chapter forty-four. you're cold and i burn.
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THE DINNER GOES GREAT disregarding the silent treatment between Harry and I the entire time. I just watched Harry involve himself in conversation after conversation as I did the same, just not with each other. Still we all sang the traditional Happy Birthday song whilst servers presented Harry with a tiramisu based cake with exactly eighteen candles dipped into it.
Contently, Harry extinguished the miniature flames on each candles with a forceful blow as familiar people clapped and cheered for him. The birthday dinner carried on to about midnight as the both of us trailed down the corridor to our hotel room in tensional silence.
It's aching to be on horrid terms with Harry. Sure when we were younger and more platonic the minor complications are expected with a friendship. The silent treatments and the bickering. But to have a dispute about whether or not Harry decides to model or not shouldn't destine the horrid terms we're on now. It sucks.
It sucks because there's so much I want to say — want to warn him about, if he decides to adjoin the fashion world. Although Harry isn't willing to listen to me.
"I'll take the couch," he tells me before we walk through our hotel door. I say nothing afterwards.
Later on, after a shower, I tuck myself into our temporary hotel bed alone whilst wrapping my arms around myself tightly. They were a mental replacement of the muscular arms that subconsciously hold onto me through the night, in a soft cuddle.
Unintentionally I listen to Harry discuss the privileged modelling deal with his mum then with Gemma until I slowly fall into a peacefully earned slumber.
WE ARRIVE IN MANCHESTER the following day. Everyone but Cara, whom decided to stay behind with her companion Kendall some more days. For some more peace. And some more space is created between Harry and I — a suffocating and hostile kind of space. The one that closes your throat up like an allergic reaction to a simplistic toxin. Possibly lemons or peanuts.
It's suffocating to not be suffocated by Harry.
To not be, tightly, wrapped in his muscular arms. To not feel the captivating burn of Harry's strong gaze looking into mine. To not see the intent and passionate look in those naturalistic coloured eyes. To not sense the comfortability of Harry's presence. To not only feel the privileged comfortability when he's around me; I miss Harry around me, in a positive atmosphere.
In the school yard I inhale the burning taste of a stale cigarette. It opens up my lungs in a shallow and dangerous way for the drug to past through the pathway. The burn sinks into my bloodstream. As fatal as that sounds, the feeling is nice. Tranquil and soothing type of nice.
The poisonous yet addictive substance releases habitual stress for a minute or two or several — and I am stressed out. And a little conflicted. And a little upset at Harry's words because they replay on and on in my head like a catchy song. Like one of those songs that you absolutely hate because it's tuned and upbeat and everyone is besotted with.
The inward feeling makes me long for Louis. He's usually here to experience these subtle moments with me. But he's preparing for the placement he earned in a university within the American walls.
I wish it were that easy for me. To obtain mobility and determination to look for a profession and discover schools before college ends, because it will come to an abrupt yet expected end.
I wish for the courage to mentally prepare myself for the future, but I'm only The Wizard of Oz's, character, The Cowardly Lion —
Defeated and stressed and scared of everything in sight: universities, discussions of tomorrow, and the upcoming showdown with Harry. Ready to combust sooner or later. In a day or several momentarily.
Someone snatches the cigarette from my grasp almost frightening me to irresponsiveness. My heart only pummels and spurs further when my eyes meet the familiar green ones of Harry's. His brunet hair is pushed back with a headband and he's wearing the necklace I got him for his birthday, prominent around his neck. Gold and glistening.
I frown at him whilst reaching for my stick of nicotine back, but Harry places the bud on the concrete floor underneath us. His foot connects with the cigarette, extinguishing it rather quickly.
"That wasn't nice," I murmur sarcastically. Harry stares at me seriously whilst he sits beside me in the freezing winter weather outside.
The wind is howling like my mind. Snow falls vaguely from the unknown grey sky and this is winter. It always has been harsh, cold and foggy. Similar to Harry's standoffish behaviour and my foggy yet determined, scattered mind. Covering my harsh and jumbled thoughts.
"We need to talk." It's all Harry mutters without bothering to face me, though I don't seem to mind. There's a similar disinterest here, too. I shrug carelessly.
But there is that apprehension surfacing. Inwardly informing me whatever Harry has to say is going to be the absolute worst. He doesn't sugar code anything for me, because he's Harry. One with a brutally honest demeanour because Harry loathes lying. The one who likes confrontation because he believes it solves situations. The one who's always believes it's right to be opinionated.
"I'm taking the modelling job," Harry informs me. "On Saturday I'm flying out to Brisbane to take some test photos. It's already scheduled with the agency."
The news is revealed and told to me on Thursday, Harry's plans. Two days before Harry is suppose to take off to Australia. To pursue this unbeknownst dream further, without me or my input.
The reality crumbles my ribcage leaving no sort of protection for my thumping heart. That beats rapidly and aggressively, but still, I keep up this facade. One that'll only damage what we've been building as a couple for months now.
But I can't help it, I've always been this way. One to hide whatever I'm feeling because I've always concluded that is for the best. No matter what the situation is or how much it'll damage as a result. That'll always be a bad quality of mine next to being unconfident and passive.
"I couldn't care less," my words cause Harry to frown prominently at me, yet he makes no effort to muster up thoughtful words.
The silence causes me to rise to my feet slowly. The silence says there's nothing else to discuss. Silence. It's the loudest cry. Where thoughts are roaming but aren't uttered. Silence is tensional and fatal. Harry and I's silence is heartbreaking. But Harry doesn't look heartbroken. Harry looks accomplished.
There's this prominent gleam in his bright eyes. A christening gleam I've never seen him willingly wear before.
"Congrats," I tell Harry as he sighs out heavily. A hand of his rubs over his forehead then his face as Harry tries to steady his breathing — I didn't notice it was irregular. Still I watch him from a distance observingly. That is until I begin to walk away. Step after step after step follow each other against the concrete pavement.
"If you walk another step," I hear Harry call behind me. His words make me stop abruptly but I don't bother to face him. I don't want to see him. "-- If you walk another step, that's it."
The warning is questionable. There's a limit to what 'that's it' genuinely means. I don't ponder my boyfriend's words further. I've pondered everything he's ever said beyond the extent, so instead, my eyes turn to glance at Harry.
I scan him intently. From the strong features on his face. His eyes flame with a deadly fire as they stare into me. Those lips are straight and still and Harry's eyebrows are discomforted and knitted together. That's how I decide to leave Harry — inflamed. Because, maybe, fire and water aren't meant to be together simultaneously.
I'm water and Harry's fire, right now. His flames grow higher and higher and more fatal. As I, my waves can't tame him. I can't distinguish him nor our situation. Dimming out, unlike Harry, is a better solution. I depart from him, leaving instead of obliging to Harry's threatening warning.
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I have six chapters ready for publishing after a minor edit. I really have nothing to do at home. no friends, no nothing lol. it's unfortunate.
whats your favourite television show? mine is dance moms and i'm a fanatic. every tuesday man every tuesday. and friends too!! it's such an amazing classic in my opinion, next to the underrated that 70's show.