"Wow," Is, naturally, all Seth has to say when I finish telling him what happened a couple of days ago. "And... and you really told her that in the end?"
"Yeah," I tell him bluntly, my sixth can of beer looking a little fuzzy to me as I inspect it. "And she took me seriously, thank God. Hasn't tried to call me, or anything."
I look over at Seth, who doesn't look all that entertained, but the way he's putting effort into making his face look concerned is enough for me. "You can go now," I say, louder than needed, and he nods, almost relieved. I know that I shouldn't have come to him to talk about my problems; I just didn't have anyone else to talk to. Well, there's Leanne, but she's a girl. She'd probably take... I-don't-even-know-how-to-call-her-anymore's side.
"Good. And, you know... if you ever wanna vent to anyone..." I'm honestly expecting the fucker to say 'just don't come to me'. "You can talk to me and I'll listen, but I'm probably not gonna have anything to say after you're finished."
Well. Looks like I've underestimated him. "Thanks, that's kinda what I really need," I mumble and pat him on the shoulder as he stands up, gathering the cans of beer that he brought for both of us, and then I ended up drinking all of it. "Hey, Seth?" I call as he begins to walk out of the living room; he turns around, carrying the cans like a baby, his eyebrows raised at me.
"Would you do the same thing if you were me?" I wanted to ask what he'd generally do if he was in my position, but since this isn't a field that he's exactly comfortable with, I thought I'd be more specific. Seth sighs, looking around, musing on the issue.
"Probably," He tells me in a light tone, nodding his head optimistically. "I mean... if she doesn't trust you enough to tell you her name, then... you shouldn't expect her to tell you other things about herself either."
I blink a couple of times, looking around as I think about his answer. "Yeah, but... you don't think I overreacted? I mean, it's just a name."
"Exactly," He says before I can continue. "If it's just a name, why didn't she tell you about it?"
I have a feeling that he's agreeing with me only because he feels like I need someone to agree with me; and if that's his reason, then he's 100% right. "That's a good answer. Thanks again."
"Are you gonna sleep there?" He asks this time, sounding slightly irritated as I pull my legs on the couch we'd been sitting on, and lay my head on the armrest. "'Cause I'm not getting you your pillow and blanket this time."
"Yes you are," I tell him casually, already dozing off. "You are because that's what I do every time you're drunk or high or just sleepy."
I've closed my eyes so I can't see his expression, but a few seconds after my statement I hear rustling near the door, indicating that he's walking out of the room. "Dickhead," I hear him mutter, and I smile; insults have always been a good thing, or a good sign in our friendship.
"Alright, raise your head," I hear Seth's voice a couple of minutes later, startling me a little since I've literally start dozing off. I do as he said, and smile lazily when I feel the cold material of my pillow under my head, followed by my navy blue blanket. "And I'm gonna leave bandages and some band-aids on the coffee table, in case you need any when you wake up... you sure your hand's fine?"
I look down at the back of my left hand, curling it in a fist and eventually wincing at the pain. I frown as I notice faint red stains on the bandage that's wrapped around it; how is it possible that the wound still opens, whenever I make the slightest movement? Even after two days?
To be fair, though, after I've punched the wall in the hallway of my building about 43 times, I needed the ambulance to save my hand. I'm lucky to have it only faintly bleeding. "Yeah, I'll live. Thanks Seth," I thank him for the third time, smiling contently for the first time in about 60 hours. "If you ever need help walking after alcohol or a girl you've insulted, you know who to call."
"Wow. Yeah, that's so thoughtful of you," He says, his voice clearly sarcastic. "And, you know, if you ever need a green card when you finish university, you can totally marry my sister."
"Really?"
"She's eleven and no," He groans, causing me to giggle at his tone at the end of his sentence. In my defense, it only takes four beers to get me tipsy, let's not start about what happens after two more.
"Okay," I say, getting comfortable in my position again. "Then I'll marry your mom."
"My dad might have something against that though."
I lift my head off the pillow for a second, and give him a cautious look as I start whispering, "He doesn't have to know!"
Seth snorts, which turns into a genuine laugh that's literally music to my ears; I honestly don't think I've met a guy his age that has such a nice laugh. "Okay buddy, whatever you say. Goodnight." I peer through my lids, to see him shaking his head at me as he stands in the doorway. "You Irish crackpot."
"Hey, I heard that!" I shout, surprisingly loud for a person that's half asleep, as Seth walks out. I can even hear him laughing as he walks through the hallway.
Americans.
*******
After turning in the sofa several times, I decide that there is no way I'll find a comfortable position; I might as well get up. Taking a deep breath, I throw my legs off the couch and pull myself in a sitting position, and start rubbing my eyes. The room is completely dark and the entire house is quieter than usual, it must be really late.
I check my phone that I'd left on the coffee table and, yeah, it's 2:40 in the morning. And I've just woken up after a nine and a half hour nap; this is definitely gonna fuck me up for the next week. Thank God it's Friday- well, Saturday now.
Sighing again, I reach out to turn on the floor lamp that's right next to the couch, and frown at my arm when I switch it on; the bandage around my knuckle is almost entirely red on the back of my hand, from blood, nothing like the faint stains from a few hours ago. I'd be worried, but the paramedics told me that I'd injured my hand so badly, they could see my bones for the first few minutes. And they told me I need stitches, but I refused them. Even though having stitches would look kinda cool. But the reason for them wouldn't be cool, so I still refuse them.
I start unwrapping the bandage, gulping multiple times as I look what's underneath the first layer of it. By the time that I get it off, I almost want to vomit; I don't think I've ever had a wound that needed so much time to heal.
Avoiding to look at it, I walk across the house to the kitchen, disposing the band-aids I had underneath the bandage, and wash my hands. It doesn't look so bad once I carefully dry my hands with paper towels, so I quickly jog to the living room to put on two new band-aids and a bandage. If I found the situation the least bit humorous, I'd call her and ask her to pay my hospital bills.
However, it's possible that she beat me to it; when I enter the living room, I see the screen of my phone lit, indicating I've either gotten a text or a missed call. Based on last week though, it's probably a message.
I flop down on the sofa and unlock my phone, sighing as I open the text I've gotten. The name of the sender makes me frown; I should probably change it, since I know her real name now. But then again, I'm probably gonna delete it in a matter of minutes so why bother.
From: Angel
you left your shirt at my place?
I frown harder, until I remember last Friday when I was at her place; it was so hot in her apartment, I had to take my hoodie off so I'd take my undershirt off, and then put my hoodie back on. Either way, I must have forgotten it there.
To: Angel
keep it.
After I've typed in and sent the message with my pinkie finger, I go back to my band-aids and bandages, thinking that's the end of that. But a couple of minutes later, when I've already finished wrapping my hand, my phone starts vibrating again, making me sigh again.
From: Angel
don't you want it?
To: Angel
I think I can live without it.
From: Angel
i can bring it to your apartment tomorrow. or the frat house
God, the things she'd do to see me. Then again, I would probably be coming up with excuses to see her too, if she hadn't lied to my face. And don't get me started with all the hiding.
To: Angel
ok, I'll tell seth to open the door if he sees you.
From: Angel
you're being a child.
To: Angel
what's it to you?
I wait one minute to see if there's anything else she'd like to say, but after my phone stays calm in my hand the whole time, I leave it on the table and walk over to the small TV to turn it on. There's no way I'm gonna get any sleep until lunch time anyway.
On my way back to the sofa, another sigh leaves my lips when I notice the screen of my phone light up yet again. I sit down before taking it and opening the text, and I'm a little surprised when I read it. Pleasantly surprised.
From: Angel
you know what, don't bother. i'll ask someone to give it back to you.
I huff and drop my phone next to myself, turning all of my attention to the TV and some old episode of The Office. At least she knows when to stop trying.
*******
"You know, I really hate you for this," I say loudly and sigh at the end, but Seth only chuckles as we walk to the gate of the house, me with my backpack.
"With all due respect, mate, I really don't care," He says, and I decide not to point out that he sounds more British each day. "And I really need my car for tonight."
"I could drive back here tonight," I suggest in a hopeful tone, but when I turn to look at Seth, he's shaking his head. Dick.
"Either stay here until eleven tonight so I can drive you to your place, or take the cab." How can he be so heartless? Does he not understand how some people really dislike taking taxies? On the other side, there is no way I can spend one minute in that madhouse, much less another four hours.
"Fine. I'll remember this one," I say in a warning tone while pointing at him, and digging through my pocket for my headphones with my other hand.
"Yeah, also remember how you've been driving my car more than me for the past two months!" He says loudly as I start walking down the street, untangling my headphones and shaking my head; I just can't believe that we're fighting over a '71 Impala that works worse than my grandpa's heart when he was 71.
About halfway through 1901 by Phoenix, I manage to catch a taxi, so I pause the song during the ride. I wouldn't have a problem with walking, if I could orient myself as well as I do when I'm driving. I almost failed Geography in high school, it's a surprise that I can find my home by myself in any way.
The car has stopped before I've even started thinking about what I'm going to be doing this weekend; I'd usually settle for going out with Seth, but no matter how well the night begins, it always turns out to be a bad idea in the end. I think I'll just order pizza and watch something on Netflix, and then I'll call my mum when it's six p.m. in Ireland.
And this is my life.
I sigh as I hand the money over to the driver, and exit the cab. Why do I feel like blaming her for not having any plans for the rest of the day? It's not like I'd be able to see her even if she didn't fuck everything up. No, she'd be too busy doing what she calls 'dancing' in her underwear, to have any time for me.
It takes me nearly bumping into a street light to clear my thoughts; so I shake my head in order to do that, and quickly make my way to my building, cautiously climbing the stairs to my apartment. It's never felt as empty as it does now; I should probably get a roommate or something. Even though I know I'm gonna regret it sooner rather than later, it seems like a great idea at the moment.
Dumping my backpack in the hallway, I go straight to the kitchen to get myself a drink – which reminds me, I have got to ask Seth to get me beer for next week. So much for living by the laws of America; but I guess I'll have to settle for Coke right now.
I make my way to the couch and slump down onto it, thinking that my planned Friday night is already beginning; all I need to do now is order as much pizza as I can afford, and find something good on Netflix. And then find something good on Netflix again. And then again. And then probably again.
I place my can of soda on the coffee table in front of me and turn the TV on, just so it'd create background noise while I'm ordering my pizza. But as I type the number of my favorite pizza place in my phone, a knock on my door stops me from pressing the call button. I sigh and dump the object on the table before standing up, and walking over to the door. It's probably Natasha with my shirt, she did say she'd ask someone to bring it to me. And I can't think of anyone else that would knock on my door at this time.
I unlock the door and open it, expecting to see the short blonde, but I see the complete opposite; a tall, brown haired guy. Holding my shirt. Looking equally as confused as I do.
"Um..." He begins, looking behind me, but then frowning harder when he realizes that I'm the only one here. "Do you happen to be Niall?"
He almost sounds like he's gonna faint if I tell him yes. "Yeah," I reply slowly, the growing smile on his face confusing me even more. "And you are-"
Before I can really finish my sentence, he bursts into a laughing fit for some reason; while I just stand and watch him as if he's a Martian. "Wow. Hi," He tells me with a bright grin, extending one hand to shake mine. "I'm Harry and this is your shirt."
I nod slowly a couple of times, realizing that his laugh just might have been mocking. "Thanks," I spit, snatching my shirt away from him. "And, let me guess, you're her... customer? Escort? Boy toy?"
I keep suggesting as he keeps furrowing his brows harder, until he realizes what I'm talking about. "No, what?" He finally cuts me off, a rather disturbed look on his face – before he starts laughing once again. "No! No, I'm- I'm Harry, I'm her brother!"
My eyebrows have never been so high up on my face, than they are now, after this guy's statement. I also don't think I've been speechless for as long as I still am now. Her brother? She never told me she has a brother. Then again, she never told me anything about her family. Or anything else, really. "She-she never told me she has a brother," I stammer, deciding to voice my thoughts to the confused bloke that's, apparently, her brother.
"Oh, trust me," He chuckles, his tone lighthearted as he shakes his head. "She hasn't told you a lot of things."
His expression becomes a little serious when he notices just how shocked I am – but the amused look on his face is still there. Much like his sister's; when I take a better look though, I can notice a lot of things that the two of them have in common – there's the curly brown hair, the light colored eyes, the exact same dumb smile-
Oh, now I remember him. He's the guy – the English major – she met on the parking lot, about two months ago, when I still had no clue what I was getting myself into. He looked rather angry that day, which is probably why I didn't recognize him straight away.
"I know," I say with a frown, referring to his last statement. "She made it pretty clear that she's hiding things."
After my awkward confession, he nods and purses his lips, "Well, that being said..." He trails off, looking up from the ground and at me. "Can I come in?"
That caught me a little off guard, but I quickly move to the side and nod, letting him in. If he's here for the reason that I think he's here, there's no way I'm telling him no. And just like that, I'm back on the hook again.
"Yeah, sure," I sigh as he walks into my apartment, practically waltzing to the living room. I'm noticing that graceful walking runs in the family. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name is?" I ask as I close the door; in my defense, I was too busy being irritated and then shocked to listen to every word he had to say.
"Uh, Harry," He tells me, sitting on the sofa where I was previously sitting, looking quite at home. "Harry Styles."
Well, at least his last name matches hers on her ID card.
*******
if that last bit doesn't make you comment then i have no idea what will
btw harry's gonna be great in this omf i'm so excited asdkdjfhskhf
and also, EDIT: her name is NOT gemma. she's not gemma. gemma doesn't exist here. "angel" is an original character and the only reason i'm keeping her name a secret is NOT so you'd realize she's gemma, it's because i'm a piece of shit. okay. glad we got that clear.
anyways.. vote and comment? share your opinions? if this part gets 200 comments i'll update in 3-4 days again :D