anobrain // narry au

think

The title of this chapter is specifically for Alex Turners amazing voice in the song 505. That song always makes me coo like a pigeon for some reason. If you haven't heard it before, go check it out. (I put the lyric video in the link above if you can see it).

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chapter fifteen. 'i crumble completely,'

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I hate when there's an uncontrollable conflict or a situation that's beyond you. Those encounters always make me, and probably everyone else, feel .. weak. A human with no voice, no say, no knowledge — I hate it. I hate that I have no right but to allow someone to say what they feel, probably words that are beyond hurtful, while I just sit there quietly -- like a fish out of water, a deer in the headlights.

Processing and allowing internal scars to cut deep into my insides with no written emotion across my face. Because, it's just uncontrollable.

WE ALL FINALLY AGREED to have a weekly Friday night movie night again at Louis's home the following week. It was Liam choice of film to watch and he chose the classic movie The Breakfast Club from the twentieth century — the eighties. Liam also chose to show up simultaneously with Harry on his arm which instantly arose discomfort as I cuddle into the small toss pillows on the Tomlinson's sofa couch in the family's lounge.

That fifth wheel — I hate it. I hate the uncomfortable feeling it perpetually elicits. And I hate that I'm the only one who seems to notice it when the five of us are together.

Other times I shrug it off, but this time, there's this ping in my chest that throws off my usual, distinctly quiet aura. I watch Harry and Liam cuddle each other from where I'm sat on the opposite couch. Knees tucked into my abdomen as the film -- which happens to be one of my favourite American movie -- automatically becomes irrelevant.

I suddenly think to the subject chemistry. When I was taught the three Laws of Thermodynamics. One law tells you that you aren't able to obtain the concept of Absolute Zero because it's too cold in reality. But maybe, just maybe, it is theoretically possible. Because sitting across the room from the boy who's also suppose to be my best friend, I shared lip lock with one week ago is canoodling into his ex-lover while the three of us are in the same lounge room.

And I'm crumbling completely at the cold thought of this. How Harry can fake nonchalance and act as if nothing happened between us that night last week while its been on my mind several times a day.

And... and the concept of the Absolute Zero theory is accurate when Liam's face is buried in Harry's neck doing who knows what. Harry exhales an audible, breathy moan and Liam's face flushes through the dimmed room.

I deem that my cue to depart. It throws everyone off as they look shockingly at me as I slip into my converses before travelling past the threshold out of the front door of the Tomlinson's home without an uttered word.

My eyes glance disappointedly at Harry's when I muster up courage and an escape to my own house. Where warmth, comfort, and the demeanour of love is, and I find my mother sitting in the lounge watching television quietly to herself, by herself.

Concern etches onto her face at my abrupt appearance, nonetheless she beckons me over by just a soft call of my name. Passing the curvature of her lavender coloured lips — she's externally breathtaking for a mother of two nearly full blown adults.

I'm nearly on the verge of tears, trying to process every thorough detail that just happened in minutes. Thoughtless actions like these effect great friendships — great memories. Harry's suppose to be my best friend. Disregarding every non-platonic thing that's happened between us through the years, best friends don't do that to best friends because they're suppose to care. They're suppose to take your feelings into consideration.

And tonight, Harry didn't do that.

And, truthfully, it hurts.

My mother watches me as I sit beside her on the couch. She gradually skims through the menu on Netflix before facing me again. "Why're you home so early?" she questions, but I shake my head quickly.

"Don't want to talk about it," I admit, because I don't. It's difficult to discuss something you can't even put into words.

My mother complies with a nod of her head. "I – um – scouted someone in London," she says, changing the subject to my fortune. Eagerly I look at her with a content smile. Like a proud parent of my mother's accomplishments in the fashion world. "His name is Ashton."

I listen thoroughly to my mother ramble about this Ashton male. She sounds ... happy. If that's a real emotion, happiness. But she's content and so am I, happy that my mum can live in a dream brought to reality, even with two kids below the belt.

We spend some of the night face-timing Cara between reasonable hours for us and her. Time zones and experiences are difficult for I and my family, but we always manage to work out all of the conflicts out with intellect and logic. Which, at the end of the day, matters most to me. What mattered most was spending the night with my mother catching up with her and Cara's rambunctious life.

Later on that night I realise you don't need a companion to love and honour your every move. If you have a family that supports and loves and cherishes you that's really all that matters. Because family is relevancy — it's an unconditional love between my mum, Cara, and I. And they're the mobility that keeps me physically stabilized.

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short chapter omf but I find it so meaningful.