Still The One

Nineteen

When you break someone’s heart, you also break your own. – David Levithan, The Realm Of Possibility

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Nineteen
Two years ago – August 15, 2016

Lately, fate was showing its true will and desire. I had foolishly believed for a second, that things would always go smoothly between Harry and me. But lately he had been very annoying, and I couldn’t figure out why. It was as if in these past few months, he had changed. His temper was angered easily and he was moody all of the time. Harry’s crabby demeanor was starting to affect us. And no matter how many times I asked, he would just say that it was nothing. I wanted to help but he wouldn’t let me.

The first time he lashed out at me, from when I insisted to know who called, had only been the start of his irritability and censure. A simple occasion such as that had resulted in Harry’s displeasure, and I wondered if he had begun to have rage issues. There was also the hidden consideration that he was keeping something from me. I was missing the lovesome, lighthearted guy I was still falling for.

Our relationship itself was fine; we loved each other all the same. We still had steadfast moments between all of the bitter, unexplained madness. But something was clearly wrong. I felt as if he was slipping away, little by little. And I needed to fix it.

It was late at night, and we were lying on our bed watching TV. The lights were off, so the screen was the only illumination in the room, highlighting his monumentally beautiful features.

So far, nothing was on, so we were roaming the channels searching for a program we would both enjoy. Unexpectedly, Harry said, “Babe, I’m going to take a shower, okay?”

I nodded with a soft smile before he pecked me sweetly. He got up from our comfortable position, and headed for the bathroom. He removed his shirt over his head before he shut the door.

I was sorting my jumbled thoughts, driven on finding the answer.

The worst part about our little rut was the fact that there was no clue as to what it was about. If Harry would give me just a simple hint as to what he was so angry at, then I could help come up with a solution. But he refused to budge and let me in. If I pestered, he’d just get angry at me. And in recent times that was the last thing I wanted.

Suddenly, his phone was ringing, vibrating and blaring his favorite song atop the timber dresser across the room. I wanted to alert Harry that someone was calling, but I thought he’d be upset if I interrupted his shower. And I couldn’t afford to stir his surly emotions. When I continued to watch whatever nature channel was on, the phone rang again. And then again. And again. And again.

About to snap, I got up from my seat, and aggravatingly threw the duvet covers off. I checked the device, and read the assigned name: Qwe3*$% - a bunch of random symbols. Curious enough, I answered impatiently, “Hello?”

“Uh, hi. Is Harry there?” a girl asked. Instantly, I felt a shudder.