Do you ever feel so lost, so completely detached from life, that you almost cant even tell the days are passing? You know they are, because no matter what personal drama, no matter what life changes you are facing, that is the one thing you can count on. That the days will come and go, and life will go on even if you don't feel as thought you can.
This was how I had felt for the last nine days. Nine of the longest, most empty, most numbing days of my life, all blending together in to one long scene of monotony.
I didn't know what to do. There were so many factors involved in that one day that I didn't even know how to begin to process it all. So many different aspects, all needing different solutions, all so completely opposite of each other.
But I felt too weak, too completely empty to even do anything about them. I thought about them, of course. That was all I really did as this time passed. Lay in my bed, and think. Endlessly think.
First, there was yet another betrayal by my mother. I knew her taste for my educational choices, both line of study and college, was sour. She cared for neither, as I figured and expected. I knew, when she said all the right things through gritted teeth in the days following my finding out about Ford and his relation to me, that it was all for show. She was a talented woman, my mother. She knew how to say what needed to be said. But there was nothing in her rule book about having to mean it.
So I really shouldn't have been that surprised to talk in and find the dean of St Andrews in my home. I maybe shouldn't have been surprised that she had gone ahead and suggested my preference to the school to him, and provided my transcripts. And I probably shouldn't have been dumbfounded at the fact that she honestly thought that her trick would work, that I would just cave to her will as I had time and time again.
But I was surprised. I was so completely shocked and lost at the fact that my own mother would go to such lengths. I mean, was my own choice so bad? Were my own desires so completely worthless to her that he felt she had to intervene so directly?
I didn't know, and I didn't care. Because I wasn't going to change my mind for her. I wasn't going to let her take this away from me; this first glimmer of hope I had to a future beyond these walls. I had been accepted to the school of my choice. To the program I wanted. I was going to do this, with or without her support.
Normally, I would immediately follow up that thought with 'because I have Harrys support'. But, in light of the changes between him and I from that same day, I could no longer think those words with any real sense of belief.
I was in no way prepared to deal with my thoughts on Harry. Both my own realization of exactly how I felt about him, and the way he had taken my statement of him being a release for me. That he truly believed he was nothing more than a replacement addiction.
Yes, I had turned to alcohol and drugs to cope. I used them as a mechanism of distraction, to make me feel nothing, to erase the pain and anger I felt at my life. The control held over me, the scrutiny and the nothingness. But Harry wasn't that. If anything, he was the opposite. He made me feel, he made me think. He made me want to be something, and actually work towards it. He was my catalyst for everything good that that I wanted, that I hoped for.
I turned to him when upset and lost because I loved him. Not because he was a replacement for my bad habits. But because he was so good, so clear and so real, that I didn't need or want those old coping mechanisms again.
That I loved him. That despite how we met, despite the reasons for his place in my life, and regardless of how we came to be as we were now, I loved the man more than I ever thought possible. I had never loved anymore before. I had never even considered the concept. It was another one of those corny tales you read about in novels of fiction and dramatic films. It was an intangible ideal, but not one of any truth. And certainly not one that I was capable of.
Or so I thought.
Then I met Harry. With his control, his passion, his tenderness and his rules, he swept me off my feet when I thought they were nailed to the ground. He took away everything I thought I needed, and replaced it with himself. He changed the way I saw my life, the way I saw the world, as thought he had washed away the film from a window, and I could see everything clearly.
I hadnt even realized his impact until that day. Until I was able to face my mother, an stand my ground. Until I fought with him, cared more for the pain I inflicted on him than my own, realizing just how deeply he had touched my soul.
Now, it was all I could see. The look on his face, the hurt and the confusion. To know that he honestly felt he was nothing more than an addiction to me, nothing more than a replacement for a bad habit. That I felt nothing more for him than just an empty need to pass the time, killed me.
I had tried to see him in the days that followed. But whenever I knocked on his door, no sound greeted me. I had sat in the library, praying he would come. He never did. I had texted him, begging for him to talk to me. All he would reply was 'I cant'.
His distancing from me was excruciating. I had never needed anyone before. I never let myself rely on anyone with any real degree. I always told myself that if I was left by someone, then fine. At least I hadnt come to need them.
But I needed him more than I need to breathe. More than I needed water, and more than I needed rest. And it drove me insane.
***
I pulled my laptop closer to my face, bending my legs further to accomplish the positioning I wanted. Resting my back against the pillows behind me, I tried to create a little nest in my bed.
I had submitted all my documentation, and paid my initial fees for university with the help of my Grandad. I refused to turn to my mother for anything when it came to this change, and since Harry was still avoiding me, almost two full weeks later, I turned to the one person in my life I had no strife with.
Grandad, as always, was happy for me. No matter my troubles, or my behavior, he never judged. I found him in his study, his narrow glasses sitting low on his nose, as I clutched the paperwork in my hands. He was already aware of my acceptance. I had told him the day following the call from the dean. But I needed access to my accounts, which, unfortunately, were still under conservatorship. The only ones who could access them were my mother, Harry, and Grandad.
Grandad to the rescue.
He seemed ecstatic to be filling out the forms, to be paying my first term tuition. For him, he admitted, this was like sending me off in to the world. He was proud of me, and was happy I was finally ready to make this step.
His support, after so long of feeling alone and lost, made me teary. By the time I got back to my room, the faxed documents back in my hands, I had to have a long hot shower to wash away the emotion.
Now that everything was settled, my new focus had to be housing. The dorms were filled, as the dean had mentioned. Not that I would be able to stay in a dorm. I knew my status would make some things of university impossible for me. Which brought me to the present, scouring ads for flats to rent in the Birmingham area.
There were quite a few, I found. I knew I wanted to live on my own. It was one of the many things I had dreamed of about this venture. To have a space of my own, to feel the peace and quiet of coming home to my own company. But finding a suitable place so far had proven difficult. There were plenty of ads, some of which I had written down to go and check out. But a lot were unsuitable, either because of location, or they just looked too much like something from a horror movie.
Moving on to another website, my phone vibrated on my nightstand, gaining my attention. I expected it to be Eden, since I knew she would be getting out of her classes for the day around this time.
Picking up the device, I almost dropped it again when I saw Harrys name.
Harry: can you come to the library for a moment?
My heart immediately started pounding, my stomach tensing. He had barely spoken to me in any means in almost two weeks. We had seen each other only twice in passing. The one event I was forced to endure several days before, he had kept a silent and noticeable distance from me.
Now, he wanted to talk?
I wasn't sure if I was excited, or terrified. I wanted to talk to him so badly, and yet, I was scared. I knew I needed to apologize, and I knew I needed to explain to him that he had misunderstood me. That he had never been something as little as a distraction. That he meant more to me than anything, than anyone, in my life.
And I was completely terrified of the idea of admitting that to him.
Taking a deep breath, I typed back that I was on my way, as I pushed the laptop off my legs. Running in to the bathroom, I checked myself over in the mirror quickly. I would be the first to admit I looked awful. I no longer bothered trying to impress. I no longer attempted to pretend that I wasn't hurt and distracted. Dark circles rimmed my eyes, making the blue hue dull and pale. My hair was in a messy knot on my head, nothing of the usual tame control I kept it. My face was pale, my lips chapped.
I looked like a girl going through a breakup. Which, in a lot of ways, was both accurate and ridiculous.
Making my way to the library, my stomach churned the closer I came. I tried to go over what to say to Harry, what I felt he needed to hear, and convince my self to have the courage to tell him how I felt. I knew he felt something towards me. No man would have such a pained reaction as he had to the idea of being used for sex if he didn't care. But still, it scared me to know I had to make the first move.
Pushing open the door of the library, I didn't even bother pausing for a moment on the other side. But as I stepped in to the room, I immediately wished I had.
Harry sat on one of the couches, a white long sleeve shirt over black jeans. His hair was tamed, controlled, his face a mask of indifference.
But he wasn't the only one there.
Sitting across from him, on the opposite couch, was my mother and Grandad. And in the chair adjacent, looking at me with keen and interested eyes, was the judge who had placed this conservatorship on me months before.
I realized quickly that my fight with Harry might not be the most concerning matter at the moment.