The Choreographer

26: The Key

Author's Note: if you want to read more about Ren and Jesse they're characters in my stories The First and Novel - Tea and Fairy Tales. (Respectively). :) thanks.

The plane ride back sucks. The last two days sucked. I had to tell my whole family what happened and then cry every night after.

It was for the best though.

He can do better than me. Someone who won't say 'no' when he asks if they would stay with him. Someone who could return 'I love you' without making him wait months and months. Someone who would tell him about her plans for moving back home.

Someone unlike me.

He didn't seem too upset, so I think that's good.

I unlock my apartment and get angry. I throw a plate at the one wall of the apartment that's brick.

I throw couch cushions and flip over the coffee table. I scream and cry. I lay in a crumples heap on my apartment floor crying like a child. I miss him so much. I don't even know if he misses me. Why would he? I suck. I suck for all the reasons I listed when Taylor Swift called and for even more. I suck for my insecurity, for my lack of trust, for my lack of determination in a relationship. I wanted to easy way out and I got it. Look at me now. Crying on the floor, pillows everywhere.

I lay there until I fall asleep. A pity party of one. A one man wolf pack. That's what I'll always be, because if I can't open up to a basically perfect Harry, how can I expect myself to open up to anyone else?

I don't really sleep though, it's just dozing, I never really fall out of consciousness. Everything inside of me hurts too much for that.

I wish I was a better person. I wish Harry would have told me he wasn't leaving. But he wanted to break up too.

That makes me cry even harder. I am never good enough for anyone. Not even myself. I had to dye my hair back blonde just to be able to stand looking at myself.

Around six a.m. I actually fall asleep.

I don't wake up until that night.

****

I ignore calls and emails. I drink coffee and eating delivery pizza. I don't want to clean up my house.

And I don't for quite a while. Until I step on a shard of glass from the plate I threw and practically bleed to death.

I remember that stupid time that I cut myself at Harry's house baking a cake. I was mad at him then. He held my hand and cleaned the cut. Now here I am, mad at myself, cleaning my cut. I need Neosporin.

I grab my keys and throw up my hair, heading to the drug store, doubting I would see anyone who mattered. I was super wrong though when I came in contact with a million paparazzi outside my building.

I don't look at them as I get into my car. I wouldn't mind hitting one as I back up, but they all move out of the way, and I don't want to look too crazy so I don't try and hit them on purpose. No one notices me at the drugstore and I make it home quickly.

I lock myself in my room and cry for the millionth time. Everything is just too much right now. Harry, the paparazzi, my friends who have called me, my family who never said so, but thought I made a mistake. And I did, but Harry didn't. So I won't go looking for him, or trying to get him back, because he escaped this relationship safely. I am not heartless enough to drag him back into it.

Tonight is a night of self loathing, which I haven't done for a while. I eat ice cream and sit on the couch cushions. I still haven't cleaned those up. I most likely won't for a few days. They look sloppy like I feel. It's really no use to be in a room that doesn't match your mood.