More than a Melody (H.S) ON HOLD

26

twenty six

I left the following day, months ago.

He stood at the end of the hallway, conjuring a purpose for me to stay and live in this orchestrated lie. I pleaded with him, walking to the door, saying that he didn't have to continue hiding. That if he just opened himself up, we could have something, anything, to work with.

He refused. Through the tears and the frustrations, he refused. That was when I knew that there was something far darker to Harry than cliché jokes and cherry stained lips. He was an enigma of the most dastardly of constellations.

And yet not a day passes where he isn't here. Everywhere. In the ocean's driftwood, the cracks in the sidewalk, the pattern in a butterfly's wing and the smell of rain before it comes. He was everywhere. He was so fucking alive in my mind that it was crippling.

Harry would be gone one day, though. Gone from the trees and the butterfly's wing- a time in my life I will remember when I'm eighty and reminiscing. It takes time. Everything in life, takes time.

Miles and Vincent aren't together anymore. They separated a few months back.

I didn't know why, I wanted to know but I couldn't possibly bear to hear another tragedy. I had a feeling, though, that Vincent was tired too. Tired of living whatever life Miles's created- one that warrants violence and trauma and lies and misery.

Miles begged me to come along with him to Seattle, but I refused. I needed this, this change, this ability to flourish and thrive in a life I built.

What I really needed was distraction, to cloud myself of this hollow loneliness. Although I never openly confessed this to anyone, except you.

When the diner was sold, I was already in Seaside, moved into a small studio that accompanied a faint glimpse of the coast.

Miles and the buyer agreed on a six month installment plan, which he split with me each month. At the end of the six months, which was sure to come soon, we would receive a lump sum. It was more than any twenty one year old would ever need, but it made for a nice comfort, I guess.

The editorial assistant job isn't so bad, the assistant part lives up to its name. Coffee runs, phone calls, emails, reviewing publications. It didn't pay very well, just enough for me to live without worry in my studio. But that was fine, it kept me busy.

I graduated, too, by the way. A few weeks ago.

I never actually went about with changing my major. The thought slipped my mind, now nothing more than a trivial nuisance.

Harry called me that day, on my graduation. I didn't attend the ceremony or anything but the same day I received my diploma, I also received a phone call. It had been a couple weeks since he'd last tried to reach out to me.

I forwaded the call, he left me a voicemail, and because I was too scared to hear his voice again, I deleted it.

And all I can do now is remember.

"I have salted caramel icecream or a slice of red velvet cake from that bakery around the corner, which do you want?"

Zayn stands in the doorway of my home, holding up a bag of desserts while Silas waves a bottle of Malibu. Smiling as drool nearly drips down my chin, I step aside and let them in.