Note: I wrote this whilst listening to 'Half a Heart'. So if you wanna cry as I did just put it on replay while reading. Good luck. HA.
74.
●•Scarlett•●
I’d been staring at his door for something like fifteen minutes now. It wasn’t like I was thinking of coming back, knowing he was as disappointed on me as I was, but I couldn’t make myself walk away, either. Just the thought of spending the next week all alone – without Harry’s caresses (all of them) – was terrifying, and I couldn’t quite let it go.
It hadn’t been exactly the best of the weeks, I must admit, but I couldn’t help myself. Since his confession, everything inside his flat seemed to hold much more of a meaning. It was like every single corner had a memory of his ex-girlfriend, even if there wasn’t anything particularly like her there.
When I looked at the piano, I thought of all the songs he’d written before he even met me; thought of him smiling at the sheets whilst writing something down just like he does now. And I’m not even sure which of the two of us he’s thinking about when he thinks of those lyrics and melodies. Sometimes he’d play them for me, and they just sounded so sweet and fragile, somehow, that I couldn’t help but think it wasn’t me, there. I’m not sweet. And I’m not fragile. Most of the time.
When I went to the kitchen, there it was, that girly mug, and one or another things that his friends probably gave him for just teasing, but still, made me think of Meena. And if I had that reaction, Harry certainly would, too. In the bathroom, there were a couple of perfume bottles hidden behind all of his, something I’d never noticed before, but now were screaming ‘hey, I’m still in love with the girl who died years ago and you’re just some distraction’.
In the back of his drawer, there was still the photograph and the ring – he hadn’t even bothered to get rid of those – so how was I supposed to believe he was really over her? Besides, there were a few of her clothes there; her parents probably gave them to Harry because he was so close to her since ever, and I don’t know. Most likely he still calls her parents once in a while to talk to them like old friends, just to have something of hers that’s still alive to hold on to.
During the whole week my head had been revolving around those little things all the time, and I knew – God, of course I knew – I’d been distant; I knew I had acted completely different with him, I knew I couldn’t touch him properly anymore, because damn! She’s all over his body. How was I supposed to ignore the memories inked to his skin? Was I supposed to look at the images and smile, like ‘oh okay. You were head over heels for her, but you got over her for me, so I’m satisfied’? Sorry, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.
Harry probably hated me right now; he was so sick of dealing with me. And I wanted, I really wanted to go back inside and fall to my knees, beg him for forgiveness, for him to understand, even though I probably wouldn’t give him any explanations because he would say I was insane; he wanted me, not her, or whatever, because, even if I was right, why would he admit it? He’d lose me, and the whole purpose of being with me, then, wouldn’t he?
He needed his time. So did I. And with that in mind, I finally gathered strength to turn around and walk down the steps to the street, being greeted with cold and more cold, again.
It was even colder, now.
It was even stupider of me to go to Zach’s dad’s old café, when Zach himself wasn’t there – he was usually the one whom I talked to when I had absolutely no one else, and now I had not even him, either – but still, I did so. The signboard had one of the letters completely black, and the other ones that still shone in red were blurred by the haze.
As soon as I walked in, I felt the warmth of the heater hitting me, and instantly I felt like everything was a bit better. There were just the usual group of old men at the back table, so I went for the same stool I always sat in, and plopped up silently, putting my arms on the counter and hiding my head between them, pulling the beanie down my ears a bit more.
“And look who’s here,” a voice apparently directed towards me said, and I peered up slowly, watching as a pair of tired eyes stared blankly at me.
“Mr. Owen,” I nodded as a greeting, straightening myself on the stool and fumbling with my fingers, trying to fake a smile that quite failed.
“Kirsten,” he acknowledged, nodding as well, taking a seat on the stool next to mine. The old man looked as tired as ever, his age showing on every feature of his, every movement. He was dependant of his son, now, and I felt sorry for him being alone. Obviously because of my boyfriend. “Thought you’d know Zach’s traveling with Tyler.”
I shook my head in agreement, “I know,” I said simply, pulling the sleeves of my jacket until they covered my hands completely. “Not here for Zach, honestly. I just really like this place."
“Thank you,” Mr. Owen mumbled, but I could see he still didn’t like me. Honestly, I didn’t think it was something personal; just that he didn’t like Tyler at all. His son wasn’t an angel, he knew that; knew that Zach had been quite a troublemaker before he even met Tyler, but, well, Tyler deals with more dangerous stuff and Mr. Owen fears for his son. I understand him. “You’re gonna order something?” he asked then, offhandedly.
“French toast with whipped butter and maple syrup, thank you,” the words rolled out of my tongue naturally, and Mr. Owen left me with no further interrogatory and another plain nod of his head.
I went back to my previous position, hiding from the world in my own arms, trying to get rid of the image of Harry’s eyes on me earlier. What would he be doing now? Realizing he’d made the right decision; that I would probably be impossible to deal with forever? Would he be regretting sending me away? Would he be talking to the ceiling as if Meena was there next to him? The last one made me growl.
I was kind of a stubborn idiot, but that’s okay.
It’s not like I doubted he truly liked me; I could feel he did. I don’t think he would’ve done everything he did if he didn’t really feel like he liked me or something. But then, it might be an unconscious thing. He might’ve been looking for a girl for so long that the first one that didn’t throw herself to his feet was the one he would fight for. And the truth is: I just don’t want to have to hear later something like ‘Meena loved me better than you do’, or whatever the comparison between both of us.
I’m sick of people wanting me to be something I’m not, and I’m sick of failing at being what their imagination creates for me. The only problem is that the real me is absolutely annoying and impossible and people are just not ready to handle me. They never will.
Ugh. My existence is pure sh–t.
I stopped mulling over what happened (or almost) when I heard the plate being placed in front of me, and some other guy – obviously not Mr. Owen – murmured ‘enjoy it’ before fading back into the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts, and my food, and my insignificance.
There were days where I just absolutely hated everything.
Home was empty and silent and depressing, honestly, and when I stepped in, it didn’t even feel like home, anymore. The curtains of the living room were closed and it was starting to darken already, leaving me completely in dark and cold, lonelier that what I’d felt in so long.
There was no Harry there, no Tyler either, and my own stuff didn’t even look like mine. Probably because they weren’t.
That was the same furniture of when I moved in eight years ago; the same color on the wall, the same shelves, even though now they lacked of books, same old carpet, that sometimes alternated between two or three others, same TV (despite the fact that this was still broken since the last Tyler incident), same sofas and same everything. Nothing had switched places, nothing had been renewed. Nothing but the food, anyway.
And I was so sick of this. Sick of waking up every single day to the same depressing view and the same conclusion that I had to be someone else for someone else’s happiness. And I was so sick of walking into places where I’d see happy people and happy families and happy groups of friends when I was always so alone.
Tyler had been my only company since I ran away from home, and I could barely remember the last time I had actually gone out with a friend. A girl friend. Or any friend at all. A friend of mine, only, not a friend of Tyler’s. My brain started burning with so much thought, and so I gave up on trying to remember anything.
Slowly, I closed the door behind me, leaned against it and slid down, wrapping my arms around my knees and burying my face into the crook my arms created, sighing heavily and fighting to keep the negative thoughts away from my mind. But it was so hard, you know? Life was so unfair.
Meanwhile thousands of people had decent parents out there, meanwhile thousands of people had friends to help them through their hardest times, meanwhile thousands of people had healthy and normal relationships I had only a bunch of misadventures. I had parents who probably had forgotten I existed, had preferred to abhor my existence because I was not their dolled up daughter; had a brother who only bothered to call me once in a lifetime, and only if he needed to show someone he was better than me, more responsible than me, or if something terribly bad had happened to me. He didn’t even try, properly, that bastard.
I had one person in the club who didn’t harass me, and yet made one or another joke about my pathetic life here and there, as if she had the right to. I had one boyfriend who never really cared about looking into my eyes and telling me ‘thank you for everything you’ve done for me, thank you for helping me build everything up again’. Had a boyfriend who would only come home late to take me to bed and turn around as soon as he was done with his ‘business’, unless he was needing of a cuddle or someone to love him.
I had a nurse that was absolutely an angel, was my mom for all the matters, but had her own real daughter to take care of. Had her own life to worry about, didn’t have that much time for me. And I had her daughter, absolutely understanding, but too young to hear I complain about how life can f–ck you up in so many ways.
A loud sob escaped my lips before I could even stop it, and before I realized, there were furious tears falling down my face and moistening my jeans. And then, I didn’t even try to stop myself. I just buried my face deeper in my knees, hated myself for how pathetic I was being, for how pathetic that whole scene was, and cursed every single known God for throwing every single piece of trash they had into my life. I cursed every person who ever made me turn into what I am now, and that involved basically everyone I actually knew, really.
Everyone except Lana, and Angel, and…
Harry.
He was the only one who had cared enough to love me. Whether thinking of his damn ex-girlfriend or not, he treated me like Tyler never had. If he wanted me to be someone else, he hadn’t left it as clear as Tyler had. Harry had put his efforts into me and I was so f–cking stupid for even thinking he would ask me to be someone else.
And really, I just wanted to burn alive everyone who’d ruined my life, made me insecure the way I am. Wanted to burn them for making me instantly believe I would once again go through that same cycle, when, for once, surged an escape in my life that allowed me to change my paths.
I needed to get my sh–t together and get over my past. I needed to focus on now. Having either a brilliant or a trashy future, was not my problem. I needed to figure my now and right now I needed Harry. I had found him – or he’d found me, who really cares – and he’d turned my life into the most bearable it could be.
And I kind of.
I kind of… Yeah.
With wobbly fingers, I wiped the heavy tears and dried the moisture on my face with my sleeves, then reached for my back pocket and grabbed my mobile. I had no calls. No messages. No anything.
Yet, I searched for Harry’s number and found the courage to text him. If he didn’t want to talk to me now, at least he’d know that I knew I had made a mistake.
‘We need to talk’ I typed simply, pressing the ‘send’ button a second later, taking a deep breath and wiping the tears away again. Still, they insisted to fall, because I was an idiot, because I’d only made my life worse.
I’d had Harry. I needed Harry. I…
Harry. Harry. Harry.
I couldn’t lose him. I wouldn’t lose him.
●•Author's Note•●
dedication goes to: @summerlovin1123 don't worry, Tyler will come back when he's supposed to. And, well, thank you! I'm glad you saw my characters with more personality now because of the doubts and all the feelings. And, well, Harry is kind of sick of having to prove things, always. He's only human, and I give him such a hard task haha.
note: 1. DID YOU NOTICE WHAT I JUST DID THERE I REALLY HOPE YOU NOTICED BECAUSE I JUST MADE SCARLETT ADMIT SOMETHING AMAZING SILENTLY. READ THE LAST SCENE OVER AND OVER AGAIN UNTIL YOU GET IT. 2. Do you see now why their sort of argument was needed? 3. You guys made it nearly impossible to choose one person only to dedicate this chapter to. Thank you SO SO MUCH for all those comments. You have no idea how much I was smiling.
next update: Tuesday (December 3rd)
900 votes for early update. Best comment gets a dedication :) Love you lots, really. - Dani xx