An Ocean Apart

Your logic is so out of whack.

Unlike my first days in London, my fifth did not include Harry. Which was probably best considering my conflicting emotions from the previous night. It never stopped me from glancing around my shoulder every-so-often to check if he’d snuck up on my aunt and I again, but I was allowed some much needed time to clear my head.

Pia and I spent the day lounging around the flat and eventually moseying out for a fair bit of shopping and sightseeing. Ideally, our day was what yesterday should have consisted of, but neither of us complained. Truth be told, she most likely enjoyed the soccer match far more than the tourist traps of London. It was almost always the topic of our conversations, along with her irritating habit of bring up Harry every few hours. She was making it extremely difficult to push him from my mind.

“So, what are you gonna do about him, anyway?” She interjected as we shook off our wet umbrellas just outside a knick-knack shop.

Combing my fingers through my damp locks I decided to play the innocent, “What am I going to do about who?”

Her hazel eyes rolled back into her head, “You know perfectly well who I’m talking about.”

I plucked up a small glass frog from a shelf and pretended to observe it with fascination, “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought too much about it.”

“Why do you insist on lying when you know it won’t get you anywhere?” She laughed shortly, placing her body right in my line of view.

Even though I knew her question was rhetorical, I took a moment to mull it over. Why did I lie when I knew it was blatantly obvious? Humor, perhaps. But I could see no source of hilarity in our ongoing conversation. My own sick need to lie every so often?

I chuckled, amused with my own thoughts and set the frog back in its proper place to look at up at my aunt, “I honestly haven’t a clue.”

The corners of her pink lips rose, the expression on her face clearly implying her need for information, “So, don’t lie. What are you going to do with that adorable curly headed admirer of yours?”

I needed no time to contemplate my answer. I’d had it prepared before we’d even left the flat this afternoon. “Nothing,” I watched her face hardened but before she could speak I continued, “What can I do? If he’s interested in me than he’ll do something about it.” I leaned against a shelf to appear casual, “I’ve been in situations before where my own eagerness was my downfall.”

“Maybe this time is different,” Pia argued, her hands shoved in her deep coat pockets.

“But it never is,” I countered, crossing my arms over my chest, “Every time I’ve taken the incisive, I’ve ended up heartbroken. I don’t want to mess this up.”

Her face softened, “So you care about him enough to not mess this up?”

Somehow she’d managed to take my carefully thought out careless demeanor and twist it into a showcase of obvious emotions for him. I swear she wants me with the boy more than I do. “You are seriously irritating, you know that?”

Giggling, she stepped pasted me to pick up a bright, large and painted pink heart. She gestured to the figure with her pointer finger, “I know yours better than you do.”

I never broke her eye contact. I intended to stare her down until she gave up on this silly conversation. But as with my ability to lie, staring competitions had never exactly been my strong suit. When my eyes began to burn from the lack of moisture, I gave in and blink a few times. Pia yelped in obvious satisfaction as she released the heart, “Like I told you before, just go with it. Don’t over think.”