Exes With Feelings (h.s)

t w e l v e

L i l y R o s e

Six days. That's how long it has been since I have last spoken to him. Six, very long, and very confusing days.

The clothes he wore when the rain screamed hell at us the other night have been washed, dried, and securely tucked away into the clean laundry basket out of my sight, and out of my mind. I haven't sat in the spaces we were when we opened the dusty windows of the past since. Out of mind. That's what I wanted that night to be. Gone. You see, I already lost him once and waking up alone the next morning was like losing him all over again. I promised myself, swore to myself, that I'd never put myself through that kind of pain again. I'd never accept anything that could hurt me into my life ever again. Coming to the conclusion, the other night was a mistake.

Allowing him back into my life, allowing him to see parts of me that are only for me now, allowing him to have grasp upon my heart again - it was all a mistake. I was setting myself up for vulnerability and heartache, both of which I have suffered enough from.

He has tried calling me a few times. I think he even tried to come over one time, but I didn't want to check if it was him ringing the doorbell because I wouldn't have known how to handle it. I feel guilty. I feel sad. However, I know that I can't dwell on this for much longer.  The decision not to speak to Harry or to entertain the events of that night was so that I could move in with my life, and sitting in my apartment dwelling on what could've been or what can be isn't going to help me do that.

I'm sat in bed reading a book. It's this old-timey feminist book from when feminism was barely a thing, but it was about to become one. I flip through the pages reading about all these incredible strong women that wouldn't be slumping around moping over a man from your past, just as I have been doing for a very long time. Just as I was able to face him again after what we went through, I put myself right back at square one. Why do I do this to myself? I toss the book over in my hands, outlining the picture of a woman smiling in black and white with the tip of my finger. She doesn't care about whether or not Harry Styles is fucking her or not, or telling her that he loves her, so why should I? I have to remind myself of why we broke up, and why it's so important that I move on and not get caught up in my old life - the life I had with him.

I reach for my phone across the bed and tap the camera icon to see the state I have become from not leaving my bed. My hair is everywhere whilst mascara from days ago is smeared across my face - the sight is not a pretty one. My appearance alone is enough persuasion to drag myself into the shower and prepare to go out. I wear a pair of dark wash jeans that hang from my hips with a navy woolly jumper that looked as if it came straight from my grandparents wardrobe. Deciding that that was enough effort into the way I looked for one day, I pulled on a pair of chunky converse, grabbed my keys and headed for my car.

It was around 12pm when I landed myself in a quaint coffee shop with not too many people inside. It's hard to find quiet places in London, but when you do, it's always worth the search. The interior had oak panels running all across the low ceiling, matching the wooden floor where metal chairs and tables were scattered all over. I walked up to the counter, ordering a latte, before taking my place in a small corner that was lit up with dull twinkly lights. I pulled out a script for the movie I was cast in a few weeks ago from my bag  and started to look over my lines in preparation for filming early February next year. We are filming in a small city just on the outskirts of northern Italy, and I smile at the thought. Italy has always been my favourite place in the world, so now I can do what I love most in the place I love most. I'm hoping the film puts me in the running to be a nominee for an Oscar. My aunt has been saying since I was just a kid that she wants me to bring one home for her to put on the mantelpiece above her fireplace, and I'm hoping this film will allow me to do that for her.

After about an hour of flipping through my lines, I decide it's time to grab something to eat before I head home. My car is parked just around the corner from the cafe I was sat in; the walk, even though it was short, nearly froze me to death. I don't know why the thought didn't cross my mind to bring a thick coat considering we are only days away from a visit from Santa Claus - maybe I should ask him for a new one...

Pizza is on my mind. Pizza is always on my mind. The front of my car comes to a stop just in front of the London rip-off version of the NYC $1 pizza slice place. It's a small building that is definitely in need of refurbishments but it's my favourite place to come for greasy hangover food, and even though I don't have a hangover today, I think I deserve greasy hangover food. I walk in, wiping my shoes on the welcome matt as the smell of cheese and tomato overwhelms my senses. I'm in a bubble of my own contentment ordering my pizza when I feel a delicate tap on the shoulder.

'Lily!'

I turn around quickly as I see her familiar face come into view.

'Gemma, hey!'

Her lips meet my frozen cheek, greeting me as if nothing at all had changed. A overwhelming feeling of awkwardness washes over me as one thought in particular comes into mind - does she know what happened with me and Harry?

Surely not? I mean, it's not exactly the kind of thing a brother says to his sister unprovoked. 'Hey Gem, I had sex with Lily! How was your day?' So, I'm hoping that I'm good here.

'You stole my pizza place.' She grins at me.

'Well, you made the mistake of bringing me here after that night out we had.'

A laugh escapes from her mouth as we recall the events of the mortifying drunken night we had at some dodgy bar years ago, where we ended up passed out on the stained tables of the pizza place - we try not to reminisce this night too much for obvious reasons. We chat for a while whilst we wait for our food to be cooked, and then for a little while longer while we eat it. She really is my best friend.

So much for keeping Harry out of mind.