The Mechanic

FORTY SIX

It wasn't easy to stay in my room now.

I sat on the bed and averted my gaze from the closed window, my chest and throat twisting. Every corner of my room was painted with Harry's memories and it was driving me insane.

I didn't know if I could survive this.

I stared at my phone. A part of me was itching to call Harry, but the other part....the huge part of me, would rather keep my pride and choke on it. I had the right to be like this, right? He did me dirty. If he wouldn't apologize, or try to fix this mess, so be it.

A burning ball clogged my throat. It was easy to say so be it, but just thinking about putting an end to our relationship was splintering me in half.

A knock on my door surfaced. I quickly glanced at the mirror, making sure my face wasn't screaming tears and misery.

"Come in," I said, grabbing the pillow near me to hug it tight.

Dirk went in, carefully closing the door behind him. He was in an all black outfit and a sleek leather jacket, carrying a guitar.

"Welcome back," he said cheerfully, walking towards me. He gave me a tight hug before sitting next to me. "How are you?" he asked, staring at me intently.

I forced a smile. "Grand." I looked at his guitar. "Is that yours?"

He nodded and placed it beside him. "Bought this last week. I got my own drum set now as well, but I didn't take them home. I left it in Gale's apartment since we always practice there."

"Gale?" I asked, my brows furrowed.

"Our vocalist. You saw him once. Remember our gig at the beach?"

"Oh. Yeah," I said, though I couldn't exactly remember his face. "Is he your classmate?"

"Nah. He's a senior." He opened the guitar's case and put the brown acoustic guitar on his lap. "I've been writing songs."

"Really?" I asked, intrigued. "I never knew about that."

"I'm new in songwriting. Just decided to try it, and well, I think I'm kinda good with lyrics. My chords are mostly simple, but the band helps. They know what to add to make the songs more edgy." He removed his jacket, and the first thing I saw was his arm.

"So that's the tattoo Zayn told me about," I said, eyeing Dave Grohl's face that was inked on Dirk's upper arm. Not gonna lie, it really looked cool.

Dirk stared at me, one of his brows shot up. "You still talk to Zayn?"

"He called me a few nights ago," I replied, still checking out his ink.

Dirk snickered, then shook his head slowly. "I will never understand him."

"Who?"

"Zayn."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Women are literally throwing themselves to him and giving him their numbers, but you're still the one he calls. Man, will he ever get over you?"

"He only called to check on me, Dirk. Nothing more."

"It's still a call. It means he thinks of you and he's concerned if you're doing fine. He did that even if he knew it can make Harry mad. Speaking of him, where's Harry? Is he with you?"

Sadness overtook me after hearing Harry's name. I had to swallow hard just to stop myself from crying again.

"Ah, fuck," Dirk muttered, his gaze fixed on my face. "What did he do to you? Should I hire a sniper already?"