Broken Defender

Chapter Twelve ~ A Change For The Better

We had originally planned to meet up outside and walk home after school... but I avoided him. I even took a longer route on my way home, as I was just not in the mood to see him. I felt like such an idiot for making myself so vulnerable. I had been so smitten, so obsessed with the idea of Harry that I hadn't even rationalized the situation. I don't know him, and he doesn't know me. Sure we had skimmed the surfaces of each other's personalities, but that meant nothing. He was obviously more willing to make a connection with Zayn and his buddies, than he was with me. And though it a bit extreme, I reserved my right to deny his affection, or rather deny him my attention completely as long as he hung around with the likes of Zayn. It wasn't unfair. No one was forcing me to spend time with Harry anyways, and I saw this now as my chance to get out of a potential emotionally damaging situation... though I'm pretty sure I was a bit hurt from the entire ordeal already.

I hurried home, cursing myself inwardly for falling too hard. He probably didn't even care. He would move on, and date some stupid pretty girl... and I would be left alone to put myself back together. Is this how my mom felt when dad left? No... I'm sure that had been far more painful. After all, this was just a stupid crush. Mom had been married to dad for fifteen dedicated years before he just walked out on us. We didn't even get a fair warning. They were happily married. They loved each other. Was that our warning? Was the fact that they didn't seem dysfunctional, in itself a form of dysfunction? Regardless, it was stupid of me to liken my own emotional bout with my mother's heartbreak. This did help me to rationalize the situation though. I would be over him within a week or two. He wouldn't matter anymore.

I walked into the house, dropping my bag by the door lazily, and dragging my feet toward my room. "How was your day?" Mom asked from the kitchen. I didn't even look up, as I hoped to just avoid any form of conversation. I was too numb to think about this anymore. I just wanted to sleep. Kicking off my shoes quickly, I fell across my made bed, omitting an exasperated grunt into my pillow. Though I felt as if I was still overacting, I couldn't help it. Mom had mentioned once before that it was hormones that drove me to act so severely irritated in situations like these, but I didn't think this would change in spite of my age. I gather that anything similar to this situation could happen to me in my thirties, and I would still act this dramatically. "Dear?" My mom's voice called, walking down the hallway in inquiry. I squeezed my eyes closed in grumbling anticipation, not wanting another talk, not tonight. "Are you okay?" She fretfully pried. Though I wasn't facing toward her, I was all too familiar with her probable stance; that she was more or less peeking around the door timidly, hoping to be admitted. "I'm fine." I groaned, unable to hide the discontentment in my voice. My door creaked opened wider, and I could hear her quietly walk across the room. My bed shifted as she sat at its foot, waiting for me to speak. She always did this... she'd just sit there. I could have easily ignored her until she gave up and walked out, but somehow she always made me feel guilty for avoiding conversation. "I really don't want to talk about it." I admitted, standing my stubborn ground. In all honesty, I really couldn't talk about it, because there was nothing to talk about. I hadn't known Harry well enough to even come up with a good complaint, plus I knew if I informed her of the goings on, that she would probably relate it to her friends at the hair salon, finding greater gossip to discuss.

"I'm here when you're ready." She said, standing up again. She left the room without another word, leaving me to mope into my pillow. That was easier than I had expected. Normally it took a bit more force to eradicate her curious nose from my business. I needed escape, serenity from this heart wrenching, frustrating, nameless feeling. In an act of desperation for distraction, I reached over, turning my radio on in hopes of drowning out my thoughts with music. "I Need To Be In Love" by The Carpenters played sweetly, mocking my situation with its cliché lyrics. I groaned in exasperated defeat as it loomed in my ears, laughing at my heartache. I would have turned the dial, but couldn't bring myself to as the familiarity beckoned me to stay. I felt as though Karen Carpenter was standing right there in my bedroom, lulling me teasingly, joking as I mourned my broken heart. "Shut up Karen." I muttered into my covers as a tear slipped down my cheek. I had promised myself that I wouldn't cry over him, but I couldn't help it... and in the confines of my bedroom I felt it my sanctuary; my one place of solitude where I could be broken.