to be so lonely • hs

one

My leg draped across the arm of my sofa, the other tucked underneath, my laptop resting on it. I stared down at the keyboard, trying to form letters into words to send in my submission. I guess I really was useless at this hour without a cup of coffee.

I set my laptop down on the sofa as I stood from it, allowing my tired legs to take me into the kitchen, one arm reaching for a mug while the other opened the drawer just below the cabinet, grabbing a spoon. I poured my coffee beans into the filter resting in my old coffee machine, then poured the hot water over and went back to my laptop as I waited.

I stared longer at the image in front of me. I couldn't find the words to describe why I decided to submit this image along with the others in my showcase. Was it because of the lighting? Sure, the neon blue and red contrasted well, but I didn't think that was it. I liked how the floor glistened from the rain, and the water droplets trickling off of my model's hair. It gave the image movement, but still, in comparison to the other photo's, I had basically nothing to say. I wanted to let it speak for itself.

I began typing away some exaggerated meaning behind the image, wondering to myself why each image needed a meaning at all.

Knocking me from my silence, the door bell rang through my apartment, jolting me slightly as I hadn't expected any company. I checked the time at the bottom corner of my screen; 11:03pm.

I stood skeptically, ultimately figuring it'd be a neighbor filling me in on information. It just felt unusual, so late.

The doorbell rang again, and I groaned, walking faster to my door and closing one eye as I looked through the peep hole, stepping back when my eyes landed upon him.

What was he doing here?

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking again through the hole, my mind unable to process the fact that my ex-boyfriend was stood on the other side of my door after a year of not speaking.

My fingers rested for a moment on my cold silver door lock, my breath growing shallow as I tried calming it, my chest rising and falling more rapidly than a minute ago. I turned the lock and waited just another moment before opening the door, coming face to face with a vision from my past.

"Harry?" I asked, my voice much smaller than I'd anticipated. I wasn't sure of the emotion I was feeling. Anger, guilt, hurt, sadness, and joy... weirdly. But mostly confusion.

"Liana." He half-smiled, eyes tired, and then I knew why he was here. He was drunk, very clearly, and there was a bar at the end of my street.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, crossing my arms as he shrugged. "And why are you drunk? It's Wednesday."

"I hadn't noticed." He mumbled, "Can I come in?" He asked, shifting his head as he peeked inside, watching as I cracked the door open even wider to let him in.

"Are you allowed to?" I asked, he scoffed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"As in, considering we aren't allowed to speak, was this circumstance permitted to you for whatever reason?" I asked, shutting the door as I grew annoyed in remembrance of the last time we'd spoke.

He had basically told me that the girl he'd been seeing didn't trust us speaking any longer, and that if he'd want to continue seeing her, we'd need to never speak again. As adults, I saw nothing wrong with remaining friends with an ex, but apparently it meant we were still hooking up, or planned to, and it wasn't allowed. Therefor, Harry chose to quit speaking to me and submit to the rules of his girlfriend.

"I don't need her permission to speak to you." He crossed his arms, I laughed.

"So it was your own choice to avoid me for a year?" I watched as he sighed, something obviously bothering him, and as much as I tried not to care, I did. "What's wrong, Harry?" I asked, giving in to my ex-boyfriends frown.