boys don't cry. [h.s]

thirty six

December

Isabel woke up the morning after her Film Festival to an empty bed. She stretched out her hand for Harry, sliding her palm across the sheets for him, but with a jolt she realised he wasn't there.

It was only when Isabel sat up and reached for her phone that she remembered why Harry had gone - despite having told her yesterday, he'd still texted her with a reminder that he'd gone for a run and then off to uni - and suddenly, Isabel was kind of grateful for his absence. It meant she had time on her own to think, and re-evaluate, and what better time than Monday morning, December the first, with only a week and a half left of term.

Her last class of 2014 was on Friday. Technically term ended next Wednesday, but she couldn't be paid to stay in this house with Millie and the others for an extra unnecessary five days. The only problem, though, was that Harry's secrets exhibition was on Sunday.

So the first thing Isabel did that day was text her mum to say that she'd be home for Christmas the following Monday, the eighth of December. That left her seven days.

After that, getting out of bed was easy enough, as was showering and getting dressed and ready for her morning seminar. What was harder was deciding how she was going to sort everything out, because everything seemed easier in the movies. The protagonist had an epiphany of some sort about how to fix everything all at once, right at the end of the film after a huge catastrophe, and then it was all fine.

By the time she was ready to leave the house, she'd thought of everything she wanted to accomplish that week, which was very much a Harry thing to do, but perhaps, she thought, it made a nice change. Because Harry had once told her that she was always a bit late and breathless and confused, always floating through life like she wasn't really sure what was happening, and although he'd meant it in a nice way, she'd had enough of it. She didn't want to be a blink and you'll miss it girl anymore. She didn't want to keep free falling without any idea when or how she'd get to the ground.

And it was for this reason that, as she walked past the living room on the way out of the house, she decided to tick off the first thing on her list right away.

"Morning, Millie," she said as cheerfully as she could, trying not to be deterred by the way Millie frowned like she'd just said something obscene, pausing in the act of shovelling cereal into her mouth. "Feeling all right?"

Millie said nothing, just eyed Isabel suspiciously and burrowed her face into the collar of her dressing gown.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for gatecrashing the party with my friends yesterday," Isabel continued, flashing her a smile.

She might as well have been speaking Mandarin. "What?" Millie said blankly.

"We've got two more terms living together after Christmas," Isabel went on, "so I don't want this to be more awkward than it has to be. So for everything that I've done that offends and irritates you, I apologise. I expect we'll try and stay out of each other's way."

It was too much to expect that Millie would say sorry back. She just sat up a little straighter, a smug little smile pulling at her lips as she nodded like it was an effort on her part to accept this undeservedly generous apology.

"Great!" Isabel said brightly, hitching her bag up her shoulder and smiling broadly. "See you later, then."

"Yeah, later."

"Oh, and one more thing," Isabel added, just as Millie had turned her attention back to the television. "When Scarlett wakes up, tell her I really do wish her and Louis luck." She paused, sweeping her tongue across her lips and raising her eyebrows before continuing, "Let's hope she's good enough not to... send him to sleep. If you get what I'm saying."