(DISCONTINUED)

○ 0.5 :: Double-Decker Cheeseburger ○

Dedicated to @Harry_You_Idiot_, for telling me how awesome I am ;) :) :D

*

I walk back to my dorm with my shoulders slumped. How could I have expected anything different after a week? I suppose that Monday night's party had gotten my hopes up, and I had stupidly let it, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Harry might... might what? I don't know, to be honest. I'm not really sure what I thought.

Frida is laying on her stomach on top of her duvet, looking at something on her laptop, but I don't send her a second glance as I walk into our dorm room and resist the urge to slam the door.

"Hey-"

I throw my bag without looking at where I aimed, but wherever it lands it makes a loud bang. It feels good.

"You okay?"

I don't answer. The first and only thing I want to do right now is to remove every trace of this stupid makeup from my face and hopefully remove every trace of Harry along with it. I start with the lipstick.

"Kat?"

Eye liner and mascara next.

Frida sits up on her bed. "Kat."

Finally, foundation.

"Kat, what happened?" I glance at the mirror, wiping away any faint marks. Somehow, getting rid of the makeup doesn't really make me feel any better. The lipstick has unfortunately stained, so I walk to our little bathroom, grab my flannel, and begin furiously scrubbing it across my lips in front of the bathroom mirror. The action gives me the faintest sense of self-empowerment, like I'm taking charge of my life again - like I really am getting rid of all the negativity with every violent stroke of the cloth. I don't realize Frida has followed me until she speaks. "Kat, talk to me. What happened?" I glance over at her reflection in the mirror in front of me for about 3 seconds before it starts swimming as my eyes fill with tears. I turn around just in time to see a vague blur rush towards me. "Kat!"

Although there are downfalls, here were many advantages to having big boobs: attracting boys, looking amazing, making other girls jealous because they're all natural (including me, to be honest), and the list goes on. But for people around you - like inexplicably upset best friends, for instance - there are advantages, too. Like getting to bury your face in them and just cry.

And that's what I do.

Twenty minutes later, we're watching Beauty and the Beast (one of my favourite Disney movies of all time), and I'm happily singing to Gaston's song about himself. It's clear that those muscles are compensating for something.

"Kat, you gotta talk to me," Frida begs.

"It's nothing, Fri," I insist for the seventh time in the last five minutes, eyes glued to the screen.

"Kat, you cried. You never cry. You crying earlier is literally the only I haven't punched you for calling me that," she points out. She's right of course - I never cry unless it's truly serious, and I'm more than aware that I can use the event to call Frida by her most hated nickname and get away with it with no new bruises.

"I just-" I sigh. "It's nothing."

"No no no, finish that sentence," she orders, awkwardly crossing her arms across her chest before she remembered that she can't  and lowers them down to her stomach.

"I don't know why I cried, to be honest. He just... he gets to me," I admit, looking down at my hands in shame.

"Harry?" She asks gently.