Elaina Basset
Fifteen minutes ago, my laptop chimed with an email from the Milano Institution of Arts.
The subject of the email read, 'Re: Individual Artists Program Rodin Museum Application.'. Which means that this email will tell me if I was accepted or not.
Basically, my future is in the hands of this single email.
And I've just been staring at my laptop, unable to open the message up.
"You're overthinking."
Isaac speaks to me as he stands at the edge of the bed. I shut my eyes and shake my head. "I'm not overthinking, this is everything to me, you don't understand."
"Waiting won't change what's in that email, baby." he says.
I know he's right, but my heart is thrashing against my chest cavity right now.
"Do you want me to open it?" Isaac asks, and immediately I reject that.
"I'll be embarrassed if it's a letter of rejection and you read it before I do." I admit.
He laughs a little bit at this. "Why would you be embarrassed?"
Because I'm scared you'll think I'm not good enough.
"Because, being rejected is embarrassing in itself, and I don't want you to have to reveal it to me." I cover up my real reasoning.
Isaac tilts his head, furrowing his brows like he didn't fully buy what I was saying.
"Babe, you know the result of this won't change how I see you at all. You know that, right?" his voice speaks in a questioning tone of concern.
I try to backtrack right away, to savour his feelings before my own—like always.
"Of course I know that." I say, "It's just me getting in my head."
"As always." he responds.
I blow a breath out through my mouth, looking back to my laptop screen. I hover my cursor over the email, highlighting it and rereading the same header over and over again.
I'm going to puke.
"I'm just gonna do it." I murmur, to boost my own self confidence rather than actually speak to Isaac.
"There you go." Isaac encourages.
Breathing out again, I don't allow myself to give it another thought. My fingers press down on the cursor bar, making me click on the email.
When it opens, I immediately shut my eyes tight. Now, I'm holding my breath while only seeing the blackness behind my eyelids. My fingers shake. My heart pounds.
"You know you're only prolonging it, right?" I hear Isaac say.
"That's the point." I murmur.
"El, c'mon." he urges.
I sigh, slowly opening one eye at a time. The words on my screen start out blurry, before focusing into a paragraph that would determine my future as an artist.
'Dear Miss. Elaina Basset,'
There's a massive lump in my throat.
'Thank you for your submission to the Rodin Museum Contest via the Individual Artists Program. We appreciate all of your effort and hard work.'
I look up at Isaac one more time.
"I can't keep reading." I shake my head.
"Yes, you can." he tells me, standing at the edge of the bed with his arms crossed as he just looks at me and my reactions.
Just relax—I tell myself.
I bring my eyes back to the computer screen. I know that I just have to peel off the bandaid and read the rest...I can cope with the outcome after.
'After a couple of weeks of heavy consideration, we are sorry to inform you that your submission was not chosen to be displayed. This was not an easy decision, and we hope to see where your art takes you otherwise.
Kind regards,
Mr. Bianchi of the Milano Inst. of Arts.'
And just like that, the tightrope of destiny I've been walking snaps, and I'm falling. There is nothing to grasp onto, nothing to climb up, nothing to catch me. It's done, and I'm crushed.
I blink as I stare at my laptop, trying to reread to convince myself that it wasn't real—that I didn't actually witness those words.
But it is real, and it was soul demolishing in every way.
This was everything I've ever wanted, gone.
"Elaina..." I hear Isaac's voice among the whistling of dread in my ears. "What does it say?"
I must have had a physical reaction in my face, because he asked me with such concern that wouldn't be necessary if my face hadn't fallen into sorrow.
It took everything in me not to break, but in this case, I couldn't help it. Tears brim my eyes, my vision blurring, and my chin quivers as I look up from my screen.
"I didn't get it." my voice cracks.
His face falls, his arms falling from their crossed position and his shoulders slouching slightly. He sighs and ruffles a hand through his hair. "Fuck, babe...I'm sorry..."
I blink fast, trying to fight tears that were inevitable anyway. "I wanted this so bad." I sniff.
I place my face in my palms, unable to look at him or my laptop. My palms get wet with the small amount of tears. I was holding back, not allowing myself to fully break down yet, even though I so badly wanted to.
"This is not the end of the world, baby." Isaac says, coming around the bed. I feel him get onto the mattress and wrap his arms around me and pull my body into his.
"This was a once in a lifetime chance, Isaac." I speak into my hands.
He rubs my back. "It'll be okay—"
No, he doesn't fucking get it.
"Please—" I push his arm off of me, and I get up. My shaky legs take me off of the bed. "I'm sorry, I just...I need a minute." I sniffle, then I leave him in my room.
For me, this was everything. For me, this was what I was gripping onto, white knuckling it in my grasp to keep me above water because if I didn't then I'd drown in the sea of grief that is Denver and the reason why I fled. For me, I had this one thing to keep me going. Through all of the shit I've faced four months ago and in the past couple of weeks, I had that little glimmer of hope that it would all pay off.
And now it's just fucking over, down the drain right before my eyes. There was never any hope to begin with.
So no, it's not gonna be okay.
I hurry down the stairs, wiping my eyes. I need to be alone for just a moment. I feel suffocated. I need to breathe.
Although I feel as though my future just crumbled in front of me, I need to keep myself together.
I head into the kitchen, going over by the sink and gripping the counter. I shut my eyes, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth in an unsteady rhythm. The true grief hasn't ensued yet, right now it's just shock and disbelief that my art journey will never hit its peak.
Apart of me expected Isaac to hurry down the stairs immediately after I left in an effort to comfort me. Even though I wanted to be alone, I was still sort of shocked when he stayed up there.
But that's beside the point.
I look down into the sink, my head aching with this newfound emptiness that came with the drainage of all the scenarios I had if this dream of mine had succeeded.
I swear I could've stared numbly into that porcelain for eternity, but the front door opens.
I look over my shoulder to see who's footsteps I was hearing, almost expecting to see Zayn.
But, in walks Dreamboat.
He stops when he sees me, like he wasn't expecting to see me here either. He has his car keys in his hand.
His face was all bruised up, a purple mark along his nose and more bruises along his jawline on the right side. When we were bailed out together, he came out with his nose and mouth all bloody. This must be the aftermath.
"I just needed to grab something for Zayn...he told me you'd be asleep still." he says, filling the silence.
I sniff and look forward again, wiping my eyes with my arm and turning on the tap to make it look like I was busy.
"Okay." I answer.
I bite my trembling lip, hearing Harry's silence and feeling his presence at the other end of the kitchen behind me.
In the silence, I hear him clear his throat and set his car keys on the table. The clank of the metal contrasts onto the hard wood.
"Everything okay?" he asks, like he knew the answer—but also like he wasn't sure if he should ask.
I know he saw my face when he walked in. I was crying, and he saw. He knows I'm not okay, but I don't know how to tell him why.
I can't bring myself to nod and lie, to tell him that I'm fine and hope that he just takes that and leaves it.
It's strange, but I sort of want him to tell me what Isaac did...that it'll all be okay.
In response to his question, I feel the emotion build. I shake my head and pinch my eyes shut, my back still to him.
When my head dips down, I can't stop it. I just let myself sob quietly, my tears fall into the sink.
"Hey," I hear Harry. He approaches, and my stomach whirls at the feeling of his hand on my back. "what's going on—"
"Harry!" I hear yet another voice enter the villa. Around the corner and into the kitchen comes Niall. "Hurry up, it's hot as fuck in the c—what's wrong?"
Niall sees Harry and I, he sees my tears and he sees Harry attempting to investigate the reason for them.
"Red, why are you upset?" he reiterates his question, walking closer to us. "Was it that dickhead you're engaged to? Did he do something? I swear I'll—"
"N-no, Niall it wasn't Isaac." I sniff and shake my head, wiping my eyes excessively.
"What happened then?" Harry asks, a small sense of urgency in his voice. Maybe he was worried that something involving the gang occurred and he didn't know about it yet.
I sigh through my mouth as Niall and Harry shield me, standing around me. "My painting didn't get accepted into the museum. That's what happened." I admit, my hand smacking my thigh after I throw it up in defeat.
Saying those words made it feel so much more real, and it set it all in stone for me.
Niall looks at Harry, and Harry looks at Niall. It's like they have this unspoken dialogue going on telepathically—neither of them know what to say.
"Shit..." Niall scratches the back of his neck. "Sorry, Red. That sucks."
"Did they say why?" Harry asks.
I wipe under my eye and shake my head. "No, just that I didn't make it."
Harry's brows furrow and his head shakes as if that information didn't make sense to him. "So they give you hope at the interview and then just turn you down?"
"It's just how it goes, I guess." I murmur, taking my mom's locket between my fingers.
Harry sighs and looks down to his feet, he twists the rings on his fingers. I stand there, leaning against the sink with my heart on my sleeve, showing Harry and Niall my real emotions.
"You know..." he says before looking back up at me, "maybe it's for the best that it happened this way."
I feel my heart stop at those words, and it almost felt as though I'd heard him incorrectly. I look up at him, meeting eyes. My brows crease.
"What?"
"I mean, with everything going on, maybe not being accepted was for the better..." he says, cementing his words which were, in fact, very real.
He thinks that it's better this way—that it's better that I didn't get what I wanted.
Niall nods, like he's agreeing with Harry. "True. Now you have one less thing to stress about—"
"That was my dream." I interrupt, my tone projecting in a serious manner. "It was all I wanted..."
Harry sees that I'm not agreeing with what they were saying. "I know that, Picasso, I—"
"Do you know that?" I tilt my head. "Because getting my art in that museum was the one thing that was keeping my mind off of all of this bullshit."
"I'm just saying that maybe it'll work out better this way, Elaina." he tries to reiterate but it wasn't doing anything for me. "What we're doing takes a lot of focus."
I put my face in my palms and shake my head with a sigh of frustration. It seems like no one understands, and it's really lonely.
And maybe it hurts more because for some odd reason, I was expecting more comfort from Harry.
I scoff into my hands, then bring my face up. "I don't know why I expected you to get it." I murmur. "It's not like you had my best interest at hand before."
I have to remember that he hated me before we were ever friends—if that's even what you could call us. He despised me, thought I was an obstacle.
And I hated him too. That's what we were...two people who couldn't stand the sight of each other.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry questions.
"A couple of weeks ago you'd probably be wishing I'd lose out on this opportunity just because you'd wanna see me upset." I say.
He pulls back as if he's offended, his lips parting and his brows furrowing. "It was different then." he says.
Niall keeps looking between the two of us like he's confused.
"How could things have possibly changed, Harry!?" my voice raises.
"Because, I..." he starts, but he stops himself. His mouth closes with hesitation, not allowing himself to finish his outspoken thoughts.
"You what." I mutter, feeling a slight need to hear what he was going to say.
I want him to finish that sentence, but at the same time, I don't.
Because I think if he does finish it, it could change everything.
He just shakes his head, blinking with a subtle eye roll as he looks off to the side and swallows. "Forget it."
"Yeah. That's what I thought." I shake my own head, my cheeks wet with tears and my jaw clenched.
It was another ache on top of the hurt I was already feeling. I felt like the progress that Harry and I have made is on the verge of being swept away, but I really just can't believe he said what he did.
"Why are you upset at me?" he continues on.
"I'm not upset at you! I'm just...fuck, I'm just frustrated." I wipe my eyes with a bit more aggressive, angry with how much I was crying.
"I was just suggesting—"
"I don't want your suggestions, because clearly you don't understand." I tell him while cutting him off. "Your 'passion' may be for money and riches...but that doesn't mean it's mine." I sniff. "A-and no one seems to get that my painting is everything to me. So the fact that you think this is just a hobby I can give up is hurtful."
Truthfully, my anger with Harry was coming from a place of my own heartbreak. If I had maybe calmed down beforehand, maybe this conversation would be smoother. But, everything is happening all at once now and it's making me want to scream.
My mouth wants to say some hurtful things, but my brain and my heart want me to stop.
Harry doesn't have a quick, witted response to this. Even Niall looks a little stunned. I know I'll regret saying it later but right now I'm not focused on the future.
Harry's jaw clenches as he looks at me, his face telling me what my own thoughts were screaming. This friendship and something of a bond we've built...it's collapsing in just a few moments.
"El?"
I hear my name from the stairs. The three of us look in that direction, seeing Isaac making his way down in a rush upon seeing me crying.
His face drops when it's confirmed to him that I'm in tears, and he hurries to me. "Hey, you're okay."
He makes his way past Harry and Niall, kind of shoving past them with a glare. I cant help but steal a glimpse at Harry's face, which is filled with subtle disgust.
Isaac grabs my cheeks, scuffing his thumb under my eyes to wipe away the wetness.
"Sorry," I shake my head, "I'm just overwhelmed."
He nods with empathy in his face, an expression that I didn't see before. "Maybe we just need to be alone for a bit, yeah?"
I know he's only saying that because Harry and Niall are here. He wants them gone, and I'm surprised he hasn't pulled me out of this villa yet and taken me to the hotel.
And then, he moves his hands from my face to my hand, grabbing it. "C'mon. We'll go for a walk."
But, to my shock, as Isaac is beginning to pull me away...Harry stops him. He plants his hand against Isaac's chest to stop him forcefully from walking. My heart drops as Isaac and Harry are standing inches away from each other, and Harry has a strong glare on his face.
"She can go if she wants to, yeah?" he says, his voice calm but yet so threatening—it was a tone I'd become familiar with.
"Harry—"
Isaac cuts me off, "Look, I don't know what you two assholes think you're gonna get from me, but—"
"We just want our friend to feel comfortable." Niall speaks, his tone also quite threatening. "If she wants to stay in the villa then that's her choice."
Isaac doesn't speak right away, death gripping my hand as he slowly turns around. My chin trembles as I look at him.
Niall and Harry don't need to defend me, not from my fiancé. I've got it. But, despite all that, they were right.
I look down in shame.
"Baby," Isaac brings his other hand to my chin, tilting it up. "Look at me, it's fine."
I was expecting him to get mad. Like, very mad. Like when he broke my phone.
I look at him, meeting his brown eyes. He touches my face again, stroking his thumb along my cheekbone.
"I'll fix this. It'll all be okay." he tells me, Harry and Niall standing behind him.
"H-how?" I mumble.
He pauses, and he swallows. He keeps his eyes on me, but I can tell his mind is whirling with debate.
But then, like a gavel to a judge's desk...he speaks,
"Let's set a date for the wedding. We'll make it official. We'll do it here."
My brows raise and my throat closes, like all my words had been stolen from me in seconds. It's like I forgot how to be human.
Isaac looks away briefly to go into his pocket, his hand fishing around for something. While his eyes aren't on me, it was my instinct to look at Harry.
Guilt.
When I looked at your face, dreamboat...guilt was all that I could feel.
His face, it had fallen. It wasn't anger, it wasn't neutral, it was more of a very subtle sorrow.
I watch as he breaks eye contact and blinks as he looks away, looking down to the ground.
I may be mad at him, but that sight wrenched my chest.
Isaac grabs my hand and tugs it toward him, holding out my fingers. This was when I looked down and realized that he had my engagement ring.
"I took this out of your dresser." he tells me, both of us looking at each other again. My eyes flick between his, and he pulls a small smile.
Isaac's smile was sweet. His pink lips would form a line and pull into a curve. He has freckles and moles on his face that I'd kiss early in our relationship. He had hair that I would run my fingers through.
At one point, I loved him.
But now, when I look at Isaac's face, I just feel ashamed.
Our relationship now is infidelity. Lies and false hope.
And as he holds my engagement ring, I know what's coming. And I know that any answer I give, I'll feel ill.
"What do you say, El?" he says, "Will you marry me?"
Words of affection have been twisted into words of pain. I feel no excitement or joy through his request—a request that had to be made again in order for it to mean a single thing.
A request that was made to keep me from leaving...twice.
Never in my life have I felt more trapped. More doomed.
And I feel as though I don't have a choice.
I don't look at Harry again, not directly, because I know it'll hurt more. But I can see him in my peripheral, his head still down.
I look at Isaac, swallowing. I nod.
I nod. I couldn't even bring myself to verbally say yes.
At my response, Isaac exhales and gives me a little grin as he slides the ring onto my finger. I watch as the expensive item wraps around my ring finger.
This feels wrong.
"I love you." Isaac says, pulling me in for a hug and wrapping his arms around my waist.
I hug him back with a pain in my chest, looking over his shoulder at Harry.
We make eye contact and I see no warmth in his green eyes. No coldness either though.
I know to a small extent how Harry feels about Isaac and I. This hurts for both of us.
The eye contact I hold with Harry is broken when he looks away and then turns around, grabbing his keys from the table and then leaving. Niall is quick to follow. It's not long before I hear the front door open and shut.
The void that he left makes me wire my eyes shut as I feel an emptiness in my chest.
Accepting that ring on my finger just sealed a fate that will ruin Harry and I.
Niall Horan
Music and booze and smoke. It fills the air along with the sweat pouring from everyone inside.
We're at the bar tonight. Me, the guys, Angela and Bianca.
I push through bodies, some people dancing, some making out. I keep my hand slightly in the air as I'm carrying a glass of vodka and I don't want it to spill.
I'm in search of Harry. He's here somewhere...unless he fuckin' dipped out and left.
Among the hundred of bodies, I catch the familiar scent of vanilla and sugar walk by me—that's Angela's perfume. I turn to confirm my thoughts, seeing her in black jean shorts and a white laced top paired with a leather jacket that hangs off of one shoulder.
"Ang!" I shout, my body following her direction. She hears me and turns around, brows furrowed as she holds a martini in her hand.
"What?" she shouts over the bass of the music.
"Where's Harry!"
"What!" she leans in closer, she can't hear me.
"Harry! Where's Harry!" I shout back.
She shrugs. "Fuck if I know! Upstairs?"
I sigh and turn away, heading toward the staircase now to go and find him. I saw him for maybe five minutes when we arrived here, and then he disappeared.
The upstairs section was much less crowded, because it's mostly a VIP area. I walk past a few people, until eventually I come across a red couch with a slouched body in it.
There he is.
In his black button up and black jeans, he leans into the couch. There's a bottle of whiskey in his hand, a decent amount of it gone. His shirt is only buttoned up to right below his chest, which I never really understood. Why wear a shirt at all if it's barely buttoned up?
"Styles!" I shout, walking up to his couch.
He looks at me, not changing his expression at all. He just takes another sip of whiskey and runs a hand through his hair.
"Dude, I've been looking everywhere for you."
"Well you found me." he murmurs.
I can tell that the alcohol is hitting him. I've seen Harry drunk plenty of times, and I know that he has a high tolerance to this stuff...but I've never really seen him get himself drunk at a party like this. Usually, in these settings, he likes to be alert and in control. He's not one to get wasted at a public bar, unless something is bothering him.
I sit down on the other end of the couch, sipping my vodka as I look at Harry.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
I know when Harry's upset about something.
He shakes his head as he sits forward with his elbows on his knees and holding the bottle between his spread legs. His hair falls over his face. "I don't even know."
That's better than nothing, I guess.
I look at him side on. "Well there has to be something you can narrow it down to. Did your dad try and contact you again?"
If that's the reason, I swear to god I'll kill that man. Harry and I both despise him, rightfully so.
But, he lets out a scoff. "No. For once, it's not him."
"Then what is it?"
Knowing Harry for as long as I have, I'm well aware that he isn't the confiding type. I'm not either, so we work perfectly together...but he's my best friend. I want to help him.
I'm not gonna let him drink himself into a coma because he feels like he can't talk about what's eating away at him.
He blows air through his nose and sits up so his back hits the back of the couch again. He lets his head rest against the back, looking up at the dark ceiling.
"I messed up."
I tilt my head. "How?"
I know Harry hates making mistakes, and if he does fuck up then that's enough to cause a night full of self hatred towards himself...but in this case I don't know what he's referring to.
He shakes his head slightly, shutting his eyes. "Elaina." he slurs. "I messed up by telling her that not winning the contest was for the better."
Huh?
Now I'm just confused.
I shake my head in lack of clarity. "Okay, but why would Elaina be the reason that you're getting pity drunk?"
He opens his eyes and turns his head along the back of the couch so that he's looking at me. He looks at me as if I should have the answer.
Oh wait.
Oh fuck.
Does he...
No, that's not possible.
Right? Right?
My eyes widen and my mouth drops open.
"Harry..."
I made jokes about it before, but holy fuck, I didn't think it was all that true.
"I like her, Niall."
Hearing him admit that sent shock through me. That was literally the last thing that I was expecting to hear tonight. And I know that if he wasn't drinking, he would have never admitted it—hell, maybe it's the first time he's admitting it to himself too.
"Holy shit." I mumble in bewilderment.
"Yup." his lips form into a defeated line. "Fucked up, isn't it?"
"I'm just shocked."
"Me too."
"She used to get under your skin like nobody else..."
"She still does." he lets out a slight chuckle, but it was more of a scoff. "Guess I just enjoy it a bit more now."
I just sit there, still kind of disbelief over it.
"Doesn't matter though," he continues, "because she's getting married to that asshole...and she's gonna live happily ever after."
Just earlier this morning was when we watched Isaac re-propose to Elaina. I thought the whole thing was weird, but that's mostly because I hate romance.
I didn't realize how much it truly upset him.
"Man," I shake my head, "I'm sorry."
He shrugs, acting like it was nothing. "Don't be. I was dumb to think it would work out any other way."
I hate seeing him this way, so ready to give up.
I watched Harry experience this before, with someone else. I watched how it affected him. And honestly, with Elaina, it feels different. It feels like it's on a bigger scale but alas I can't speak for him. Maybe it's the exact same.
I just know that I don't want him to hurt like that again.
But it's also shocking, because after that happened he swore that he'd never let himself actually have feelings for another person again. And since it happened, he'd just hookup with people then leave...he kept his promise, there were never any feelings.
Not until now, I guess.
Okay, it's time for me to take the best friend initiative and snap him out of his funk.
"Alright," I say, standing up. He looks at me, confused. "Let's go party."
"Niall..." he squints and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Nope, it's not a choice. Up, up, up!" I urge, grabbing his arm and pulling him up from the couch. He groans with protest as he's forced upward.
"I'm not in a party mood." he mumbles.
"Because you're drinking whiskey." I take the bottle from him. "Whiskey is for sad drinking. Try this." I give him my vodka as replacement.
He rolls his eyes at me but takes a sip.
I pat him on the shoulder. "There's my boy."
"Shut up."
I laugh, then look over the balcony at the partying below. "Okay, let's g—"
I stop.
I stop because my eyes behold a sight that could not have come at a worse time.
Down in the crowd, the fiery red hair could not be mistaken.
Elaina's here, with Isaac and his two idiot friends.
Fuuuuuuuck.
//
oh shits gonna go down lol.
side note: don't be mad at elaina for being upset with harry. let's keep in mind that she just lost out on something that meant THE WORLD to her, okay? let's cut her some slack here maybe??
i'm excited for next chapter though hehe.
follow my twitter, @/uiookuglytoday