Any day of my teenage years I would be excited to party and get drunk, especially with my ex-lover. The thrill of having fun while having alcohol pumping through my veins seemed like the idea of rebellion as the idea of making memories and 'having the time of my life.' But now, at the age of twenty-nine-years old and with an important editing job at the nearby office from my small home. Currently, I am surrounded with my slightly drunken friends, while I am holding onto one beer tightly in my grip, deciding on if I should really take a drink from the chaos happening around me.
The slight drama going on is one of my closest friends, Nicky Pierce, is grinding on another friend of mine from work. They, of course, are both under the influence, while the man Nick is grinding on, Michael is his name, does not feel the need to get very intimate with her in that way. Michael is not as crazily wasted as Nicky is, and she can get very clingy on a person quickly.
My eyes glance over to the bartender, who keeps winking at me in a flirtatious way, and my body tells itself it is time to go dance. Setting the beer down, I avoid the strange bartender's look as well as my grinding friend and get caught in the midst of the crowd. There is no way that I will continue to let the stranger wink at me and think I want him, and I am hoping that he does not think I want him to meet me in the middle of the damned place of the floor.
Throughout the grinding as well as sweaty bodies, my nose hits a stench that I automatically recognize the smell of puke. It honestly makes me want to gag when I breathe the rubbish, but my worried eyes try to find where the smell is coming from so I do not have a little meeting with it. After a few moments of searching, I finally find the noise of gagging as well of the site of the stench.
A large, older man is sitting in a small chair with a trashcan pushed up to his face in the corner, near the bar. The sight would be hilarious to me if I did not feel sorrow for the elder man, and he must have had a long night, considering that it is around the New Year's holidays. That's what Nicky brought me here for; to get wasted and bring someone home or have some sexual activity with another. Countless times she has told me to loosen up, but she already has the idea that I have a boyfriend, Bryan.
Bryan has been another love of mine for roughly around a year. We met through Nicky, which is strangely enough her brother, and then we connected. Not magically, no, but our personalities were different, and still are, which made it unique. It seemed as if we had met at the right time, when everything was falling into place such as my house finally getting repaired as well as my job.
A body brings me out of my trance as I feel another bump into my hip. The people are getting out of hand, well some are, and this is when I decide on leaving, walking back over to the bar to see Nicky sitting on the bar stool, breathless. Thank God for her being done with her grinding as well as the flirty bartender disappearing. A smile appears on her face as she sees me, her eyes scanning down the loose white dress I am wearing as well as the blonde locks framing my face.
"There you are," she slurs in a mumble, her glazed, green irises looking into mine. "I want to meet you to some friends, well, yeah," she seems to question herself after pausing at the mention of friends, but quickly regains herself and grabs the base of my wrist.
"What? I thought we were leaving, Nicky," I complain and try to speak loudly over the blaring music.
"Yeah, you just have to meet some friends. Michael knows them too. He is over there talking to them now," the words fumbled out of her mouth are still blurred for her, but she tries to cooperate with her composure.
And as Nicky brings me more out of the dancing crowd and into the couched-in area, I cannot help but stifle a gasp.
This can't be right. I must be having a hallucination or something from my drink, if that is even possible, because I know Harry Styles is not fucking standing in front of me. And I know that before I can possibly move and leave this damn building so he doesn't see me, his dark eyes land on me and he copies my actions.
But, Harry Styles, the one who cheated on me twice and was my first love, is standing in front of me.
And with all those past memories being recalled in the crack of my mind, I can't help but frown. My eyes force themselves not to bring back tears, old, unfreshened tears that have not been seen ever since six years ago. I had wondered too many times of where Harry had been after those six years, but I had finally come to the conclusion that I was the one who walked away, I was the one who needed to move on. When someone makes you the happiest and saddest person at the same time, that's when you know it is real. That's when it is worth something, but after Harry had the secret affairs, I knew it was in the dump.
I would kill to know what is going through his mind at this exact moment with his strong eyes on me. Maybe he is surprised or he has finally had the remembrance of our memories flashing through the small parts of his mind. Or, he could be in the same situation as I am, looking at his appearance and seeing how much each one of us has changed greatly. Except, I am looking at what has changed from his insides to the outside, from his mind to looks. 'Things can change,' Harry always used to tell me. My vision clears after a short moment of the thinking, and I can see the frown of my ex-lover that was once mimicked onto my face. Instantly, I take in his different appearance, seeing how he has changed over the longing years. His curls have grew longer, to the point of where they are being held up by his shoulders.
"I hate my hair this way," he grumbles, pulling at the long strands and frowning. "It's so damn long."
"It's," I pause to look at it myself, reaching out my hand to tug at one of the curls. "Cute, I like it."
"But don't you like my short hair?" Harry questions and pouts, taking my small hand in his large.
"Indeed, I do."
My head shakes as if to get the sent away from my brain. Strange violet designs are littered onto the royal blue colours of his button-up, which is not buttoned. And from what I can recall, Harry never liked buttons in his past years, but things change. From what I see in this moment, he still agrees with his background. A black shirt is under the designed button-up, making the shirt bring out its unorthodox style. The well-known black skinny jeans are wrapped onto his legs as well as the famous black boots upon his large feet. Harry still has kept that wild fashion.
And suddenly, my arm is grabbed by Nicky, walking me over to the poison called my first love.
"Brooklyn!" She screams in my ear due to the alcohol in her system, her nails digging into my arm ever so violently. "I would like you to meet-"
"Harry," I breathe out and finish for her, not intentionally doing so. His seemingly darker eyes widen as well as Nicky's, and I know he was not expecting me to speak out like that.
"So you two know each other?" Nicky slurs slightly, wobbling and I feel her grip become looser.
Harry opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, my lips work before my mind can. "Well, something like that," I waver off, looking around the room to notice others simply chatting and drinking the poisonous liquid from their small cups.
But God, how I really do wish I let him speak instead of me. Desperately, I want to know what Harry was going to say, the words he would utter that would either make me frustrated or have a small smile on my face. But, from the way the sides of his mouth are lifted down in a manner, I can already see that he will speak in the moment.
"We used to be good friends," he interjects, noticing the slight confusion of Nicky's drunken face. Immediately, I hear the use of the way Harry had emphasized the word 'good,' strongly.
Nicky lets out a small oh, and takes her small hand off my arm, releasing the stressful nails from my upper arm. I wince, letting the loose hand that was at my side, to fall to the crescent marks. Harry notices the pain, his eyebrows falling almost together as his lips pursue and dark eyes are full of worry.
"He's playing tonight," Nicky directs the fact towards me rather than Harry, acting as if he isn't there currently. Her eyes are cast on the ground. "Aren't you, Harry? I don't know if you knew from your friendship, but he plays in-"
"The Stoners, yeah. I know," I interrupt her bragging, and Harry's gaze snatches up from the floor to notice my irritation. My mind has already decided that I will not be staying for the performance, although, another drink does sound really good right now from this awkward reunion.
"Didn't know if you still kept up with the news and everything of the band," Harry mutters, his large, cross tattooed hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.
Honestly, I used to be a good fan of their music, and whatnot. But, after the breakup and getting a new job, I grew up more, and still am. My mind wavers day to day from the editing office to my new home, wondering if I forgot to blow out those damn honey scented candles or not. Everything is forgetful, time to time, but those candles never cease to make me recall.
"I don't anymore since I'm busy and all," I speak through the loud music, watching as Nicky quickly runs off, leaving only Harry and I to conversing.
If she leaves, I'm definitely going to leave with her. But, after turning around from my side comment, a large hand grips my upper arm, and I realize that it is Harry. From just this touch, there isn't the shocks it used to leave me rather of something similar to a cold feeling. And after contemplating of to jerk out of his grip and walk off or plainly turn around, I willingly decide to go with the second decision.
"Not again, Brooklyn. I'm not letting you walk away for God knows what, possibly forever," my ex-lover strains his voice, my body turning around in the process to judge the plead in his gloomy eyes. Surprisingly, I don't see a hint of crimson in them, explaining that he has not drank tonight, or very much. Harry used to be known for a slight alcohol problem, but how would I still know? I don't keep up with his social status anymore.
"Harry, I don't know how to cope with this situation. We talked, saw each other, and-"
"Hell, you think I know what to do? Lyn, I-"
"Don't call me that," I seethe and grit through my teeth, constantly having the memoir of how that name used to pop up in our late night conversations, as well as Ms. Young. Those names are never to be used again.
"I'm sorry, I just- fuck," he apologizes and runs his hand through his untamed locks. Harry's nervous, easily judging by that habit as well as scratching his neck every few seconds or so. "It's not easy, seeing the-"
"Don't start with that love shit, I'm over it," I intervene, my hand coming up to fiddle with the small gold chain wrapped around my neck loosely. "It's over with, Harry. We fell in love and then fell back out, and then we both just disappeared."
"You disappeared, Brooklyn. I just made the wrong decisions in my life, resulting in me loosing such a God damn good thing in my life."
Those words make me wonder if Harry ever talked about me to someone; before, in, and even after our tragic relationship. Because, I have heard of romances where one was so in love with the other, which they loved so hard and could never love again, only speaking to other strangers about how they had once had this great feeling inside them. And when I became a victim of the once, love-stricken stranger, I wanted to feel it all. But, when I did, I would not dare to recollect the memories until I was haunted by them, to which is happening at the sad moment.
"Stop fucking telling yourself that. For these past years, I had to tell myself that you would never change and to move on, and for once in my life, I listened to my mind and followed the route I should have," tears are starting to brim the edges of my eyes. "It never stopped hurting when I saw you with Jamie, when I saw you choose someone else rather than me."
"But, I did," his body comes closer towards mine, almost opening up his arms until he remembers that I am not his, nor had I been. "You were her, I know you still are meant to be the one, Brooklyn. I fucked up."
The simplicity of his voice is not at all reassuring. The loud thoughts of my mind keep unsaid words from being held back, as well as my body lurching out to tell Harry that there is still some feeling inside me. I will not glorify or romanticize heartbreak to him because for me, it was kind of a death and I was forced to keep living.
In the midst of the small crowd gathering around us, I know it is already my time to go, but this conversation, this emotion; it's undescribable. My throat used to get caught when something reminded me of Harry. When our song had come on, or I pass the place we had our first kiss. It had got stuck, and then suddenly, my chest got stuck too because of those memories becoming infected with pictures of him, but not with me. Jamie, with her. Because, at that time, it was Jamie, not me.
He probably had told me she was beautiful, because she is and Harry was like that. And he probably gave her those stupid damn rides in his other car, the pickup, with his hand on her thigh because the space between them was too far. He probably would reach up and touch her cheek gently, kissing her the way he used to kiss me, and then he would probably pull away with the same look on his face that he had with me; because Harry was romantic like that.
He had probably forgot about the nights we spent in the back of his truck, holding each other and staring stupidly into each other's eyes while murmuring irrelevant things that not torments me in my daydreams. And he had probably forgot about the fact that he had used to love me the same way he probably loved Jamie, even though Harry refused he never loved her. Harry had probably forgot about me when I had been thinking about him all those times, until now.
"You did fuck up. One of the hardest things I had to do was grieve the loss of a person who was still alive. I had the choice of coming back, Harry, but I knew that your mind would never come back because it was focused on too many things," I step out of the way for a stranger to walk aside, quickly wiping away the stray tears as I get weird looks. "Everyone gets tired of me at some point. Then, eventually, they'll leave because they all do."
"That's not fucking true, one damn bit," Harry shakes his head while gritting through his teeth. Another step is put towards me as worry cascades through my body. "All I ever wanted was to make you happy."
"Well, you honestly did not do a good fucking job," I scoff, another hand beginning to ache to run through my blonde strands. "Did you even see how torn I was, Harry?" A dry laugh erupts through my lips. "I spent my days wondering what had went wrong after I kicked you out, but then, I realized it wasn't me. Hell yeah, I loved more than I should have while you did not clearly love as much, but I realized that it was all you. And I could not wait for the day when you realized that you fucked up."
Our memories suddenly play in slow motion and my stomach wrenches as pain swarms my heart. I forgot how hard faking happiness is because Harry had taught me how to feel genuine happiness. What numbs my body is the fact that I made Harry leave, and then made the decision of walking away. No one will ever understand the happiness we had felt with each other, while they will never understand the deep, tragic sadness.
My body unexpectedly lurches forward as a stranger nudges me out of the way, and Harry tries to grab my arms in case of falling. Thankfully, I stumble slightly but keep my balance, pushing Harry's needy hands away as soon as I can. From the look on his face, he looks angry, as if he could murder whoever had shoved me, but honestly, his face doesn't let me show any emotion. Even though he cares right now, he might not tomorrow or any in the future moment, just as he did in our past relationship.
"I know I messed up... twice, and many more times, I guess. But," Harry licks his plump lips after regaining his composure. "I'm always going to be there for you, even if I was the one that fell apart and still is."
"You can't truly say that, Harry, because it is false," a small whine blurts from my mouth, and looking at the poisonous liquid around me, my tongue aches for the first time, wanting to drown myself in it as Harry had used to in the past. "We aren't together anymore, get that through your head. Six years ago was when everything fell apart, and it can't be pieced back together."
And I walk away, once again.
Of course, I never really forgot about Harry, and how could I? But, I certainly have tried to release him. I stopped allowing their history to have any meaning for him, and probably in the past is when I used that whole idea, but today, it made me realize so much more on the reunion. I've heard of stories of where ex-lovers meet in the future and both of them see each other and realize there is no reason to be sad because they have both let each other go. They think that the person they had known in the past exists somewhere, but they are separated by too much time to reach them again.
Hands are desperately grabbing mine in the dim light while only mine are looking for the poison. I had needed to get out before I saw the first love, but after the interference, I want to stay for nothing of an antidote to my poison.
Of all the things to think about in this moment, it is the way of the past of when I realized Harry was falling out of interest with me. I knew his love for me was fading when he started breaking his promises, and all of our conversations stopped ending with 'I love you.' He held me in his arms but his mind was somewhere else and he held my hand, but never said a word. Harry suddenly had started being okay with going to sleep with our problems unsolved and knowing I was crying, and falling asleep regardless. I knew, but I let it happen anyway. Because, maybe if Harry wanted to be with me, it should've been him to do something about it anyway. His love for me was fading until it all had disappeared.
"Brooklyn!"
"What the fuck-" It's Nicky, not Harry. "Sorry, I just am a little overwhelmed," I correct myself and slide my hands down the white cotton material of the flowy dress on my body.
She looks as if she has sobered up, strangely. I don't know if that is completely possible, but the dark bags under her eyes aren't as hooded as they were when she had a couple drinks consumed. The dark strands of her hair is slightly messy, showing that she has either been dancing or other inappropriate things. And knowing her, it probably is the second choice.
"Are you okay? Where have you been?" Those two questions fall out of her mouth, causing dozens of memories to flash through my vision. This cannot be happening... again.
"I've-um, I'm fine, yeah," I recover from the dramatic entrances booming of my mind, trying to clear the glossy film blocking my eyes. "I've been talking to Harry."
His name feels foreign to my tongue as I say it, but for a strange opinion, I want to repeat it until I get tired of the name, and I think that will be a while. It's poison to my tongue, just as is the demeaning alcohol calling my name, but I want to reject this secondhand poison. It already has done its job of putting a mark on me to the end of my saddened days.
"Harry? Oh, I see what you have been up to," a smirk gambles onto her face as I feel sick to my stomach. "How do you two know each other anyways? It seemed a little awkward throughout the whole thing."
I shrug at her last comment. "It's not like that, Nicky. I'm not interested in him," but I had been at one point. "We used to be-um, good friends, that's really all. We went to school together and my friends were friends with his, so I knew him through them."
There is no way that I am going to tell Nicky of the past. The past is the past, and it has been far too long. My days back then were spent trying to get over the curly-haired ex, holding back the tears every time I would hear of his sacred name or any reminders. Nicky has the reputation of spilling too many secrets to ever want to hear, sad to say, which reminds me slightly of Jamie when she was under the influence of poison.
"I know, Brooklyn," she bites her lips and looks at the rotten ground. My eyes widen in realization of what she is speaking of. "He talked about you, 'ya know? I mean, who wouldn't, honestly. We aren't very close friends, but there were times of when we were at this damn bar, drunk out of our minds, and everyone was spilling their fucking secrets like me with those papers at work."
"W-what are you talking about?" I stutter accidentally, my eyes not being trained on Nicky, but behind her to notice brown curls walking to the large stage.
"He told me," quietly, the words fall out of her mouth fragily. "You both were together, and that was simply it. It's not like my brain is blocked, I remember a lot of things when I am drunk. I'm not stupid, I could sense some shit was up when I saw you two."
"But, if you knew he talked about me, then why did you bring me over to be introduced to him?"
"I didn't exactly know if it was you, but after seeing what happened back there, my opinion was proved to be true," she mutters the last part as if she does not want to tell me. But, another question slips out of her mouth mindlessly, and it seems of one that has a strong thought for me. "What happened?"
"It just didn't work out."
And I guess those are the sort of four words that make me feel numb even when they should not. They're the way love ends and the way my heartache story begins. I looked back on it when we had our last meeting, noticing the way of how Harry's hair was a lot shorter and how he had stopped running his hand through his curls too much, as well as running into someone you knew back then. Back when I was in my early twenty's and were his. And people ask me ask me how I am, how I've been, and what had happened, just as Nicky is doing.
What happened? Because, oh God, I was so in love. The kind of love that I didn't ever think will go away, until it did. So, I play it all back in my head even though I don't give much thought about it in the past years, which results in everything rushing back. It washes over me and I take every, 'I love you,' and every kiss and every intertwined finger and wrap it all up, pressing it between the letters of the words, 'it didn't work out.'
I don't talk about the first night we met and how I never laughed so hard in my life. I don't talk about sleeping on his bedroom floor in case his mother came into the room, nor the way he made it feel like I wasn't going to die and with him, I never wanted it to. Sometimes, I can't remember on why it ended, but it dashes in my mind soon after, realizing that Harry messed up, and maybe I did, too, with loving so damn much. Everything I was and everything I had is gone. It just didn't work out, but I know that it could have, possibly.
"I'm so-"
"Alright, everyone. How are you all feeling tonight?!"
The interruption of his voice is brutal, especially with his voice ringing into that damn microphone constantly. For a second, I am grateful that Harry stopped the pity party from Nicky as well as the remembrances. But, after letting out a breath I have seemingly been holding in, the feelings are forced out of me.
The blurting crowd stops my constant thoughts, and my vision clears for what is believed to be the millionth time. And all I see his Harry with that old damn guitar he had when we were together; the one I bought him for his nineteenth birthday. The brown, sleek woods looks as if to be a little chipped, while the strings look to be in such a well condition. Only one sticker is littered among the cracks of the wood, which serves to be seen as a few numbers in my vision. Squinting from the distance, I notice the digits to be a date, but the numbers are unknown.
Harry stands on the stage with a few men in the back, assuming they are part of his hand. They are believed to be working on getting the drums ready while two other guys are tending to fixing their guitars as well. How many guitars is needed for this band?
"A few of our very own songs are being performed tonight, and all of us are extremely happy to sing our newest one, and I would like for you guys to figure out the title. I'm always up for a mystery," his deep voice continues to circle my ears, but as his dark eyes meet mine and both of ours widen, I know I am desperately in need of a drink.
They are full of something I cannot decipher, but I am never one to read emotions anyways. His plump, slightly reddened lips are pulled into a straight line, showing no feeling of how he is compared to minutes ago when he had a small smile on his face. Perhaps it is because of my sudden appearance and my disappearance from the conversation moments ago.
"This song is dedicated to the beautiful disasters," his tongue darts out to lick his lips in a slow manner as his eyes are still trained on mine. "To the people that have had broken hearts and are unforgettable, you can never let those ones loose. They are the special kind that are not meant to leave, to them."
And by his words, I can already tell who they are about, and that I'm falling deeper just as I had done many years ago. This cannot be fucking happening, my brain needs to be shut off from this imaginative world of Harry. Although he might have changed, nobody ever truly gets rid of their old ways.
And as the song starts to play, my eyes open in realization to notice that I had listened to this song before. Harry had strummed the tune of when we were together of one night when he got back from his small tour. He told me he would never play the song unless he really felt as if he should, telling me the lies of that it was 'our song.'
Lights go down, and...
No motherfucking way. I already can tell what his motive is just by singing this damned song, and I don't know if Harry wants me to feel guilty about leaving him and making him do so all those years behind, or truly does feel that I should be running back to him any second now.
I told myself awhile back to stop wasting my time on someone who isn't even thinking about me. Finally, after years of listening to the same motto repeatedly, it clicked into my mind to cut Harry's complete existence out of my life. Throughout all of the drama, I guess I had a limit and Harry had reached it, so I dismissed him from my life simply, although it seemed more than tough.
I love this feeling that right now.
But, as I turn on my heel to try and walk out of the damn club, an arm catches my wrist, and for a second, I believe that it is Harry.
"Brooklyn, you've got to-I mean, don't you see that he still wants you?" Nicky's voice scares me as my eyes widen in realization. She is on the side of Harry, hoping that we can get back together, but I'm sick of it all. I'm sick of this night.
"This is so cliche. I'm not getting back with him, nor will I ever. I have a God damn boyfriend, for Christ's sake! He cheated on me, Nicky, twice, and that's enough for me," my face is starting to get heated and my voice is starting to get louder. The song is over, all too quick for me, and I find my body slowly waltzing to the exit. "You don't know how it felt, seeing your first love being with someone else. It's heartbreaking when you watch someone important to you change into a person you don't want anything to do with."
"He's changed, though. It's been six years, maybe-"
"No," dry laughter is fallen from my chapped lips and it feels as if this conversation is a sense of deja vu. "Six years was the number for everything; the length of the relationship as well as the time it took me to move on and have a little reunion with hi. And I need to tell you something, there is only a number of times you get hurt, where after that you lose hope in people. The hope has completely diminished."
Her face is full of sympathy, nothing that I need or want. She doesn't know the full backstory, nor does Nicky need to. What happened between Harry and I stays with us, especially the little details.
My feet finally regain themselves without the longing numbness spread throughout my body as well as mentally. I lead myself to the exist, slowly but in a fast manner to get out of the secrecy binding in my mind. It's all mixed emotions, now that I think about it. My head is telling me to forget Harry ever existed but my heart is telling me to hold on for dear life and never let it go, and I have no fucking idea which to listen to anymore. I will never admit that out loud, but everything changes like my confusion. Although I said moments ago that I did not want Harry, there is some longing and disagreeing with the opinion.
A grip on my wrist and I am stopped just before I can walk out onto the damn road. Luckily, I am outside, but standing in the chilling weather, wearing a thin dress is not my idea of what I am expecting.
"Brooklyn, stop!"
And here he is, the one begging me to cease my actions.
"Harry, what the fuck-"
"I need to know one thing, truthfully, please. And I will leave you alone. You just-you can't run away when I ask you this question," he breathes out and I see the vapor float in the air.
Letting go of my wrist, Harry takes his large hand to rake through the unruly curls. His somber eyes are cast on my slightly vibrant ones, full of pleading. Eyes do tell everything at times, even though I sometimes cannot truly see the truth behind them.
He takes my silence as a reason to continue. "D-do you still love me?"
And this is the time for more silence and thoughts.
My problem is that I fall in love with words, rather than actions. I fall in love with ideas and theories, instead of reality. It thus has occurred with Harry, and I suppose that my heart needs more time to accept what my mind already knows.
Forget that boy who hurt you, sweetie.
You're worth so much more than what he did to you.
It's his loss.
Everyone tells me to leave it. And everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness hurts, rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts. Everyone gets these things confused with love, but in reality, love is the only thing in this world that covers up all the pain and makes someone feel wonderful pain. Love is the only thing in this world that does not hurt.
"If I say yes," I breathe out, my gaze cast on the unsanitary ground before my feet. "I know that you will be given a sense of being brought back together with me or still have that damn feeling you did of when we were together. But, if I say no, your heart might be crushed, if you truly do care about me, or we might never see each other again."
I take in another breath to truthfully answer.
"There's a lot of things I could say to your question, Harry, but I am just going to tell you this: I'll always care about you in the end, even if you did me wrong. And I will always miss you."