The soft, crisp sheets felt incredible against my warm body as I lay back in the bed, light streaming through the huge open windows, lighting my apartment brightly. It was a beautiful day; the sun was beaming down on the world outside, the atmosphere pleasantly warm though not too sticky or humid. The people of the UK were delighted, as well as quite surprised, and the sudden burst of heat, the start of the summer coming early in April. It was the nicest I'd ever seen the weather here in London, and the city was stunning when it looked like this, with the light bouncing off every surface, the vast, pure blue sky consuming ever worry and leaving you feeling carefree and untroubled. Everything seemed better when the sun shone, didn't it? It put everyone in a good mood.
Unfortunately, it was going to take something much more influential than a spot of sun to clear up the battle of emotions going on inside my head right now.
"Lazy bones," I heard a low, gruff voice mutter from the end of the room, though I kept my eyes on the bright window, not looking at him.
In my peripheral vision, I could just about see the sandy haired boy pull his white t-shirt over his head. I didn't really want to look at him - when I didn't, I could almost pretend that he wasn't here.
"I'm just sleepy," I mumbled in response, gaze still set on the window. Why he bothered making conversation I couldn't figure out. Maybe he thought I actually cared, that he was more than just a way of making me feel justified in my emotions.
"I'll see you soon, yeah?" he asked, grabbing the last of his things as he moved towards the door, and I found myself wishing he'd just leave faster. I didn't really want him here. And yet, I'd been the one who asked him to come over. Lately I didn't know what was right or wrong - I kept ending up doing things that I'd told myself not to, and not doing the things I knew I should. The world didn't seem real anymore, not properly. I was just pulling my weight along, trying to find answers to all the questions and figure out what was going on in my head, but every time I thought I was close, I did something wrong and fucked it up again.
"Mmmh," I hummed shortly in reply, not wanting to give him a real answer. I couldn't promise him anything, because my feelings changed with every new day. If I was honest with myself, I knew I'd end up with him again. I always did when things were going wrong.
"Ok then," he replied shortly, sounding slightly miffed at my disinterest in him. I knew I should feel bad, but I didn't. Not really. I wondered if he had any idea, even the slightest thought in his head that I was using him as some form of reassurance to myself, as a device to make me hate myself more. He probably didn't, I reasoned. Who could ever decipher my fucked up thoughts enough to reach that conclusion?
It had all started on Valentine's Night. That much I knew. Harry had uttered those words, the suggestion that we be together, and at first my heart had thudded hard in my chest and I'd felt like jumping for joy. It was what I'd always wanted, wasn't it? For me and Harry to be together, for him to love me, to want me like I loved him. And I did love him. How could I not?
I didn't really understand my reaction at the time - the way I'd laughed at him, how I'd watched his perfect face crumple with disappointment. Why was I denying myself the one thing I really wanted in the world? Why was I hurting the only person who really mattered to me?
But then the realisation slowly sank in, the memories of all the pain of before. The heartbreak, the betrayal. Everyone I'd ever gotten close to had hurt me. I'd never had anyone who I cared about as much as I loved Harry, but anybody who had come close had eventually abandoned me, forgotten about me, decieved me, hurt me...
What if something happened to Harry and he was killed? What if he had to leave for America, how would I cope without him? What if he stopped loving me? Found someone better? What if he hurt me?
