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looselucy · 5 years ago

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Guilt

July 15th “I don’t really remember the first time I started work on the Blood Sun.” Styles tells us, sitting in his quiet New York gallery whilst sipping slowly on a glass of wine, a deep red. “I don’t know if I’ve blocked it out. I know it started with the idea of thunder and lightning, but it veered from that pretty quickly. I had an idea what I wanted from the painting emotionally. I don’t know if I got that with the end product, but I knew I couldn’t get that from thunder. It had to be a sun.”

I was sat in PJ’s in silence, scrolling through a relatively recent article about Harry on my phone as I waited for my breakfast. I had always tried to avoid going online to read about him, because I knew whatever I saw was likely to be monitored and watered down, not even by those reporting on him, but by Harry himself. He was never going to share intimate truths so publicly, so there was nothing real for me to learn, but it had been so much harder to avoid since he’d sent me the painting. I wanted to know what he’d said about it, if he’d mentioned anything about selling it or not. I needed to know everything I could. Styles must be bored of answering questions about his most celebrated work at this point, but it is by far his most intriguing. Not only is the painting spectacular, with stunning mixes of oranges, yellows, and the artists own blood, but it’s a piece he seems to be refusing to sell – no matter how high the offer. “I don’t make art for it to be sold. I make art to express. If selling was the reason I painted, I would have given this up a long time ago. I never saw that as a reason to paint, it was always to do with the feeling, the emotion. I guess the therapeutic side of it, too. I’m not going to sell a piece for the sake of it.” I should have known he would have started painting again when he’d left, but that seemed like confirmation, what with him saying he would have given it up. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Of course I wanted him to continue with his passion, work in a way that showed his talents, made his life beyond comfortable, but it was what came with his painting that made me uneasy. I hadn’t seen anything expressing that he no longer used blood, and I thought that would have be a focal point had it been the case. I cursed his agent, leaping viciously to the conclusion that it was him who kept Harry in the frame of mind, convinced him that he had to paint with blood or people would lose interest. I was sure of it. I took a deep breath in and continued. “That painting means more to me than any number, I don’t think I’ll ever sell it, per se. I’m not even accepting offers anymore.” I question if his new work that he will soon reveal is a way of distracting people from the painting, moving on. “Partially.” He admits. “But it’s also a new time for me. It’s new work, paintings I’m really excited to share. I’m looking forward to seeing how I end up feeling about all this new stuff. What I want to sell, what I don’t. We’ll see.” What Harry has managed to achieve with his art is remarkable. It’s not merely the power of his paintings, something that is preposterously palpable if you’re lucky enough to be in the same room as one. And it’s not limited to the success he’s had, the respect he’s received from his peers ever since he was granted a scholarship when he was still a teenager. It’s the emotions that his work inspires. He is quiet, but with purpose. He doesn’t talk about the inspiration behind each of his pieces, what makes him paint – instead, he throws you in head first to figure it out alone. You are never told what to see or how to feel, every brush of paint open to interpretation. Styles never ties you to the idea of what his work should be, instead his art is open, free of chains, exposing you to the truth of your own emotions rather than lumbering you with the truth of his. There is something magic in his secrecy that allows you to feel personally connected to his work, your feelings valid. In his less is more approach, you are left feeling as much a part of his art as he is. He connects with his consumer by saying so little, a truly impressive feat. Harry Styles is not ours to know, but his masterpieces are, and that’s exactly why our relationship with this extraordinary artist works. Reaching the end of the article, I locked my phone, leaning back in my chair and taking a deep breath inward, the words resting heavily on my chest. It wasn’t even necessarily what they’d been saying in the write-up, not really, it was more the strange sensation of reading about him that way at all. The Blood Sun was still sitting where I had found it. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it, I didn’t even have the space in my flat, not that I thought it would even get through the door. It was almost as though I didn’t dare move it, fear of damaging it, fear of admitting it was mine to damage. It had been almost a fortnight since I’d received it, touched it for the first time, breathed it in, but it hadn’t moved and inch and I was still perfectly clueless. I’d cried that night when I’d got home. Once we were back on the shop floor, I’d managed to get through most of the day at work without talking about it, without really even thinking about it, but the second I closed my front door, I burst into tears. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and just allowed myself to completely shatter, freeing whatever emotion had felt so imprisoned. I hadn’t really stopped thinking about him since, slowly driving myself insane with wild thoughts of the boy I’d once known, the boy who’d left my life and then re-entered it in the most spectacular and elaborate way. I didn’t want to think about him because it didn’t help. Even with him sending me that painting, it didn’t give me any leads, any answers; I still felt entirely powerless. But what was playing on my mind relentlessly was the knowledge that he had been thinking of me. Since he had departed from my life, I’d managed to convince myself that he no longer thought of me at all, that I would never cross his mind. I had been sure he was simply getting on with his life and I had become a hazy memory of his, another girl he had once been with for a few months of his life, another mistake. It was one of the things that had helped me to get over him, to know I wasn’t even beneath his skin enough for him to have dig me out. I told myself that I’d barely scratched the surface. Him sending me that painting made me feel differently. To know he had sat and thought of me, gone out of his way to make sure I became the owner of his most personal work. He wouldn’t have done something so grand on a whim, meaning without doubt that I had been playing on his mind. I wondered how he felt when he thought of me. I wondered what emotions I might stir. I hoped they were positive, and judging by the nature of his gesture they may well have been, but then again maybe his feelings towards me were as complex as mine towards him. Some days I’d think of him and feel happy, grateful we had what we did, that I experienced love in its truest form, even though it wasn’t reciprocated. I had loved him, and I was fortunate to have been able to feel that way about someone who so rarely let people into his life. Yet other days, the thought of us produced anger. Others, upset. Others, longing. It seemed impossible to look back on something so formidable with limited and lax emotions. I knew I wouldn’t find the answers to any of my questions in any article, but it was the only option I had. “Here we are.” Paula approached cheerily, placing my Eggs Benedict down in front of me. “Do you want me to top your coffee up?” “Please.” I sighed as she started pouring the dark liquid from the old-fashioned compressor into my mug. “You look knackered.” She sounded concerned. “Everything okay?” “Couldn’t really sleep.” I looked up to her. “Think I’ve only had a couple of hours.” “Any reason?” “Um… Dunno. I don’t think so. My minds just been working overtime recently. I can’t seem to shut off.” I hadn’t been sleeping well for what I felt was a variety of reasons. No matter how much I tried, how tired I was, it was like I’d get into bed and my head would just start spinning, conjuring up all these questions and ideas and worries that simply didn’t allow me to drift off. And the longer that lasted the worse it got, gradually becoming alarmingly aware that I should have been fast asleep. I’d start counting how many minutes and hours it would be until I had to get up and face another day on so little sleep, tossing and turning and losing my mind. That morning, I must have only drifted off at around 4AM, and yet still I awoke just before 7AM, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. That was why I’d headed to PJ’s, getting in a good meal and an abundance of coffee before I opened the shop for the day. “How longs that been going on?” “Couple’a weeks.” I tried to shrug it off. “It’s nothing, really. M’fine.” “Alright.” She griped, unsure. “I’ll always have free coffee here for you, if you need it.” “Thanks, Paula.” She squeezed my shoulder encouragingly before getting back to work, leaving me to tuck into my meal and pray that the coffee would be enough to see me through the day, because the amount of sleep I’d had certainly wasn’t enough on its own. I was only a few mouthfuls into my first meal of the day when the front door to PJ’s opened, my eyes instinctively lifting upwards to see who’d walked in. It was Chloe and Sam. Though things were okay between the three of us, it still felt awkward then. It was early, there was only one other person there, an old bloke who was sat in the corner keeping himself to himself. It was like it was just the three of us, which made for a rather uncomfortable atmosphere. There was no anger there, no hatred, but that didn’t mean we were at ease. “Hey.” I smiled to them both after swallowing my food, grateful I hadn’t started choking on it the second they’d walked through the door. “Hiya.” Sam greeted, straightening his back out. “Hi.” Chloe barely whispered. I felt bad for her, in some ways. She had never quite figured out how to be around me, weighed down by her guilt even though she shouldn’t have been, and I’d expressed that to her more than once. They shuffled past me, going over to the counter to order some food, whispering between themselves. It was so stupidly awkward, so much worse than it should have been. They’d been together for well over a year at that point, it shouldn’t have been that bad! I sat thinking to myself, knowing it was likely that the reason it was so bad was because we’d let it be. We hadn’t put the effort in to make sure we were all okay with each other, we hadn’t put the effort in and gone out of our way to avoid the awkwardness of our affiliations. We had to get past it. I took another bite, regretting my decision before I’d even voiced my thoughts but I knew what I wanted to do, and as long as I’d put the effort in, that was the best I could do. Once I’d heard that they’d finished ordering, I turned around, closing my eyes and blurting it out. “Do you wanna sit with me?” I opened my eyes to find them both looking at me like I’d gone mad. They were probably right. “Are you… I… Wh-what?” Sam blundered. “Do you wanna… sit… with me?” I said again. “We could just… y’know… talk, or whatever.” “Are you serious?” Chloe dazzled, dumbstruck and emotional. “Have we… done something wrong?” Sam asked me. “No! Nothing, I just… I can’t stand this.” I exhaled. “I hate being this awkward with you both, we need to push past it. So would you just… fucking sit down so we can get over ourselves and just be normal? We’re too old for this bullshit.” Sam just looked amused, sniggering to himself as he sat down on one of the chairs across from me, Chloe following close behind. She was different. She looked as though she could burst into tears at any moment. She sat down, biting her lip to hold back tears as Sam dove straight in with questions, asking about me, about my dad, updating me on how his mum was. I kept catching her from the corner of my eye and she wasn’t settling. She couldn’t ease at all. It was clear she still struggled, with all of it. It was hard for her to sit there with a friend she’d lost, knowing it had happened because of choices she had made. I knew that was why she got upset when she was around me. There’s nothing quite like love, the power it holds over you. I had to be conscious of the reasons why she chose Sam, even when that meant losing her friends. When love is that strong, it doesn’t care about anyone else, who it hurts, what it breaks. When love is that strong, it’s a force to be reckoned with, its pawns powerless to its forces. I’d seen throughout my life that most people would do anything to save love, to keep it in their hearts for as long as possible, whatever the cost. It might have seemed odd, the abundance of sacrifices she’d had to make just to be with him, but their love had told her to do that, to fight for him. I hoped he was worth it. I hoped that every loss paled when she looked at him, when that love took over. The only problem was that when she was around us, and me specifically, it didn’t feel that easy. She’d get upset, she’d realise how much she missed us, how much she missed how things had been. She hadn’t just lost me when her and Sam had gotten together, it had slowly picked a lot of her friends out of her life, but it centred around me. It was so difficult to admit that we’d never be the same again. It was gutting to come to terms with the fact that we’d lost something so good. My only comfort was knowing that she’d gained from it in some way or another. That morning with her was a quiet one, conversation mainly being held between Sam and I as she put most of her energy into holding herself together, not breaking, reminding herself of the reasons things had changed so much. But as far as I was concerned, anything was better than how we had been for the past year or so. Anything was an improvement.

“Here she is!” Niall yelled when I stepped into The Tin Mouse that evening, everyone greeting me cheerily; all except Lin, who didn’t really do anything, staring blankly at me as I cautiously approached the table. I was feeling rather anxious, my hands dug into the pockets of my denim jacket, pressing my lips together tightly. I didn’t really want to be there, to be honest. “Hi.” I just about smiled, taking a deep breath inward before I spoke. “Shall I get a round in?” Quite purposefully, I’d been running rather late, meaning they were all at the end of their drinks by the time I got there. They put in their requests quickly, all rather distracted and chirpy, meaning it took longer than it should have. Lin still hadn’t said a word by the time I was heading over to the bar, but I knew he’d grab at his opportunity. I’d only just put in the large order when I noticed him leap up to his feet and storm over to me, his voice leaden and irked when he spoke. “Why’ve you been ignoring me?” “I haven’t.” I protested. “Well, that’s fucking weird, because you haven’t answered any of my calls or my texts. You didn’t come to watch the match on Monday, you haven’t been at the pub.” He was angry, and I was fighting tears. “Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot, Alf, I know what’s going on.” I hadn’t meant to avoid him. I didn’t want to create an atmosphere. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I didn’t want a lot of things that had come into fruition of late. What I had wanted, was to continue being honest and upfront with him, but receiving that painting and that note from Harry had somehow made everything with Lin feel twice as difficult. Because I knew it had to end. It had been hard enough to admit to him that I wasn’t sure on my feelings and what was happening between us, so it would have been even harder to be blunt and really end things, to tell him that I could finally make sense of the mess in my own mind. I knew it wasn’t right, that’s what my head was telling me, that’s what my gut was telling me. That’s what my heart was telling me. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to tell him. He waited for me to say something, my throat dry and tight as I tried to figure it out. “Please don’t be mad at me.” I whispered. “I don’t want to be mad at you, Alfie, I’m just frustrated!” He whelped. “Because if I knew asking you out would have led to this, I wouldn’t have fucking done it. I don’t think you understand how much I don’t wanna lose you, Alf! I can’t!” I looked right past him, staring over his shoulder and concentrating on the back door that would lead out to the beer garden, because looking in his eyes summoned too many emotions, ones I couldn’t supress. He made being opaque sound so easy, like it wouldn’t involve hurting his feelings and choking up over every single wrong word. I didn’t know how to handle it, what I should or shouldn’t say, and I certainly didn’t want to tell Lin that the main thing that had driven me away from even thinking about him in a romantic way was the delivery of a fucking painting. “Don’t avoid me, please!” He went on. “Just be honest. I can take it.” “It’s not as easy as that.” “It is! I’m telling you, it is! Because by not saying it, you’re saying it anyway. So, you might as well bite the bullet.” He sighed, wound his jaw. “Put me out of my misery. Please.” He just wanted it to be over, maybe even more than I did, but for different reasons. We were both in agony for different reasons and it needed to end. “I don’t wanna do this here.” I started to cry. I felt like all I did was fucking cry. “Fuck, don’t get upset. Oh shit. I don’t want you to feel guilty or sad, please don’t cry. If it’s not right, then it’s not.” He reached to grab my hand, pulling it away from my face as I tried to hide my tears. “You’ve just gotta be honest with me about it. I knew I was running a risk when I asked you, I just wanna be kept in the loop!” “Lin, it’s not that easy!” I wept. “I care about you so much and I didn’t wanna hurt your feelings. And I’ve had such a shit couple of weeks. I’ve been so sad and-” “That’s… the opposite of how I want you to feel!” He wailed. “C’mere. Wipe those bloody tears away, eh? I don’t wanna see you sad. Don’t be sad, not for my sake.” He held my cheeks steadily in his hands, wiping his thumbs beneath my eyes to dry my tears on my behalf, shaking his head like I was being silly, which made me laugh. He was good at that. It was obvious he was irritated with how I’d handled things since our date, but he was still trying to keep things sweet between us in any way he could, whilst also getting his point across. I sucked it up as much as I could as he wiped away a few more tears, talking calmly as he did. “Are you crying because of me? Did I go in too hard?” “No.” I shook my head. “I just feel bad. I didn’t want it to go like this.” “No… I can’t say I did either.” He chuckled uneasily. “It just… It doesn’t feel right. I wish it did, but it doesn’t.” He dropped his hands whilst my tears terminated progressively. “I don’t want-” “LIN, WHY’RE YOU MAKING ALFIE CRY?” Niall yelled from across the room. “NIALL, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Lin yelled back, proceeding to mentally block him out. “For fuck sake. Someone needs to tell that lad that it’s not always appropriate to drop a joke.” Despite the fact that I agreed, we were both still sort of laughing, shaking our heads and rolling our eyes. “I think we should probably do this another time.” I whispered, wiping away the last of my tears. “Sorry for getting mad.” “Sorry for avoiding you. I’d be mad too. And sorry for crying. You should be able to be pissed off without me crying and making you feel bad.” Abruptly, he moved in and wrapped his arms around me, releasing a swell of air that had be stuck in his chest. We could hear Niall whinging whimsically about how they were all waiting on their drinks, which were now sitting on top of the bar waiting to be paid for and waiting to be carried over to their consumers, but we had things to say. After quite some time, Lin pulled out of the hug but remained close, pressing his forehead against mine and speaking quietly, still trying to block out our surroundings, his hand latched against the back of my neck. I breathed him in, eased. “We’ll be okay, I promise. I don’t really know where we go from here, but-” “Harry?” I heard Louis yell through the bar, and I knew. Before I’d even turned around, I knew. I could tell from the sound of his voice, the perfect blend of surprise and terror. I knew and yet it didn’t seem real. Not until I watched Lin lift his head to gaze over the top of mine, eyes and mouth wide. “Holy shit, Harry’s here.” I whipped my whole body around a second later so I was facing the right way, so I could see for myself. That was the moment I locked eyes with Harry for the first time in over a year. He was completely motionless, so still and beautiful and perfect I could hardly comprehend that he was real, an image frozen in time and likely captured in my mind forever. He was stood in the doorway staring forward, right at me, as though he wasn’t conscious of anything else. It was just me and him and the static canvas we had become. His emotions were difficult to decipher, looking as shocked as I must have even though it was him who’d turned up out of nowhere. He hadn’t stepped foot in that pub since the previous May, but he was gazing right at me as though I had entered his space, like it was my presence that was the cause for alarm. He looked hurt, in ways. Those seconds felt like a lifetime, only able to snap out of my daze when Niall crashed his body against Harry’s, threw his arm around his neck. “What the hell are you doing here?” Libby howled excitedly as she approached him. “Are you moving back?” Niall asked whilst hugging the life out of him. “Please tell me you’re moving back.” It was then that Harry managed to pull his eyes away, and so did I, darting my vision to the left to look at Louis, who was already staring at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck?” He mouthed mutely. I found that my eyes drew back to Harry within seconds, like a magnet. His were back on me. He looked amazing. He always did. Even when he was exhausted and drained, his body had a certain shine to it that I’d never seen the likes of before and would never see again. Maybe I saw him in some divine light, but staring at him then I felt sure that simply, he was magnificent; radiant, powerful, immersed in splendour. “Uh…” Harry eventually began to grumble as Niall detached himself, looking away from me but not looking at anyone else, his gaze shooting down to the floor. “I dunno why I’m here. Sorry, I… I should go.” “What? You just got here?” Niall keened. Lin tried to edge past me to get closer to Harry, attempt to convince him to stick around like the rest of them were doing, all confused and stunned by his presence but desperate for him to stay. As he moved, Lin placed his hand on my waist gently, tenderly trying to edge me closer to the group to help with encouraging Harry to stay, but that minor action seemed to have the opposite effect. Harry witnessed the trivial exchange and withdrew completely. “No, m’sorry, I can’t do this.” He walked backwards, pushing his weight against the front door to open it without looking. “I dunno why I came, I’m sorry.” “The fuck, Harry?” Niall, Libby and Louis were all so dumbfounded they could barely move, just watching him back himself out of there. “What is going on?” It was rather clear he was overwhelmed, and I didn’t necessarily think it was the sole reason, but I knew that he was piqued by what he’d seen between Lin and I. He’d always had his paranoias, and though they still felt rather misplaced, he hadn’t been entirely delusional. The last time we had been together, we had kissed and held one another so intensely, the situation overflowing with passion and heartbreak. That was the last physical contact we’d had. Following that, he’d sent me a painting that was closer to his heart than most of the people in his life could ever hope to be. No matter how we’d ended or the complications we’d faced, I predicted that he saw me in a similar way to how I saw him – that in some way, we would always belong to one another. I would never be okay seeing him with someone else, and he didn’t want to see me with another man. Our history was too strong. For him to see me for the first time over a year later, another boys hand in my hair and lips close to mine. I knew I wouldn’t have wanted to see him and another woman like that, whether it meant something or not. I knew that was one of the reasons he desired a swift exit. “I shouldn’t have come. I don’t wanna interrupt, m’just gunna go. I promise I’ll see you soon, I promise, I just… Fuck.” With that final curse word he was outside, the door closing behind him. There were only a few seconds of shocked silence before Louis turned and bellowed to me. “Alfie, for fuck sake, go after him!” With no plan, no thought process and nothing to guide me, I ran out the door to catch him. I could barely make sense of a single thing, all I knew was that I couldn’t let him walk away without putting up a fight. I was terrified that if I let him walk away, that would be the last of it. Harry was sometimes hard to read, difficult to predict, and despite recent actions, I knew the chances of him disappearing from my life completely, never to seen or heard from again, were large. I knew there was a chance that this could be the very last time I saw him, and that was more likely if I didn’t go after him. I had too many questions that needed answering; why he was there, why he’d sent me the painting, how he had been for the past year. I wanted answers, and then if he wanted to leave he could. I could only hope that he desired the same closure I did. “Harry!” I yelled as soon as I could. He had his head down, walking central down the countrylane, heading towards town, towards the house where he used to live, towards a history he didn’t want to face. He tried to ignore me, not wanting to acknowledge my presence. I was so fucking confused. “HARRY!” I yelled again once I was out on the road, and he had to stop then, coming to a complete standstill but not turning to look at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” He didn’t answer. “Why’re you here?” “I… I don’t know.” He slowly turned around, but kept his line if vision right on the ground ahead of his feet. “It was stupid, m’sorry, I’m just gunna leave. I thought I was ready for this and I… I’m really not, so-” “Ready for what?” “Being back here. Seeing… I-I can’t. I have to leave.” He set off again, running his hand through his hair, clearly wanting nothing more than to get away from me. Though I could feel my frustration bubbling, I kept it locked down, remaining still and watching him walk away. “Why did you send me that painting?” I asked tersely, breathless, and that brought him to a standstill once again. I was surprised by how calm I sounded. Even when he turned back around and lifted his head to look at me, I remained still, serene, patiently awaiting his answer. He blinked, strangely acting as though he hadn’t been expecting me to question him on that, like he thought we’d both look past it, like it was regular, expected. “Because… it’s yours.” He eventually managed an answer, speaking as though it was obvious. “No one else deserves it.” “Har-” “I need to go, Alfie. I’m sorry.” He started walking backwards once again, not wanting to delay his departure. “I’m sorry for showing up, I-” “Wait… Fuck, I’m so… Don’t you think we need to talk?” “No. I can’t. Just… Forget about it, okay?” He shuddered. “I’ve got so many fucking questions, Harry! How do you expect me to just forget this?” “Will you tell them I’m sorry?” He said, and when I remained silent, stunned, he turned around and picked up his pace. I wished he’d called me Fee-Fee. I didn’t fully understand why that was my first thought, but all I knew was that I craved to hear him call me by that nickname he had so fondly adopted. I longed for that familiarity, that sense that we knew one another, that we had a history, because as he was walking away from me then, he truly felt like a stranger. The only thing that felt the same was the way he was running away from a situation that was more complicated than he’d bargained for. Exasperated, I picked up the pace and followed his footsteps, diminishing the space between us and then jumping so I was directly in front of him, forcing him to stop. We were mere inches apart. “Alfie-” “I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to talk to me, Harry, that’s fine!” I fumed, retrieving my phone from my pocket and searching through it, unable to look him in the eye now we were so close. “I stopped expecting things from you when you fucking left, I’m past it. But you need to speak to your mum. Here.” I held my phone out ahead of him, keeping my eyes on his chest but putting the screen right before his eyes, the contact information for his mother brightening his face. “Wh-what?” “It’s your mum’s number. Take it. Call her.” “But-” “If you don’t, I fucking will. Please step up and do it, Harry. She’s desperate to hear from you.” “How… How do you-” “I spoke to her about you, and I don’t even care if you’re angry with me. I really don’t fucking care anymore, because this is your way to reach her and that’s all that mattered to me. And now you know that she does want you to reach out for her, she tried to reach you, so you’ve got no excuse. Take it, call her. Please.” He was shell-shocked for a little while, taking his time before he reached into his pocket to retrieve his poor excuse for a phone, some old looking thing that didn’t look like it would still function, typing the number he could see and then hopefully saving it to his phone, but I didn’t check to confirm that. I just had to hope he was listening to me, and that I’d said enough for him to finally get in touch with Julia again. “You done?” I asked bluntly. “Uh… Yeah.” “Okay, I’ve done my part, so leave. I don’t care.” I huffed, moving past him, my shoulder colliding with his rather lethally. I had spent the past few months of my life trying to pick him away from my memories, some sort of survival technique I had attempted to adapt, tearing even the tiniest detail from my thoughts. Even down to the simplest thing, like the exact colour of his eyes, the precise shade of green. I had almost forgotten that colour, and the second I was close enough to reacquaint myself, I daren’t look, daren’t remind myself. Or maybe I daren’t acknowledge that I’d never really forgotten. I never could. One last thing held me back before I left him there alone, went back to trying to forget. I rotated to face him again, seeing he hadn’t moved. “And I’d fire your agent, if I was you.” I said. “What?” He turned slightly, enough so he could see me. “Your mum got in touch with him and he never told you. Fire him, he doesn’t give a fuck about you.” His hurt and his horror were clear within his face even though he didn’t say a single thing. I didn’t give him much of an opportunity to reply, really. I had done what I wanted to do, placed the responsibility and the knowledge within his hands, and then it was his to handle, his to deal with however he felt was best. I had hopes, but I certainly didn’t expect anything from him. Not after everything. As I walked away from him, I could feel tears building, like my heart was breaking all over again, like I was losing him all over again even though I’d never gotten him back. Truthfully, he had never been mine to lose.

#Happy Bloody Sunday #enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #HBS45

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