Still The One

Twenty-Six

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive. – John Green, Looking For Alaska

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Twenty-Six
Six months ago – December 31, 2017

Weeks were gone like days. Hours felt like minutes. Seconds tore away. The ticking of the clock was a tortuous metronome. All of it flew by in an instant.

It was eerie how I believed it to still be October, but it was really the edge of December. I remembered the simple things; the celadon leaves becoming saffron, the gradual fall of the powdery snow, the clinquant tree in the middle of Harry’s living room. But I was unable to recall any of the moments in between. Time was disorienting, unclear. I was unsure of anything these days.

But I was still Alice. And Harry was Harry – loveable, genteel, warm.

There was no other way. There was no going back. I tried. I really did. But nothing seemed so indescribably true.

When I love, I love. And I loved Harry more than anyone ever loved another. That much was dependable.

But it was over. The time of us had contrived its finale two years ago. And every remembrance and sense lingered, evading to leave. I couldn’t escape it.

I dealt with Harry and Vanessa getting back together in my own way – I hated. I hated that I let him go. I hated that I would not get a second chance.

I would start to forget the glorifying sensation he had over me, but lose all of the improvement when he would walk into the room. In some way, this time around was worse. The soreness I felt from my teenage years was now implausibly more profound. It was as if every pang and twinge inside of me had heightened. I believed it was because now I truly knew what I had lost.

But I kept it together so far. Somehow. And another year of my life had passed.

I was living the last night of 2017 in a secluded, uncomplicated room by my lonesome. There wasn’t much here besides an old wardrobe and a tall floor lamp. The walls were eggshell white, with one painting of a thriving forest hung above the slate, metal bedframe. The flooring was of an old-fashioned, furry carpet. I remained idle onto the bed’s silky comforter.

Zayn and Perrie were hosting a New Year’s party in their state-of-the-art flat. The place had been sensational; paper lanterns were swaying beneath the sky-high ceiling. The DJ had set up booming, massive sound systems. All sorts of drinks were swamping the animated venue.

At first, after a solid hour, it was fun. I danced, and I drank, and I partied like the rest of them. I was carefree and soaring, trying to distract myself from the actuality of my life. But all of it crumbled when my once spirited eyes found Harry’s.

He was with his Vanessa.

All at once, the bodies meshed against mine were suddenly too close. The variegated, kaleidoscopic lights were spinning. The drink sloshing in my red cup made me ill. And it was far too loud and far too frustrating in there. I had to get away from everyone. So I hid in the guest bedroom.