Diligence [H.S.]

FOUR

Chapter Song: More by Halsey

...

HARRY STYLES

I toss my keys onto the table centered perfectly in the quiet foyer, and I stare blankly ahead of me at the dark living room just a few feet ahead of me.

This wasn't a part of my plan, but I'd rather rip the bandage off. I was meant to drive to the hotel and pick Talia up to go to the airport. We were scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning, but I found an earlier flight that was meant to leave tonight. In a few hours, actually.

I was over the moon excited to tell her that we could leave for Italy tonight and relieved that I survived a trip to this city without it causing too much pain.

But then I found myself driving here.

I knew I made a wrong turn and had taken the wrong freeway exit. My mind was aware of each decision I made on the drive, and for some reason, I didn't fight it. My heart thrashed nervously against my chest the whole drive, despite knowing that I wasn't going to see her.

All that's left here are hints of her.

I knew I had to come back to this house eventually. It can't sit vacant for much longer, and I need to decide whether or not it's time to start preparing to sell it. I don't plan on returning any time soon, so I thought, why not? Just get it over with now.

What a stupid fucking idea that was.

My shoes softly tap against the floor with each step I take, and I flick the light on when I reach the space between the living room couch and the kitchen island.

The hatred I used to have toward this house and the constant silence it held slowly slinks back into my mind, and it feels strange to be here. It doesn't feel like home anymore. It's just a house. Which is ironic now considering in my meeting all I had to present was an album title.

Harry's House.

The inspiration for the name came while listening to the album Hosono House by the legend himself, Haruomi Hosono, on my much-needed vacation in Tokyo. I wasn't clear where I wanted this album to go, but I knew what I wanted it to be called.

Originally, the idea of writing it all in my home was the plan, but it didn't take long for me to realize that was a terrible idea given my state of mind.

These past few months, my definition of home has shifted, and it's become a concept I struggle with and can't quite understand anymore. I'm hoping along the way while writing I'll be able to figure it out.

Now it seems a bit ironic.

Here I am, standing in what I used to call home, but now it feels as if I'm a guest.

The sense of warmth I used to relish each time I walked through the front door is now gone and nowhere to be found. Now it's just a cold, dark, lonely home that longs to be filled with happiness again.

I know that Andrea never returned after she left. The key I once gave her was placed on the bedside table in our hotel room, and I asked the guard at the gate to inform me of any visitors. Every piece of our relationship has been stripped from me, but the last remaining hints of the life we had together are still here, silently begging for the attention and love they were once shown.

To a regular person, it looks like a clean house that hasn't been lived in for a few months. Unfortunately, I can notice all the smaller details. Ones that only she and I would recognize.