Evie | H.S |

112. The comedown

We walked a slight zig-zag up the uneven concrete sidewalk. It was quiet, out.

The distant hum of light traffic closer to the city centre could be very faintly heard alongside light wind rustling through the wise, old trees that lined the streets of Carlton. Harry's stable steps worked a constant rhythm against my own shaky heeled steps as we occasionally brushed shoulders, sharing the footpath side by side.

I could see the lights of the main road ahead, both from the streetlights and the neon glow from the infamous 24-hour florist that, for my whole adult life, I'd assumed was either a front for money laundering or drug dealing. Surely there weren't enough disgraced husbands or boyfriends in Melbourne desperate enough to need a one AM bunch of peonies to warrant such a business.

A word was yet to be spoken since we had left the venue, exchanging goodbyes with those party-people who had clung onto the celebrations down to the late-night wire.

Someone else's wedding was not the place to make a scene, and so I'd been putting on a tight, forced smile some of the night. The rest of it I'd ended up trying to downplay the more genuine smiles as I was reminded how easily it always was to slip back into Harry.

I'd like think I did well to hide the rollercoaster of emotions I'd felt tonight. But I also knew the festivities, and my responsibilities in the wedding party, served as a distraction from focussing too closely on Harry's surprise arrival.

"A cab'll have to drive by eventually" I told him, stopping at the corner where the street intersected with the main road. I could have walked to my old place, but I was too proud to commit to the barefoot walk home. Walking in stilettos just wasn't an option, I was quick to realise. The venture so far had proved a little painful. Nowhere near as painful as this silence, though.

Harry nodded but didn't speak. His black leather boot casually kicked some loose gravel across the concrete sidewalk as he slowly moved closer to where I'd stopped.

The tight, tailored dress on my body felt particularly constrictive as I stepped into the cobblestone gutter, carefully bending my knees to take a seat.

Harry's hand protectively gripped at the crook of my elbow. He steadied me almost instinctively and it freed a net of butterflies in my stomach I'd tried so hard to contain. I hated that he still made me feel that way. Would it ever subside?

"Thanks" I spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper, as I sat myself firmly on the bluestone of the roads edge with his assistance.

Away from the joy and colour of Sam's wedding, the silence between us was palpable. At the wedding, it was easy to play pretend. But now the odd car would zip past and break that silence, filling in a void that I wished I had the guts to fill myself. But I couldn't.

What was there to say?

Flying halfway across the globe to attend the wedding was a completely obnoxious and unnecessary gesture. And I think he was oblivious to the pressure it then put on me.

What was I meant to do? Jump into his arms and cry tears of joy? Bring him home and kiss every inch of his skin that I undeniably missed so much? Let myself be wrapped up in the gesture enough to forget?

Sure, I could have, but then what?

He'd end up making a promise he couldn't keep and we'd be back to square one again. Harry was a vicious cycle I needed to break. Fool me once and whatnot...

I pulled the small clutch bag I had firmly held under my arm and bought it onto my lap to dig around for a cigarette and a lighter. I didn't necessarily feel like smoking but my nervous shaky hands needed some occupation.