Pierre Corneille said that: "the power of love is manifested in suffering." "Another lie. Louis had never moved away from me as much as he had when he began to feel pain." - Harry
Song: Hunter Hayes – Wanted
I always thought I was a strong person. I can endure a lot and not even pay attention to it. I just can't be broken or hurt.
All of the above is a lie. The same as the parental love, their words that they will always be there, that you should be yourself and that the main thing is your happiness. I've never been told that, but I thought it was normal. It's just as much a lie as the one I've been telling myself for days: that my parents' reaction doesn't matter. It does. I haven't been myself for a week. Every day, looking in the mirror and looking at the black eye for long seconds, I am only convinced for the hundredth time that the world is still a false, unreal, and hypocritical place. It's not that bad physically but mentally. I'll never forget his gaze. That night, I try to convince myself it doesn't matter, that it wouldn't affect my life. But my brain doesn't seem to care. Why? I mean, don't we have the right to control our minds? Doesn't it belong to us? Apparently not.
So, I had to find the culprit. Someone else besides myself. And that "someone" was Harry. At one point, I just started blaming him for everything that happened. It's all his fault. If he hadn't come into my life, if he hadn't made me fall in love with him, nothing would have happened. I became estranged from him. As soon as I woke up the next morning, after the reception. I no longer wanted him to touch me, to comfort me after the situation he was responsible for. I took my jacket, left the room, and haven't been back since. It's been a week and a half. At first, he called me, I ignored every call, every SMS he sent me. It's been for almost four days and then he finally gave up. I avoided him in the hallways of the university, even skipped our general philosophy lectures. The only thing we still had in common was the countdown emails I kept sending him. 169. Without even knowing it, I completely closed in myself. Another choice of my mind, I suppose. Ironic, isn't it? Closed the way he used to close. All my free time I studying, training, running, even went to the downtown gym several times. I spent all my time physically exhausting myself so that I was too tired to think. I have never been so perfect in the eyes of others, and I have never been so disgusted and incomprehensible to myself. I accused him of all my mistakes. I was just so mad at him, at myself, at my parents, who I couldn't be mad at, because I'd convinced myself that I didn't care about their reaction. My mother called as often as Harry, but the results of her attempts were no better.
Only now I realize that up to this moment nothing terrible has happened to me, I've never experienced anything dramatic or traumatic. I have always been the lucky one. And I'm so mad at myself at this very moment. I look at my phone for the thousandth time, nothing. I haven't heard from Harry, it's all my fault. It's Wednesday, 11 pm, I walk around the room, thinking about him. I miss him. We've never been apart for so long, and more than anything, I want to call him, but... I can't. I won't. I blame myself for acting like a moron with him. Really, what's wrong with me? Harry has been through a lot more than I have, compared to his problems mine with my father is just childish babble. He finds the strength to live, to live for me, and I sit in my room and ignore him for weeks. How I envy him, his willpower, his desire.
Stop.
I have no right to make him pay for saving his life. This is nonsense. He didn't make me fall in love with him, he didn't do anything wrong. My father is wrong, not Harry.
And this thought like a whirlwind burst into my consciousness - I almost suffocate. I miss him so much, what the hell am I doing? It was as if someone else had ruled me for the past two weeks. My heart starts to tingle. I grab my phone abruptly, and I can barely unlock the screen because my hands are shaking. I call, there are beeps. One beep. It's almost 2 am. Two beeps. He's probably asleep. Three beeps. Four beeps and a hoarse voice on the other end. I can't even get out an elementary "hello". I listen to his breathing.
