on. And she's gorgeous. Curvy, tanned, long, thick hair... sexy. Take my word for it."
I shook my head in muted disbelief. She waited for my answer, and with my hand firmly around the neck of the bottle, I turned my head to look at her with a confused, but hardened expression.
"There's just..." I began in awe, at a loss for words. "There's just absolutely no way in hell I would ever date someone the same age as my father's wife. Who grew up with my father's wife. That's just... that's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard."
My bluntness seemed to surprise her, and after a night filled with awkward terribleness, I wished I'd been blunt sooner.
Still, the tiny crease between her brows told me she was hurt, and even while miserably drunk and offended, I had to make amends as best as I knew how.
But I was nearly drunk, and that was clear as my next words strung together like a long chain of letters, slurred and murmured.
"I'm sorry if that was rude. I'm sorry. But it's just really fucking weird to me. And I know you and Niall have this thing... and to be honest, I think it's fucked up. Like, you two... you're fucked. In the brain. If you think this is working, that is. And it's creepy. You're a very nice lady and I'm sure you've reached your sexual prime, and, I mean, great job on the..." I trailed off, leaving the bottle between my legs to cup my hands on my chest – the most vulgar way I'd spoken about breasts to a woman since I was sixteen – "... you know, that's very impressive, and Niall's my best mate, and he's the sweetest, no doubt, but I just... I can't, for the life of me, understand what the two of you see in each other, and I have no desire to enter into a relationship as fucked up as that. Ever."
I paused for a breath and brought the neck of the bottle to my lips instead, taking a swig and blinking away my drunkenness.
"I'm just... if I can't be with Fitz, then I'll just be alone. That's fine. Because I was alone before she came along and it was fine. It was fine for me. Better than... you know... this."
I gestured to her, pointed to Niall's room, and made a series of convoluted signals with my hands that were supposed to reference the two of them together.
It might have been that literally nothing could faze her, or it might have been that there were no longer any pretences about just how drunk I was and she had taken everything I'd said with a grain of salt. Whatever it was, she leaned back on the couch, unoffended.
"Well, I think you're missing out," she said in response.
I shrugged. "I don't mind."
We drank in silence after that, and thankfully, not for long. Just as I was starting to fall asleep with the nearly empty bottle between my legs and my head drooping on my shoulder, the door to the flat burst open to Niall's barking laughter.
I sat up straight and blinked fiercely, as if I had something to hide. Beside me, Claire jumped up with a squeal, racing to her "man".
Too drunk to move much, I merely flung my upper body over the arm of the couch and let my head hang as I checked in. Niall held open the door for Finley, who was about to enter when Claire reached Niall, grabbing his face in her hands and planting a long, loud kiss on his lips.
Claiming him. Claiming him in front of Finley.
"I missed you, sweets," she said, kissing him again. "I wanted to surprise you."
Baffled, Niall could only stand there, making it clear that this was the last person he'd expected to see on the other side of his door.
But it was a good thing he was staring at Claire and she at him. Because if either of them had been staring at Finley – like I was – they would have seen the shock register on her face, followed quickly by bewilderment, then confusion, then hurt... then disappointment.
And then she turned around and left before Niall could think of anything to say or do, and I stayed on the couch to finish my bottle and torture myself with thoughts of whether they'd dropped Fitz off at her flat or if she'd gone home with someone else. Meanwhile, Claire smothered Niall in kisses and walked him to his bedroom.
And when I started to hear awkward and uncomfortable, yet unmistakable noises through the walls, I wished Fitz was there to mute the telly and to have a laugh with me as I played 'I Just Had Sex' for Niall's humiliation.
But that was nothing new; I wasn't even kidding myself anymore. I'd wished she was there before, and I'd wish she were there after.
I just wished she were there.
*
Even if Niall couldn't say no to a horny woman in her early-thirties shoving her breasts against his chest, he'd still managed to be good for Finley in terms of scoring her gigs. My father had been unimpressed with Niall when they'd met as Niall filmed his wedding, but I knew that if Mark Styles had a chance to see the way the man networked, he'd change his mind completely. Niall's social network was mind-blowing, and it grew every day. He'd used his connections to give Finley opportunities in all sorts of venues almost every night of the week, and I knew he'd kept her busy by the way she practiced in our flat and wrote frantically during the day.
But her favourite place to perform – and ours to watch her – was McNally's just down the street. It was calm and laid back. Because Niall had made friends with all the regulars and established Finley as a recurring performer, she'd started to draw quite a crowd there each week.
On a Wednesday evening, I arrived at the flat late from work, knowing I had to change quickly and hurry down the street if I wanted to catch the last few songs of her set. I located my jeans in a second and searched for my red and blue plaid button-up, but it was nowhere to be found. Every drawer, every hanger in my closet, and my laundry basket returned zero results.
Frustrated, I threw a henley over my head and left, walking briskly down the busy street.
The pub was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, and I walked straight to the bar to get a pint as soon as I got there, knowing the servers would probably never make it to our table through all the standing bodies. After I'd been served, I stood on tiptoe and spotted Niall's blond head just in front of the small stage at the usual table he reserved. He claimed he liked it because he could survey the entire crowd and get a good feel for who was digging Finley's music, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He liked being up front and centre, so she'd know he was there.
Niall had pushed two tables together to accommodate his guests for the evening. Some of them I recognized, others I didn't – maybe they were coworkers at the news station or GuardTech, or maybe they were people off the street – but the two who caught my eye were Fitz and Jamer. They sat at the end of the table, sharing a pitcher and cracking jokes with one another.
I gave Niall an affectionate slap on the back of the head to let him know I'd arrived, and he grinned up at me and gestured to an empty chair near Fitz. I gave him a look, knowing he'd probably kept that chair vacant on purpose, before asking a nearby table if I could take their extra chair instead. I set it at the opposite end and turned it toward the stage, realizing that with Niall crowded by friends and Fitz and Jamer buddying up, I'd be spending the night alone.
Which didn't turn out to be entirely true. One of Niall's friends – guy by the name of Aaron - got to talking in my ear about how I knew Finley and Niall and his plans for an eastern European road trip. Mostly, I nodded, but occasionally I had to turn my head to look at him.
And when I did, my eyes always grazed Fitz, who was always in conversation with Jamer, who was always studying her reaction and begging for more. I tried to tell myself that the only reason it was bothering me was because it was Jamer. If it were anyone else, I wouldn't mind so much, but she knew I hated him and she was purposely responding to all of his desperation right in front of me.
But I knew that wasn't really true. With the joking and the gentle flirting, I could reconcile. With his arm around the back of her chair, lightly brushing the exposed skin of her upper arm, I could not.
I realized that I hated the thought of her being with someone else. Not just Jamer, although he would certainly be the worst option, but anybody else. I hated when she'd reach out and brush his arm or give his chest a nudge, but I hated it so much more when he touched her – arm around her shoulders, knee-touching-knee.
I'd never felt possessive of her before. At least, not in an irrationally jealous sort of way. Then again, since we'd started dating, there had never been any question that we were each other's. I loved her. She loved me.
But if she let someone else touch her – parts of her that I knew so well and parts of her that were like secrets only the two of us had ever shared – then maybe she didn't love me. Maybe she would give away what had felt like mine. Ours. That was something I hadn't realized was so important to me until it was threatening to be ripped away in front of my eyes.
And suddenly, I knew exactly how I'd made her feel when she learned that I'd kissed Vic. It hit me like a bolt of lightning and stabbed me in the chest.
I was the only one who'd ever touched her, who'd ever been with her. To think of somebody else lifting her shirt and sponging kisses down her neck and wrapping her legs around his waist... it made my hands ball into fists and my nostrils flare and my jaw tighten. He'd think it was strange when she sneezed, embarrassing her and making her selfconscious. He'd squeeze her too hard with rough hands and not bother to read her pained expression. He'd loom over her and position her how he wanted and wouldn't let her have any control at all, sending her into a nervous panic. And when she came – if he bothered to get her there – he wouldn't care about the way her head tipped back and her jaw dropped in a silent scream. He would hear her say 'I love you' but not understand what it really meant. How significant it really was.
I couldn't stand it. Even watching Jamer lightly brush her arm with his fingers was too much for me to take. It was irrational to feel this way and I knew it – if we were broken up, then inevitably, one of us would move on before the other – but the thought of someone else seeing her as vulnerable as only I'd ever seen her, hearing the sounds only I'd ever drawn from her, watching her come apart the way I'd only made her come apart before... it was like learning that Muffy was pregnant all over again. Invalidating who I was and what we had. Pushing me out of the way for someone new when all I'd ever done was love her as fully as I knew how.
No matter who it was with whom Fitz moved on, it would torture me. There was no question about that.
But if it was Jamer, I truly felt that I'd die.
Once Finley wrapped up her set and I gave her a peck on the cheek and congratulated her, I couldn't stay any longer. I had to get out of there before I slammed the heel of my shoe into Jamer's smug face.
I was weaving through bodies, sucking in my stomach to slide sideways through a crowd and pushing my way through when I ran into Fitz returning from the loo.
"Are you going already?" she asked, though I couldn't hear her over the buzz. I could only read her lips.
I nodded, moving past her.
"Harry – wait," she said, forceful enough that I could hear her as her fingers locked around my wrist. "Are you all right?"
I shook off her hand. "Do you care to hear the answer anymore?"
Leaving her confused, I turned and continued to push my way out the door. It was when I walked down the front steps and held my arms in front of me without brushing anyone else that I finally allowed myself to take a deep breath.
"Harry."
I froze at the sound of her voice, not realizing until then that she'd followed me out. Slowly, I turned to see her standing on the bottom step, unaffected by the few people moving in and out of the building behind her.
"Can't we be civil with one another?" she asked.
I thought about how to respond, but nothing I had to say sounded civil at all. Instead, I changed the subject without prompt.
"Why didn't you tell Muffy about us?" I asked, letting my hands fall to my sides.
"What?" Her brows furrowed as she tried to follow the loose threads of the topic change.
"You've talked to her since it happened, but she still doesn't know we broke up."
She flinched at the term – broke up – and I averted my eyes.
"I wanted to give you the chance to tell her yourself."
"Yeah," I said, followed by a breath of unconvinced laughter.
"I couldn't tell her. Not now. She's fragile, Harry. I think her condition is more serious than she's led you to believe."
I didn't want this. I didn't want gentle, deep, serious talk.
"So?" I asked harshly.
"So it's nice for her to think that we're doing well. She invests more time and thought in you than you realize." Fitz shrugged, lifting her arms and letting them fall down, hands lightly slapping her thighs. "And what does it matter? You almost never see her, anyway. She's afraid to travel with the baby and you never go home. It's not like you even have to lie about it. Just let her think what she thinks. It's not hurting anyone."
So we were back to pretending.
With a frustrated breath, I turned on my heel, grumbling, "Fine. Whatever." There was a time when I might have played her games, but I didn't have the heart anymore. She'd crushed it.
"I know you're angry," she said as I walked away. "I know you probably have a lot of unkind things to say to me that you're keeping to yourself." I heard her footsteps along the paved path, trailing me at a distance. "I'm not blind to that, Harry. I know how you're feeling."
That did it. I whirled around, staring her down. "No, you don't," I said, my face twisting into a beleaguered frown. "You don't know how I'm feeling, because you were the one who called it off. You. Not me."
She approached me on the pavement, rolling her eyes. "Obviously we're not going to agree on that. To me, you decided it."
"Stop with that."
"You stop it," she snapped. "This is hard on me, too. I'm angry, too. And hurt, and... confused."
I nodded, though my face betrayed me. I wasn't buying it for a second. "Yeah," I snickered, "looks like it. You and Jamer are quite cozy."
She gave me a haughty glare. "Seriously?"
I shrugged, as if what I'd seen spoke for itself. "You know what I think of him," I said, dark and low.
"You know what I think of him," she returned.
"Then why talk to him? Why let him touch you?"
With a shrug of her shoulders, she rolled up her eyes as she racked her brains for a reply. "Because he was the only one to talk to."
"Hmm."
"If you're going to be jealous – which isn't like you, by the way – be jealous of someone who actually has a chance."
She had a point, and I knew it. Still, my dark eyes bore into hers for a few moments longer before I surrendered. I hung my head, rubbed the back of my neck and took a step back with a sigh.
"I can't see you anymore," I said softly.
A beat of silence. Then: "Um... we're not seeing each other anymore."
"No, I mean," I stammered, shutting my eyes as I searched for the words, "I can't be near you. I can't keep running into you everywhere. You're at my flat, you're at brunch with my mates, you're at my pub. It's messing with my head, running into you unexpectedly and trying to figure out what game you're playing..."
I raised my head to meet her eyes, certain that my own were filled with regret.
"It's too much. You can't be around all the time; it's too hard," I finished.
Her nostrils flared – not in anger, but because she was trying to compose herself. The furrow in her brows was of anguish, not frustration. And while it hurt my heart to watch her struggle, it hurt even more to know that I couldn't reach out and hold her.
"So I can't see you anymore?" she asked in a small voice.
Slowly, I shook my head, my tongue darting out to wet my lips.
"How is that gonna work?" She folded her arms across her chest, swallowing the emotion. "They're my friends, too."
"I know," I said. "I'm the one leaving tonight. But in the future, I don't want... I think it's best if we don't see each other."
Fitz nodded, taking her bottom lip between her teeth and looking over my shoulder, unable to stare me in the eyes. She held her arms tightly to her chest as her eyes welled with tears, and then she took a deep breath, shaking herself out of it and meeting my gaze again.
"Fine," she said, clearing her throat. "This'll be it, then."
I nodded, my lips pressed in a thin line. "All right. Goodnight, then."
She shrugged, trying to seem unaffected and disinterested, all her vulnerability lost to me. I hated to see it go. Hated to walk away.
But I had to.
As I turned around to head home, she replied with a firm, "Goodbye."
*
The very next day, I was called into Alison's office and given a promotion.
Bigger cube, bigger paycheck, bigger responsibilities. My late nights at the office and robotic presentations in front of the board had impressed her for reasons beyond my realm of understanding.
Nonetheless, I accepted because there didn't seem to be any other option. And on the way home after work, I stopped off at the barber's and paid for a haircut.
*
"I liked the long hair better," Niall said that night, reaching sideways on the couch to ruffle my significantly shorter and professionally tousled locks. "It was more devil-may-care."
I ducked my head out of his grasp, smoothing my hair from his careless touch. "Well, I'm not devil-may-care."
"Yeah. Now you can't even fake it."
He took a lazy swig from his beer bottle, and I followed suit from mine. It was just the two of us sprawled out in front of the telly, sharing a mutual bag of crisps and drinking away. When I'd told him about my promotion, he'd said we should celebrate and cracked open the beers. But we both knew it wasn't a celebration. More like a confirmation: this was my life. The path I'd chosen.
And this was his: an inspired but unemployed cinematic artist too afraid to let go of the devil-may-care, seduced by an older woman at the peak of her sexual maturity, driven by lust and recklessness even when tempted by the creative, challenging girl-next-door who was, in fact, just across the hall.
With her boyfriend.
Before I'd told Niall about the promotion, I'd asked him about the man sitting with Finley in the hall as she practiced. He looked older than her – maybe two or three years – and he had dusty brown hair, a pointed nose, and a well-trimmed goatee.
"Her boyfriend," he'd answered with a shrug, looking down to avoid my stare.
"What?"
"You know. The law student. The one who persuaded her to cross an ocean with him and then dumped her first chance he got."
"What's he doing here?"
Niall had scoffed. "Fuck if I know. It's her life."
But we'd both known why he was there all of a sudden when he'd been absent all this time. We both knew that it wasn't just coincidence. Niall had dropped Finley for the easy way out – Claire – and this was her way to save face. Showing him that she had someone, too.
So when we'd cracked open beers that night, we'd known that it wasn't a celebration for either of us. In fact, it was more a silent commiseration for the things we could have had, but lost and wrecked ourselves. The things we were left with in their wake.
Me: a career. An impressive one.
Niall: a Claire. An eager one.
We clinked bottles to our so-called success and drank until we couldn't remember anymore.