Harold

eight

*sexual content is included*

Harry

I get home at about seven, which isn't too out of the ordinary. If I were working on a manuscript that I enjoy, sometimes I won't be home until eight or nine. It's to the point where Virginia doesn't even call to ask where I am because she knows.

"Hey babe," I kiss her on the cheek and loosen my tie that Atlee had previously loosened earlier. "Whatcha making?" I rest my chin on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her hips as she stirs some kind of noodles. I can feel my heart beating rapidly because this doesn't feel right.

When we first started dating, I couldn't stop thinking about Atlee. I compared everything Virginia did to Atlee. They were absolutely nothing alike. I missed the way Atlee loved ice cream when it was freezing outside because that was a rarity in Florida. I missed going outside and dancing in the rain and I missed hopping across the thick white lines for the pedestrians to walk across the street.

Virginia doesn't like ice cream when it's cold. In fact, she doesn't like ice cream at all. She likes sherbet and who the fuck likes sherbet? Virginia doesn't like the rain. She rather curl up and read a book, alone. And she thinks it's childish to hop across the street, especially when people are watching. So it took me two years to warm up to her. Eventually, I did.

The only positive out of those situations was that I didn't call her Atlee because she was absolutely nothing like Atlee; except sometimes. Though, there were times when they were similar. When I was sad, they both would let me cry in their lap. When I wanted to play my guitar and make random songs, they would listen even when it wasn't serious. That's when I called her Atlee. But Virginia shook it off because she knew what a big part of my life Atlee used to be.

So I started calling her babe instead. Pet names have worked since then.

"Spaghetti. I was too tired to make anything else," she chuckles, continuing her stirring. "You're late," she says as she looks up to the microwave, seeing that it's a little after seven.

"Yeah, I got lost in a manuscript."

"Usually you call," I know I wasn't at work. I know I was somewhere I shouldn't have been but she usually never questions me like this.

I let go of her waist to take off my suit jacket, hanging it over a chair like Atlee had done earlier.

"I know, I'm sorry, I just really loved this story. It was like nothing I've ever read before."

"Oh, what was it called?"

Shit, "Samuel Bunker's Cabin," a manuscript I remember from two weeks ago.

"That's funny, you told me that one was a joke and you couldn't get through the first page."

God damn it.

"Yeah, I gave it another chance."

She doesn't look at me, just lets out a hum as if saying 'okay'.

"I'm going to go change my clothes."

I rush up the stairs and change into a t-shirt and athletic shorts. I splash water on my face and try to keep this good mood up. I want to tell Virginia that I'm not happy anymore. I want to tell her I can't pretend I want to be with her but it feels impossible. She's so nice and Atlee is partially right; Virginia is good for me. But Atlee is better.

Atlee gets me. Atlee understand what I was (and am) going through all of those years and only hurt me sometimes. Sure, it sucked that she didn't love me back but I knew she cared. She never lied and told me that she loved me just to make me feel better. She was honest and I loved that about her. Besides, I knew she loved me to some extent; she just didn't know how to say it. We were there for each other through thick and thin. When her parents died, I was there. I held her every night until she was better. I healed her. And she was patient with me. She saved me more than once.