Small Island | W2S

TWELVE.

THE TIME IS (SORT OF) HERE. THE FIRST INKLING OF SLOWBURN IS HERE. NOTHING MAJOR BUT LETS CELEBRATE

I wish I could live without you

But you're a part of me

Wherever I go

You'll always be next to me

- Telephones, Vacations

"This is the third deadline you've missed, Beth. You sure you're okay?" Tobi loitered in my office, his face painted with the kind of concern that makes you realise just how obvious your façade has become. I kept my gaze glued to the report on my laptop, fingers frantically typing as if more keystrokes could erase the missed deadline hanging over me.

"I'm fine," I replied curtly, trying to sound convincing while avoiding his eyes. "Just getting back into the swing of things after... going home." The words came out stiffer than I intended, but the last thing I wanted was to delve into the details of that disastrous trip. I hadn't told anyone. Not Tobi, not even Laurie. How could I, when I still struggled to understand it myself?

But the truth was, the trip back to Guernsey was the only thing on my mind. Images of my dad's fury haunted me in spare moments. Even in sleep, they found me. And Harry... Harry managed to find a place there too, despite how hard I tried to push him out. I was furious that he still occupied any space in my mind at all, infuriated that he'd wedged his way into my thoughts with all his unwanted truths.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Tobi's words broke through the haze.

I finally looked up, giving him the smallest of nods. "Yeah, Tobi, I know. Just... it's nothing." But even as I said it, I could feel the weight of the lie settle heavily between us.

Tobi lingered for a moment longer, as though weighing up whether to push the issue or let it drop. Eventually, he gave a slow nod and backed out of the office, closing the door gently behind him. As soon as he was gone, I exhaled, sinking back into my chair. The sense of relief was fleeting; the moment I was alone, the familiar thoughts crept back in, clawing at the corners of my mind.

The last two weeks in London had been a blur of half-hearted attempts to re-enter a routine, while actively dodging anyone who might bring up the trip. The professional façade I'd carefully built over the last few months felt cracked, and despite my best efforts, I could feel the cracks spreading.

I turned my attention back to the report on my screen, but the words blurred, morphing into thoughts I couldn't escape. It wasn't just my father's accusations or my mum's quiet compliance that stayed with me. It was Harry's words, ringing through my head with a clarity that unnerved me.

"I won't hate you anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"It's your dad...he's the one ruining your life."

A hard lump formed in my throat. Why did it matter so much, what he'd said? Why couldn't I just let it go? It was maddening, like a stubborn tune that wouldn't leave my mind. Even here, back in London, a city big enough to drown out most memories, he was still with me in this inexplicable, infuriating way.

The ridiculousness of it all had made me lash out at him that night, in that freezing alleyway, hoping that if I hit him hard enough—figuratively, maybe even literally—I could sever whatever twisted connection we had. But he'd just... stood there, absorbing everything I threw at him, no matter how venomous. Worse, he'd looked at me with something close to understanding, which only made my anger burn hotter. I wanted him to hate me, to push me away, because that would make everything so much simpler.