Beating For Two

Chapter 22

After everything that had happened, I half expected a call from Harry, or maybe even from Liam or Zayn, on Saturday, but no. The whole weekend passed by in silence except for mum's inhumanly loud yelling when Owen came stumbling through the front door Saturday afternoon with his shoes hanging around his neck, his hair shaved off on one side and a distinct smell of alcohol mixed with vomit reeking from him. He was grounded for two weeks and spent a big part of the day complaining to me. All I did was to look at him with my eyebrows raised, point to my stomach and say “shut up and appreciate your life as it is”.

My mood was foul the entire weekend and it was mostly caused by the fact that the emotional rollercoaster I'd gotten on on Friday never seemed to stop. It wasn't so much the kiss that bothered me – though I had thought about it for a long time night to Sunday and ended up getting out the pink vibrator from where I'd hidden it in my sock drawer and used it to bring myself to a shuddering orgasm –, but more all the things that Liam and Zayn had said to me afterwards.

“You should talk to him, Louis.”

“You being completely, head over heels in love with Harry. Harry quite possibly returning the feelings. Neither of you willing to do anything about it because you are too scared and he is too proud. It's a waste of love.”

“Is that what you think? That Harry only cares about you because of the baby?”

“He talks so much about you, not just about that baby, but about you, about how amazingly unselfish you are, how impressed he is with you for doing this whole pregnancy-thing without much help, how fascinating he finds your complete disability to be properly mad at him, how adorable he thinks you look when you sleep.”

Was it even possible that any of what they said could have a connection to reality? Was there a chance, if only a tiny, teeny one, that Harry... liked me? The kiss had been amazing, it had felt real, heartfelt and like he enjoyed it every bit as much as I had. The way his hands had felt against me and how his lips had moulded perfectly against mine... it had felt so one hundred percent right and perfect. But then I thought about his expression when it ended – annoyed and regretful – and my momentary spike of hope disappeared and left me more confused and sad than ever.

When I woke up Monday morning, I was too tired, too sick of everything and my mood was still so bad I couldn't bring myself to get up from my bed only to have English, chemistry, maths and arts. And so I stayed in bed all day instead, telling mum that I wasn't feeling quite well, and spent hours and hours doing nothing productive and doing my best not to think about anything related to Harry.

Tuesday was spent the same way.

As was Wednesday.

And Thursday.

And Friday.

It was when I woke up Monday morning the following week that I realised that I'd spent a whole week in my bed, wearing my pyjamas and doing absolutely nothing to make my life seem a little more productive than it actually was. I had a hard time sleeping at night and I was wondering to myself when the hell I'd managed to let my head get so stupidly screwed up. No attempts of helping the situation with Harry had been made either, but considering he had yet to call or text, I assumed he just wasn't interested in talking to me again. I didn't really blame him.

Monday, March 28th

Thirty-two weeks

At eight o'clock that Monday morning, I was back at school again after having been told by mum that if I didn't have a proper reason for staying home, I had to go to school. And so I sat through the two classes I had before lunch, but my eyelids were heavy and my body likewise, and I was having trouble paying proper attention to whatever it was Ms. Keller was trying to say about J.D. Sallinger.