REDAMANCY [h.s. au]

10

"What if I never forget you? What if, all my life, when I meet someone new, I can never fall for them because they aren't you?"
- unknown

⭑Harry⭑

Wounded heart and still a bit hungover from last night, I find myself walking up the steps to Sam's new flat with a six-pack of beer and a fake smile stretching across my face as I try to mentally prepare for whatever lays beyond that door.

I forgot I promised him I'd come to his house-warming party a few days ago and just remembered when he texted me today, otherwise I'd be sat upon my couch, still bathed in the shame and pain of last night while eating takeout. Instead, I'm in Peckham, feeling like a fool, with the hurt stuffed into my back pocket for now, although I'm certain it's leaving a bloody trail in my wake.

I figured I'd feel some sense of freedom after deciding it was really time to let go of the abstract fantasy that Holland and I could be together again, but all I feel is more hollow than before.

Because no one tells you that when you finally bow your head down and admit defeat, that you'll still be left with a wound the size of a small country-that just because you surrendered, the hurt doesn't suddenly become easy to ignore.

If anything, it's harder now with no hope to cling onto.

I try to shake it, not wanting to be the waft of negative energy that waltz's into the party. I knock on the red door loudly, so it's heard over the buzzing noise that's coming from inside. Shivering while I wait, I pull my coat snug over my chest to keep some warmth in.

The door swings open, and I'm met with an already tipsy Sam who smells like tequila and cigarettes. "Harry!" He grabs my shoulders and leads me in. "Glad you could make it!"

"Wouldn't miss it, mate," I tell him as he greedily grabs the beer out of my hand and walks toward the bright, modern kitchen.

Small groups of people huddle about the corners of the rooms, a few in the kitchen, a few in the sitting room, some in the narrow hallway. I notice a few of our colleagues and Sam's sister, Ava, but everyone else is a new face. I figure some are from the recreational football league he's on that he begged me to join, which I sadly had to decline because of my current single working dad status.

Sam hands me one of the beers and stuffs the rest into his already packed refrigerator. "How has your weekend been off dad duty?" he asks, clinking his fresh beer into mine as we stand by the kitchen island.

Faltering, I take a dragged out sip of the beer, buying myself a few seconds before I divulge in the uncomfortableness of what last night consisted of.

"Got a little too drunk last night and ran into Holland at a pub," I admit with fake nonchalance, deciding to keep it shorter to spare both of us all the details that I don't want to linger on.

"No fucking way. You saw her again? That's gotta be the universe telling you something, right?"

"Yeah, I think it's the universe taunting me," I scoff with a shake of my head.

"Care to explain?" He asks, leaning on the counter now.

I take another elongated sip of my beer to stall revealing all the gory details of our encounter. With a heavy sigh, I tell him, "I-she just hates me. That's really all there is to it."

Sam purses his mouth and let's the lingering silence grow between us, which is odd for him because he always has an answer or comment to whatever is said to him. I can tell he has no idea how to navigate this territory and that he feels sorry for me.