Concupiscence | HS | currently on hold

XIV. Killer queen

'She keeps the Moet et Chandon in her pretty cabinet. Let them eat cake, she said, just like Marie-Antoinette. A built in remedy for Kruschnev and Kennedy. At anytime an invitation you can't decline.'
Killer queen - Queen

"Why didn't you write me? Why? It wasn't over for me. I waited for you for seven years and now it's too late."

"I wrote you 365 letters. I wrote you every day for a year."

"You wrote me?"

"YES. It wasn't over...It still isn't over."

Harry stopped mumbling Ryan Gosling's lines in a soft whisper and rolled over on his sofa in his wool blanket, not wanting to see the passionate sex scene he knew was bound to happen. He wasn't having any of that, he still couldn't handle it. He groaned when he heard the unwelcome kissing and moaning noises. He stood up before walking to his kitchen while still being wrapped up in his blanket. He made himself some tea and huffed.

It had been several weeks since the rejection, the humiliation, the hurt, the apocalypse of his heart. Yet one thing was clear, he had no idea how irrationally dramatic he could be until now. Not only did he describe his pain as being worse than the end of the world, but he had also been keeping himself busy with marathons of romantic movies, Nicholas Sparks in particular.

He had become quite the expert on the matter, actually.

During the first weeks, watching endless films was all he wanted to do. Sleep, cry and watch movies which made him cry even more. He occasionally missed class and reported himself ill in return. Yet he knew he had to return to the academy and face her eventually, the woman who had ruined everything, who had ruined him. Harry wasn't sexist in any way, but he thought it was quite remarkable how feminine he was behaving at the moment; drowning his sorrows in tea, romantic movies and Belgian Chocolates.

Sadly, every good story had to end. So after a weeks of wobbling around his flat in only a black T-shirt, Calvin Klein briefs and red socks, pretending to be sick, he had to go back to Bates and work on the assignments he missed out on.

When he entered the classroom, he was rewarded with the usual stares which did nothing to boost his confidence, unlike before, especially when he saw that very familiar poised posture sitting behind her canvas with her golden locks pulled up into a careless bun. His heart broke all over again at the sight he used to love, still did. He couldn't admire her beauty the same way he did before, because the thought of having lost her kept popping into his mind.

Then again, she had never been his to begin with, which made the whole ordeal even more painful.

He had noticed her worried glances. He had noticed the way she tried to keep apologising with that look in her brown eyes. That look only he could understand. Nevertheless, he simply avoided all of it. He didn't want her pity, nor her apologies. He wanted her, nothing more, nothing less. So after a few days of strange glances and awkward clearings of the throat on both parts, they simply acted as if they were strangers. They were mere students attending the same class.

For almost three weeks Harry had been acting like a proper hermit. Going to classes, returning back home without so much of a stop at the pub or a chat with anyone. He was closing himself off entirely, only thinking of what could've been but never would happen. He had thought every situation and memory through and the more time passed, the more he wondered if his own reaction could've been too harsh. He wasn't the sort of person to throw people out of his flat, neither was he the kind of person to stay angry at someone. But somehow, with everything he felt for Nina, he couldn't help ignoring her. It was the only way to forget.