Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Eighteen

February 11, 2017

Afternoon

Bloomsbury Mansion, Bloomsbury

"Just over there, T, please," I instructed him.

Theo places my box of books on the wooden floor while I proceed to open another box that contained my old notebooks and school papers. As I sorted through them, my tired helper plopped himself on the couch of my new home, hopefully, for the rest of my college years.

"Theo, I can't thank you enough and often," I told him, briefly directing my gaze to his to offer a smile before focusing on my task at hand.

"No problem, love," he replied.

He's been lovely in the short time we've known each other. Often too generous. He offered a rental truck to help me with the moving but it was just excessive, to me at least. To him it was nothing. He insisted, but we eventually struck a deal to just use his car, which was still, an excessive Bugatti. It's better than paying extra.

"Vivien this place is wonderful, it's very you," Gracie gushed as she walked away from my bed area. "Oh, hey Theo," she greeted after noticing his presence.

She gives me a bewildered look. After three months and even after having introduced Theo to her, Bryon, and Zach, they still believe we are going to end up together. Their reason: my denial can be likened to that of Bryon's before she and Zach made it official. I didn't have the heart to tell them that it's not like that. I really am just not in that place with him.

"I got juice and biscuits on the counter if you guys want to eat," I suggested. "Theo, you've been carrying stuff all afternoon, please reenergize."

Gracie's stare intensified as I subtly roll my eyes at her. She turns away from me to go get herself a snack. I turn my eyes back to Theo, putting on an expression that tells him to stop being stubborn and take my other form of gratitude which was food.

"Alright, if you insist," he gives in. He stands from the couch to join Gracie on the kitchen counter. "I shall reenergize," he said, playfully mocking my choice of word.

I organize the files in folders, separating the notebooks that I found in between papers. I pause, picking up a moleskin notebook that's thick with strips and bookmarks jammed between pages. I open it, careful not to spill the contents. The flipping stops as several polaroid pictures in one spread appears before me after having not seen them in a while.

I feel myself and my breathing freeze. I instinctively check Gracie and Theo to make sure they weren't looking. Then, I began to examine each photograph. They all felt so long ago and it's not because of the polaroids' vintage appeal.

Only now did I realize that I haven't thought about him in a while.

The first few weeks, I found myself avoiding everything that could be correlated to him. I turned down Theo's efforts to bring me back to Barbican. I muted Harry, Styles, Harry Styles, One Direction on Twitter. I couldn't listen to his band's music. I stopped coming to Sillons for about three Fridays. The one time I had mentioned his name to anyone, it was to explain to Theo that I don't talk to Harry anymore when he wondered about my friendship with his.

The second month since, I quickly became alright with everything. When I found time to Skype with Jasmin, I finally told her I saw one member of her—our—favorite boyband. Saw not met. I left out almost all the details.

"Daya mo!" she joked.

(You're so unfair!)

"At least sinabi ko diba?" I backed.