My Sunflower

thirty

What. The. Fuck.

Why is it that Zayn, Zayn—the guy that hasn't been emotionally or physically  pining for Liam for more than I have Harry— gets Liam to face time, text, and most importantly, and the thing getting me real riled up, meet him?

I come sauntering into work the other day, and there's Liam fucking Payne standing by the small animals, cooing at a rabbit named Potato. I asked him if H was with him and obviously he said no. He's still bloody touring in a different bloody country, whilst I'm stuck here, sweeping sawdust from a stingy wooden floor and getting bitten by fucking rats whenever I try to fill up their water bottles.

So fuck Zayn, fuck Liam, fuck their sickly sweet new love. And fuck Potato. Because what sort of name is Potato for a rabbit? At least call it something cool like Gary. Or Clive. 

I'm moping at the fish tanks, not giving too shits if I miss a spot on the glass, watching the fish swim frantically away from my hand every time I reach in with the sponge. The sponge that's green and reminds me of Harry. Well, to be honest anything I look at reminds me of Harry. The rainbow castle fish ornament reminds me of Harry, the sushi cat toy reminds me of Harry, the watermelon dog plush reminds me of Harry. My mind is constantly Harry, Harry, Harry, and at this point I'm sick to death with it because I can't do anything about it.

He hasn't replied to me in the past fifteen hours. Which is the longest we've gone without talking, without him telling me 'look, I'm going to busy so won't message until late, but I'm thinking of you x.' 

So  yeah, I'm sour at him for that. 

Niall comes over with a faulty guinea pig cage clutched in his hands. He's struggling with it a bit, and he trips, the thing clattering to the floor, metal bars vibrating together with a loud clang. He puffs out his cheeks, hands on his hips as he stares down at it. He looks up to me then, quirking a brow. 

"What's got you almost in tears?" he ponders. 

I glare at him, bringing the sponge out the tank and throwing it at him, a trail of water trickling to the floor. He yelps when it hits him in the chest, slapping on top the cage. A wet patch sits on his tee and he tuts.

"Why do you think?" I cross my arms, leaning into the tanks behind me. "Liam is over there, probably serenading Zayn, whilst Harold Edward Styles hasn't even replied to my last message!"

"What did your last message say?" Niall asks.

I scratch my head. "That I miss him." I won't add the part where I told him I wanted to kiss every inch of his face. I can't help it, I'm a sucker for the man. 

Niall rolls his eyes. "Well maybe he doesn't miss you and your whiny voice." He comes up to me, putting an arm over my shoulder. "I'm sure he's just busy with travelling to the next venue. Doesn't he have a day off soon?"

I nod. "Yeah, he has a day off today. Apparently, according to Celine's story, they're going sight-seeing together today, then going to a karaoke bar after. So he has time to message me back!"

"Maybe he's overslept."

"For fifteen hours?" I question.

He shrugs a shoulder. "It's easily done. I've done seventeen hours before. Was pure fuckin' bliss."

I scoff. "Wish I could do that. Ducky keeps wakin' up in the night with nightmares recently. Not to mention Frank's wheel has gotten significantly louder, and he keeps chewing his darn bars. I think I need to get him some new toys, he's getting bored with the sticks." I shake my head, moving closer to Niall and slumping my head on his shoulder. "Life's a bitch."