Lonely Nights // H.S

7.

'Time keeps on slipping on'

*

I haven't heard from Harry in days. No text or call or spontaneous trip to my home. Not even a damn like on social media. Silence, something that used to be so personal to us because it's where we really allowed ourselves to be seen, but right now it only causes anxiety and further questions that I'm not even ready to ask.

Silence was ours because we controlled it, but this isn't the same. It's on his terms, in his hands, while I stand in the dark waiting for him to shine even the dimmest of lights.

Of course, I've sent plenty of messages, stooping as low to beg for just a hello. But it's always the same. Read, never answered.

According to Riley, he's thrown himself into work. Late nights, rarely leaving his desk, barely even talking to him, and they usually speak most moments of the day. It's not unusual, apparently. If a big case comes up, he rarely focuses on anything else until it's done. But I know that's not the reason. I know it's something more, but I'm still too scared to admit it.

I told him about my date, and he stormed off. Something that doesn't make sense, will never make sense, but there it is in black and white. There may be more layers to it, a shading to the picture that covers so much, but on the surface, that is all I can see.

Did he not like me mentioning that during our conversation? If that's the case, why did he bring up his wedding? Am I not allowed to talk about my own love life?

Maybe it was because the conversation had been so undeniably personal, almost intimate. Words that will only be shared with each other, because through every good thing and bad thing that has happened in our lives, we've always stuck together. He opened up about so much in such a short space of time, which I hardly expected, given how often I would have to read his body language instead to find answers on a blank page. But he told me, directly, and somehow, I ruined it.

Yes. It was my selfishness, making things about myself while we should have only focused on him. I was reckless, putting my own feelings above his, making everything awkward and uncomfortable in a way that's never existed between us before. And I hate it, I hate every minute that I sit staring at my phone waiting for a call that will never come.

I miss him. His voice, his words, his presence, the way he makes me laugh at the most inappropriate of times or can make me smile when I really don't feel like it. I miss his eyes and the way they would trace every curve of my body like he was the artist and I the art. I miss his hands and how soft they were on the day everything turned messy, so gentle and kind. I miss the warmth of his company, his touch, his smile.

Four days, and suddenly I'm a mess.

Four days, and suddenly I'm a shell.

Four days, and suddenly I'm angry.

Because if there is something to apologise for, he should tell me. How am I to know when he left so abruptly? How am I to know what's going on in his mind if he refuses to keep me close anymore? Distance was something we promised was in the past. He made me swear that we wouldn't fall out of contact, but here we are, barely speaking at the first sign of trouble. Trouble I can hardly explain because he won't let me see why he's so upset.

So, that anger, the inane frustration that has started to brew inside of me, has been channelled into motivating me to go on this ridiculous date. Like a child in a tantrum, I wanted to make him mad, to feel as small as I have over these four days. I pulled out my best dress, did my hair in a way that exposes my neck, and wore the red lipstick I knew Harry liked. And now, as I wait outside the bar, Daniel inside on his phone, everything feels unbearably claustrophobic.