The next two weeks my life falls into a routine.
I wake up, take my medicine, eat, leave for work, get home at three, and read in my room until I'm forced to drag my corpse down to eat dinner with my makeshift family. Maybe I'm too hard on them, but at least I talk to Louis over dinner. He's annoyingly happy that I haven't been hanging out with Harry lately, but I can't defend Harry because I myself am mad at him as well. Not mad, per say, just...indifferent. I know he just brings me tears and trouble, yet I can't help but miss his haunting smile and his forest green eyes. I'm too proud to run over to his house and tell him I'm ready to start talking to him, though. And also, I've come to like the endless routine my life has become. Maybe that's just my OCD kicking in.
I hear Jay call me down for dinner and I internally groan. I drag myself down to the dining room where I smell pasta and chicken. My father is already eating along with my siblings, minus Louis.
Oh, right. It's Friday. Louis is at a party.
Shit.
Jay shoots me a hopeful smile as I occupy my usual seat. "I made pasta marinara," she tells me. "Your father told me it's your favorite."
I give her a slight smile and spoon some onto my plate. As if my father would know anything about what my favorites are.
"Blair, where's Harry been lately? I haven't seen him here," Jay says casually.
I blink a couple times before answering. "He's just been busy," is all I can manage to say. "And we've had a fight," I add, surprising myself at the detail I'm providing.
She just nods. "A shame. You two really seem to get along. I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up together."
I choke on my pasta, bursting into a fit of coughs. Lottie slaps me on the back to help me regain my breath.
My dad laughs. "Blair? With Harry? What a joke!"
Jay stares at my father. "What's so funny?"
"They've been best friends their whole lives, Jay, why the hell would they want to date each other? Jesus."
Jay rolls her eyes at my dad and smiles at me. "The heart wants what the heart wants," she simply says and the subject is dropped.
I feel empty without Louis beside me, sending me his playful grins and comments.
I eat in silence, listening to Phoebe and Daisy chatter on about their summer days spent at the neighborhood pool. Jay nods excitedly at each of their stories and even my dad cracks a smile. It's a genuine smile, a happy smile. I grimace when I remember he hasn't smiled like that so often since before my mother died.
"Blair?"
"What?" I snap out of my trance to see everyone's eyes on me.
"How are you liking the pasta?" Jay asks again.
"Oh, it's uh...great." No one made pasta marinara like my mother.
"I remember you used to gobble that up like it was candy when you were younger," my father remarks.
I grip my fork tighter in my fist. "Yeah," I say through clenched teeth.
"Madeleine made it like a true Italian," he says to Jay who smiles sadly, worry in her eyes as she looks at me. It angers me how she looks at me like that. Like any mention of my mother will send me over the edge.
I've spent so much of my life after my mother died trying to fix myself. With perfect grades in school and a perfect job performance (which is really a "you're doing great, kiddo," from a slightly hungover Shawn), I still work at it every day. Apply my makeup perfectly, make sure my hair looks just so. It's not that I try hard, because I really don't. I just don't want people to judge me for my mother's death or my illness, which is exactly what Jay does every time she interacts with me.
I don't hate Jay.
But she'll never be my mother. And I don't think she knows that yet.
"What was your mum like, Blair?" Phoebe asks.
My father widens his eyes for a split second before continuing to eat. I shut my eyes for a couple seconds and reopen them, seeing that everyone's eyes are still on me. Everyone's but my father's.
Jay looks incredibly uncomfortable as she looks at Phoebe disapprovingly.
"She was perfect," I answer simply, staring straight my father. "Absolutely perfect."
"So is my mum," Fizzy says, shooting a grin at Jay. Jay looks down at her lap as if I'll lash out on her for being perfect in her daughter's eyes.
"That's enough talk about Blair's mum," my father interjects forcefully.
I almost choke on my water as I hear the harshness in his voice. It's as if he didn't bring up my mother himself, complimenting her cooking, of all things. It's like he wants to forget her completely, to wipe his slate clean for the sake of his new wife and kids.
I stand up from the table at lightning speed, throwing my napkin onto my plate. I don't know what made me so angry, but I burn my eyes into my father's, wanting him to know exactly what I'm feeling. His own eyes look surprised at my outburst.
"If she could only see you now," I say to him venomously. I don't regret a word I said as I storm out of the dining room and up the stairs into my room, flopping down on the bed.
It's moments like this I call Harry to vent about the stupidity and carelessness of my jackass of a father, but I can't do that now. I'm definitely not going to drive to his house, the party's probably in full swing. I can't call Louis; he's probably hooking up with Jane again. I smile a bit when I remember Harry dissing Jane at the party. Even though I was drunk out of my mind, I do remember her mortified expression.
I sigh and grab my car keys. I need to talk to somebody I trust.
I find myself pulling up to the bookstore I left hours ago after my shift was over. I walk through the front doors and Liam looks surprised to see me.
"Blair," he says pleasantly. I like the way my name sounds coming from him. "What are you doing here?"
"I know you're working the late shift, and I guess I just wanted to keep you company." Liam and I alternate months to work the late shift, and we both know how tedious it is without someone to talk to.
Liam smiles. "Thanks, Blair, that's really nice of you."
"No problem," I say, leaning on the counter.
Shawn stumbles out of the back room, a stack of books in his arms. "Hey, Price," he calls me by my last name when he sees me. "You know I'm not paying you overtime for this, right?"
I roll my eyes playfully. "Yes, Shawn."
"Good. Lock up at nine, no later!" Shawn calls as he dumps the books on the counter and walks out the door.
Liam and I look at each other and laugh. "What a penny-pincher," Liam says.
"You know I'm not paying you overtime, right?" I mock.
We laugh as we take the stack of books Shawn left and put them in the correct places. It's nice to be with someone that's like me, with no tattoos and doesn't curse every other word.
We talk about college and education. I tell him how I'm starting at the uni in the fall.
"Cool, what field?" He asks.
"Literature, writing or something," I say.
"That's awesome," he says. "That's what I'm studying, now."
We chat more and I find myself liking Liam more and more.
At nine I help Liam lock up and he walks me to my car.
"It was nice talking to you tonight, Blair," he says, leaning down to talk to me through my window.
"Yeah, it really was," I agree.
"Well, see you on Monday," he says, shooting me a grin before turning and walking to his own car. I wave goodbye and drive just on speed limit to get home. I don't want to see my father or anyone right now.
When I pull into the driveway Harry's car is there.
I park my car and cautiously enter the house. Why is he here? What could he want?
I step into the kitchen to mentally prepare myself. I don't have time.
Sitting at the kitchen table eating an apple is Harry himself.
I choke on air.
Harry's electrifying green eyes lock with mine. His expression is unreadable. He puts down the apple when I enter, his eyes not leaving mine.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask once I catch my breath. I take a seat at the kitchen table across from him.
He doesn't answer. He just continues to look into my eyes, as if he's trying to read my thoughts.
"Why aren't you at your house, throwing a party?" I ask.
"I wanted to see you," he says evenly.
I blink. "I told you I needed space."
"It's been two weeks."
"Maybe two weeks hasn't been enough for me."
"It's been enough for me."
"Not everything is about you!" I shout, anger boiling inside of me. Who does he think he is?
Harry's eyes widen in shock. We both fall silent, just staring into each other's eyes as if communicating mentally. I make my eyes as cold as I can.
"What happened?" He asks suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"Something happened, you're upset."
"You showed up here and--"
"No, it's something else."
It scares me how well he knows me. He sees right through me. He walks slowly towards.
"Tell me," he says softly, touching my cheek.
"No." I state, backing away from him. "You--you need to leave."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you here!" I yell. Pain spreads on Harry's face and I regret my outburst.
"So that's it then?" Harry asks coldly. "After years of friendship you're dropping me like I'm a piece of shit?"
I look away. "You know it's not like that."
"Then what is it like, Blair? You know, you spend so much goddamn time trying to be fucking perfect all the time, you forget what's important. Perfect doesn't fucking exist!” Harry's voice rises by the second.
"Oh, and you think you know what's important? Every Saturday I come to your stupid house and help you clean up the shit mess you make the night before! You waste your time partying like a frat boy or something, you forget that pretty much every time you talk to me you say something that makes me hate you!"
"So you hate me?" Harry's eyes are blazing and his face is an angry shade of red.
I swallow. I stare into his eyes for a moment and say the only thing I know will make him leave. "Yes," I say. "I hate you, Harry. I hate you and all your stupid shit that you make me put up with."
Harry stares at me.
"All those years, down the fucking drain," he says before grabbing his car keys and pushing out the back kitchen door and into the night.
I lean against the kitchen wall across from the door, running a hand through my hair. "I hate you, Harry," I say to the door. "I really hate you, but I still love you and the shit you put me through more than anything I've ever loved before." I put my face in my hands. It sounds weird coming out of my mouth. "I love you, Harry."
I do love him. I love him and all the stupid things he says. I love going to his house on Saturday mornings to clean up because I get to be around him. I love driving him places when he's too drunk to think. I love how he nags me about coming to parties with him. I love how he fights with me and curses at me time and time again. I love how he knows me better than anyone ever has and ever will. I love the way his eyes dilate in amusement when I say something sarcastic. I love Harry, I love everything about him.
Suddenly, the kitchen door slams open and Harry steps back in with blazing eyes. Oh shit. Did he hear me?
"Did...did you mean that?" My heart stops when he confirms that he did. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. When I don't answer, he says, "What you said just now. Did you mean it?"
"I--" I don't know what to say. The look in his eyes is something I've never seen before.
Without warning, Harry takes a large step towards me so that we're only inches apart. I smell his heavenly cologne on him mixed with...whiskey?
"Have you been drinking?" I whisper. He doesn't seem drunk. He must have not had that much.
"You know the answer to that," he breathes back. He locks eyes with me and suddenly, he leans closer and closer until our lips connect.
Electricity jolts through me as I try to comprehend what's happening. I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe him in, trying to convince myself this isn't a dream. Harry's hands are on my hips as he runs a hand through my dark waves, his touch sending fireworks through my skin. He runs his tongue over my bottom lip and I shiver as my stomach does acrobatics inside of me. I've never been kissed like this before...hell, I've never even been kissed.
I would have never guessed that my first kiss would be my best friend. I don't know how long we're kissing, I just stand there like Jell-O in his arms, lost in Harry.
"Jesus Christ!"
Harry and I jump apart at the sound of Louis' voice. Oh shit. This is going to get very bad.
I've never seen Louis look so mad. He stands in front of the back door, his blue eyes on fire. His hands are balled into fists and his tattooed muscles contract.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He shouts at us.
"Louis, I can explain--"
"Don't you fucking say you can explain, you were kissing, what the fuck am I supposed to think? Save your bullshit excuses, Blair." He turns to Harry. "And you. I thought I told you to stay away from her. And what the fuck do you do? You come here and latch onto her!"
"Blair can make her own decisions," Harry says smugly.
"No, Blair can't, because she's fucking nineteen years old and she's not like you. She's not scum."
"Her being nineteen years old makes her an adult," Harry says.
"As long as I'm around, she will not be going around and sucking face with dirty shit like you. Now get your sorry ass off my property before I have to hit you so hard you'll shit out your brains!"
"Louis!" I yell. "It was me, it was my fault. I kissed him. Don't--don't hurt him." I know nothing Louis can say to me will hurt more than seeing him hurt Harry physically.
Louis narrows his eyes at me in disbelief. "Blair, what the fuck is wrong with you? I've warned you, and you've gotten hurt by him--multiple times, I might add!"
"It was a mistake, alright? It won't happen again!" I shout at Louis.
Harry stares at me with dark eyes.
"If I see you around here again, I won't hesitate to beat your sorry ass to a pulp," Louis growls at Harry.
Harry clenches his fists and I intervene before it's too late. "Harry, I think you--I think you should go," I say quietly.
Harry stares at me as if I had just told him I hated him again. He looks between me and Louis and back again, and finally turns and walks out of the back door, leaving nothing but his taste on my lips.