Scars. [Harry Styles]

Chapter 3

Even though I insisted everything was alright, Max slept on the sofa that night. He said he needed time to think, and even though I was sure he could think just as clearly if he were in bed, I let him be. Over the rest of the weekend, the tension refused to stop hanging in the air between us, and when I finally received a reply from Harry several days later, I almost bit Max's arm off. I could see Harry's handwriting scrawled across a small white envelope on the top of the pile. 

"Give me the post, Max." I said, a little too quickly. He shot me a look as sharp as daggers and thrust the pile of post into my hands before walking into the lounge without another word. I sighed and sat in the kitchen, pushing him from my mind as I flicked through the mail. This time, the word 'Coralie' was scribbled above my address. I smiled as I tore it open.

Dear Coralie,

Holy shit, someone actually replied! Excuse my language, I know it's not very formal of me, but Jesus, I didn't think I was actually going to get anything back from anyone. The only post I ever get is from the guy who's renting my house whilst I'm in here, usually telling me he's managed to get the place raided by the police again, so you can imagine my delight when I receive something that isn't going to make me worry how much of my house is going to be left when I get out of here.

He's a nutjob, that guy. I sure know how to pick my tenants. I put it up on craigslist when I knew I was going to be in here for a couple of months, wondering if anyone wanted to stay in my house for a while. Little did I know he was going to turn it into a drug den. Lee, I think he's called. Or Liam. Something beginning with L. 

Anyway, enough about my marijuana-filled house. I read your letter a few times, and I have to admit I did make one judgement. Your boyfriend is a dick. Or at least he sounds like one. He doesn't think you should go back to school? Fuck that, you're 22. In my opinion, and you can ignore it if you like, most people do, is that you're at the stage in your life when you can get away with doing whatever you want. Think about it. I'm assuming you have no kids, I'm assuming you don't have a mortgage, and I'm assuming your parents aren't elderly and don't need looking after. If you want to go travelling the world, you could go. If you want to go back to school, you could do that too. Fuck it, you could join the circus if you felt like it. I'm not telling you what to do, Coralie, but I really don't want to see anyone throw away a chance to enjoy their life. I would kill to be able to enjoy mine a little more.

I do remember Gregor Grove High, the school you went to, but I didn't go there. I wasn't posh enough for that place (sorry, but you have to admit it was very middle class). I went to St. Micah's, with the riff-raff. I loved it there though. You won't believe it, but one of the kids I went to school with there is in here with me. I haven't had the chance to talk to him yet, but I think I'm going to today. His name's Niall, he moved from Ireland just as I started, so we were the new kids together. I saw him in the canteen here the other day and had to do a double take. The kid looks exactly the same.

Let me know how things go with Max. Hope I haven't been too nosy, by the way, but after a while, insane people drama gets kind of boring. I miss normal people drama. The other day, this guy on my block stabbed another guy in the leg with a sharpened toothbrush because he beat him at Scrabble. It's a shame, because I liked that game, but now they've taken it off us. Fucking psychos, stealing my Scrabble.

Best wishes,

Harry.

"What are you smiling at?"

Max's voice broke the silence as I read. I jumped and quickly folded the letter up and stuffed it into the pocket on my hoodie. 

"Oh, nothing," I lied. "Just remembering something Rosie told me."