How Cliche (Narry Storan)

How Cliche (Narry Storan) Part 7

A sigh can mean anything, depending on how you do it. There's the happy sigh, which comes after a long day of fun or a good, hard laugh at something particularly amusing. There's the attention getting sigh, which is usually incredibly forced and really loud. There's the sad sigh, which obviously comes after something depressing.

In just a week, I had mastered the art of combining the attention getting sigh and the sad sigh without even knowing it. Harry had ditched me for Chelsea. And even worse, when we had plans. This was supposed to be his day spent away from her and spent with me to catch up on everything he'd missed in that simple week. Really, nothing spectacular had happened, but I was missing my best friend and it was all that fault of her.

We had agreed earlier to meet at the diner, of course. I waited for twenty minutes before I realized he wasn't coming. Figuring it was hopeless to stick around but still not wanting to go home, I walked up to the counter to pretend to order something. I knew if I went home, there would be a message on the answering machine or via one of my parents that Harry had called with an apology. I knew if Harry had called with an apology, I would have to call back with an acceptance. I wasn't quite ready for that yet.

I rested my elbows on the counter and put my chin in my hands to stare up at the menu on the wall. I let out a sigh as my eyes skimmed over dishes I knew well and dishes I didn't have enough guts to try and some Harry and I had been brave with and tried but hated or tried but liked...and I sighed. I tried telling myself a million times to stop being so selfish and just let Harry be happy but I couldn't do it anymore.

"Niall, you don't look so good," Chris pointed out while he glanced sideways at me from gently rubbing the screen of the old cash register with a rag.

"Don't I?" I asked idly, lazily moving my eyes from the menu to him.

"Where's Harry?" he questioned, still scrubbing the screen. Chris told me one time that he had absolute faith in my relationship with Harry. He told me that he believed Harry and I were made to be best friends and that we would never ever be apart from each other and if we ever were...well, then, he would have lost all assurance that any love is real, whether it be the kind I had for Harry that was surely not returned in the same way or the kind Harry had for me that was true and deep but not the way I wanted it to be.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "He was supposed to meet me here about half an hour ago and he never showed up."

Chris didn't reply right away. I continued to let my eyes scan the wide menu without really looking at it at all. "Don't stay mad at him, please," he finally said. I looked at him once again. He was concentrated fully on cleaning the cash register. It seemed no one could look at me when they had something incredibly important to say.

"I don't hate him, Chris," I responded somewhat offhandedly. I hadn't meant for it to come out that way. Chris winced slightly and rubbed the screen harder. I just watched him. "I think you're done," I said, reaching out a hand to pull his away and not wanting him to break it and then have the repair money come out of his paycheck. I knew his life wasn't the greatest one anyone could have already.

"You hate him," he argued, yanking his hand away and ignoring me. "You hate him and you're never going to talk to him again and then I'll realize that every single thing I know about life is a lie."

By this point, he had thrown down the rag onto the counter and was glaring at me. I wanted to tell him that there was a part of me that hated Harry but only because I was trying so hard to disguise it as jealousy and I didn't even want to acknowledge the jealousy because it would bring out the over clichéd hurt of loving my best friend without it being returned.

But instead, all I could do was point at the screen and say, "You missed a spot."

Chris just shook his head and walked back into the kitchen. As if on cue, I heard a bout of familiar laughter as it was carried inside. I quickly put up an arm to shield my face but I had been too slow.

"Niall!"

I sighed and let my arm drop back to the counter. I turned to face Harry and Chelsea with the biggest fake smile I could muster. His arm was around her waist and they were both beaming. I thought it unfair that they were so happy while I was so miserable.

"Hi, guys," I greeted. I didn't recognize the voice that came out. It was sarcastic and slow after I spent the few seconds before speaking preparing myself to be nonchalant.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. "I thought you had something to do..."

"I did," I answered. "With you."

His face fell. "Oh no. Oh, Niall, I'm so sorry. I completely forgot."

"Forget about it," I said dismissively. "It's no big deal." I shot Chelsea a look. "You obviously had better things to do."

She wasn't even looking at me. Her gaze was out the window where two college boys walked down the sidewalk, one pushing the other into the street and then getting revenge the same way. That was the moment I wanted Harry to say, "No, it's not okay. I was stupid and went out with Chelsea instead. I'll make it up to you by breaking up with her. Chelsea, we're through. Don't give me those tears, you saw this coming. Niall is far more sophisticated and mature than you so I have decided I belong with him instead."

Except in his own words, of course. Instead, he bit his lip and glanced from me to Chelsea. "You sure it's okay?" he asked.

"Fine," I lied.

He gave a little shrug and tugged on Chelsea's arm. She snapped her head away from the window and back to Harry. She smiled as he spoke to her about ordering something. It was useless. She wasn't going to eat anything anyway so I didn't know why they even bothered coming here. Before I could let any thoughts worsen, I turned sharply on my heel and left the diner. I couldn't tell what hurt more: the fact that Harry had dismissed the fact that it was not okay to ditch your best friend and not make it up to him or that he hadn't even noticed or said goodbye when I left.

Whatever it was, I knew it hurt worse than any pain I'd ever endured before.