Strangers

Chapter 56: Shoes Speak Louder Than Words

It turns out actually attending stuff at uni was a pretty capable form of distraction from everything. I had a very limited understanding of what was going on in any of my subjects but I kind of feel like that’s the point of university anyway. Maybe I will have the proper uni experience after all. I’m single now…so I guess I could sleep around.

But considering my stomach churns at the mere thought of sleeping with anyone but Harry, it seems pretty clear that won’t be happening any time soon.

I know I should’ve called him and thanked him for the phone, but I’m not prepared to talk to him again just yet. I’ll either cry or yell and at the moment it seems my tear ducts are empty, and my voice lacks the energy to yell, and I would like to keep it that way.

The playlist he made as served a somewhat therapeutic service. I listen to it constantly, and it reminds me that maybe it’s okay to let myself be sad about this. That I don’t have to get over it immediately, and I don’t have to understand what happened, or blame myself for not fighting harder for what we had, because at the time it felt like there wasn’t anything to fight for.

Wondering whether that’s still true is what keeps me up at night. But I don’t entertain those thoughts for long, because the answer is no. It has to be no.

Minimal effort has been put into my appearance lately, and I have no doubt that ugly photos of me walking around campus with a blank look on my face and earphones in constantly will have made their way onto the internet, ready to be mocked and ridiculed.

It’s hard to care though. Because that’s what they want, they want to make me feel like shit so that they feel better about themselves. Well I have slept with 3 out of 5 and Matt Healy so who’s the real winner here?

Pathetic little tweens.

I can almost feel people looking at me as I walk from the lecture hall to where my tute is in half an hour, and I am sick of it. 

I come to an abrupt halt when I feel someone tap on my shoulder. I pull out my earphone as I turn around, a disgruntled, inconvenienced look on my face.

I have to bite my tongue from saying something rude, like “yes I’m Harry Styles’ ex-girlfriend go away.” And I’m glad I did bite my tongue, because the shoulder tapping assailant isn’t some teenage girl, it’s…well it’s a rather attractive guy dressed astonishingly differently to any other guy I’ve seen today. He’s wearing a cuddly knit sweater, and grey pants, and he has short curly brown hair that’s a mess from the cold wind, and his hand musses it habitually as he looks at me.

“Uh—sorry,” He says, slightly startled by the harsh look on my face. Out with it.

“Are you Charlotte Jones?” He asks, staring at my features as if he’s trying to line them up with a photo or something.

“Yes. Can I help you?” God I’m a bitch.

“Oh…well I’d heard you were back studying but I wasn’t sure if I’d have the pleasure of meeting you.”

“Excuse me?” Is he flirting?

“Oh. I’m sorry, I should introduce myself I guess. I’m Seth…I’m a lecturer for first year law.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it reluctantly.

“You look a little young to be a lecturer.” I scoff, so sceptical. Oh my God! The hot lecturer the-untrustworthy-bitch-who-shall-not-be-named was always going on about.

“I could say the same thing about you, associate at 22.”

What?

I think he  notices the confused look on myself and quickly jumps to clarify. “Oh God, I bet that sounds really creepy. I’ve just, I’ve read some of the papers you’ve had published, and your professional profile, so I know a bit about what you’ve done. I actually show some of your essays to a few of my classes.” He saves himself before I could ask how the hell he knew that.