Winter Air [H.S.]

Forty-Four

Thirty one. May consists of exactly thirty one days. Regardless of a leap year or what year it is, that was always the same. Thirty one. 

Twenty eight. That was how many days Harry had been living in Los Angeles. Over the past twenty-eight days, his life had consisted of contract signings, reading his manuscript, having the editor take a look and well edit. After that it was back to re-reading and copyediting. Meanwhile as that goes on, he had to look over the many different book designs that the pesky publishers kept bringing him. 

"That's fine." 

"But Harry, you didn't even look at all of them."

"Do I really have to?"

"Yes. This is your book. People judge the book before they read it by the cover. It's annoying but reality. If you choose a terribly cliche book cover design, then most likely older women are not going to be drawn to it. But if you choose a too risqué of a design, then say good bye to a younger audience. It's important that you take the time to look over each one and pick the right one." 

"Fine." 

The month had consisted of all of that and more. Not only did he have to make sure that the book was properly edited (because according to Harry, the "jackasses were re-writing the whole damn novel") and pick out an eye-catching but not too eye-catching that it's now risqué (because again, according to Harry, he didn't "give a damn what it looked like. Put a naked woman on there for all I care. Just publish the damn book!"), the book needed a pocket description and other little details. Meanwhile, there was the planning of the official book launch. They East Coast wanted Harry's input in the planning process. But of course, he could care less. As long as there was booze and his book was published, he didn't care what happened. As long as it happened. 

If Harry had known that publishing a book was going to be this stressful and time consuming, he would have not done this in the first place. His stress levels grew each time he left the office. In turn, led to many cigarette nights and lustful driven activities with Libby. Regardless of her relationship status, she relieved the physical stress that Harry had pent up. He could care less that she had a boyfriend. She knew what to do with her hands (and body) that made Harry forget about all of it for an hour or two. That was all he needed right now. 

On top of all of that, he kept seeing Ava everywhere he went.

Scratch that. Harry thought he saw Ava everywhere he went. He came to the conclusion that he was so far gone that his mind was officially going crazy. Wherever he went he thought he saw her wavy brunette locks and heard her melodic laugh. But every time he would turn around to see if it was her, it would turn out to be her look alike. 

It killed him inside. Every time he thought he saw her, his heart rate would pick up, his palms would grow sweaty, and the butterflies that were in hibernation would wake up for a few moments. However, when he would realize that it was in fact not her, all of the excitement and life that he felt would once again disappear and the numbing would resurface. 

As much as he denied that he was no longer in love, he knew that he was. She was it for him. He admitted it months ago. But he knew that she no longer wanted him. And that in itself was eating him alive. 

Libby had been a good distraction. She met his needs. His physical needs at least. That was all he wanted right now. All that he craved. He could care less about the emotional side of things that came along with sex. All that he wanted, all that he needed, was the freeing feeling that came with the act. The way it would course through his veins when he hit his climax- that was the feeling that he needed. Because that was the feeling that caused all of the dread, numbing, and brokenness that he felt on a regular basis to disappear for a few seconds.