Lucky Penny [h.s.]

8.

TW: emotional abuse and (slight) physical violence

Penelope.

I was still confused when I woke up the next morning.

I'd had such a busy week, and a range of emotions were running through me right now. They had kept me up at night, and then when I did finally fall asleep, all I could see was Harry's stupid face.

Seeing his stupid face in my mind was what had woken me up in the morning with a pool of arousal between my legs the second I opened my eyes. His stupid face along with his stupid hands, his stupid mouth, his stupid eyes and his stupid body.

Despite being tired as hell, I was wide awake at around eight in the morning. I laid tossing and turning in the bed, refusing to give into my body's wishes and touch myself.

Refusing to touch myself while thinking about Harry.

I couldn't. It felt like cheating.

Last night had gone too far, and I knew that. I couldn't help but regret everything, but on the other hand it had been so interesting to have Harry touch me like that. I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy myself tremendously when he had his hands on me and his lips on my neck.

It was confusing.

I liked Harry. I liked talking to him, I liked being around him, I liked joking with him. The thought of him was what calmed me down during my panic attack last Saturday. The calls with him brightened up my days during fashion week.

You have a boyfriend.

A boyfriend who forgot about this important event I had been talking about for months. A boyfriend who hardly ever listened to me, who gave me bruises whenever we had a fight, who didn't trust me, who my friends hated and who wouldn't touch me.

A boyfriend who was arguably not interested in what I did in my life.

A boyfriend who didn't make me happy anymore.

A boyfriend who I didn't love anymore.

It was a realization I had made last night in the car ride home from Pixies. I was on my own the Uber, staring out the window with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. One thing stood out though, that no matter how physical my crush on Harry was, I still preferred to be around him than around Patrick.

I preferred being around Dave. Or Niall, or Zayn, or Liam, or Louis. Patrick was not even in my top five favourite people in the world. He used to be once, he used to peak at number one for years in a row. But with how he had been neglecting me lately... I knew it was mainly an issue of him showing his love in a certain way and me not wanting to receive it like that.

I had tried to make it clear multiple times that I wasn't interested in the many expensive gifts he got me. I didn't want another bouquet of flowers if he forgot our anniversary again, I didn't want a pear necklace when he stood me up for a dinner we had planned for weeks. I didn't want his apologies anymore. I wanted him to show up, I needed him to. And he knew that, he just didn't care.

And I had to talk to him about it.

The idea frightened me because an angry Patrick was an explosive Patrick, and an unpredictable Patrick. I had to be strong, because one look at his face would make me cower back, apologize and make me regret ever thinking of starting this conversation up with him.

He never thought I was serious when I tried to bring up the issues I had with our relationship. He thought I was being dramatic, and fixed it with giving me another pair of earrings. I had a stack full of jewellery in my room that I had gotten from him yet never touched. It felt tainted to receive gifts like that, and they lost all their value since he just tried to buy my forgiveness.