An Ocean Apart

At least I'd tried.

“You know you’re gonna have to go talk to him.”

Those were the only ten words Pia could speak to me over the hours to come.

I was keen when I stepped inside the flat after erasing my tears and collecting myself, I wouldn’t tell her what had occurred between Harry and me. For this situation alone, I would manage to hone my ability to lie. I would simply state we’d mutually agreed to part ways. I should have known I would fail the second I was in my aunt’s presence. I’d forgotten to check my appearance in a mirror before heading back up and the streaks of running mascara and puffy red eyes made it blatantly obvious I’d been crying. She weaseled the story out of my lips before I had enough time to form the full lie.

Crying isn’t something one would find me doing on a regular basis. The highest record I’d achieved for a year of life was a grand total of three times. That year was without question the worst year of my existence. I refuse, on most any occasion, to speak to anyone about the events of that year. Hardly anyone, besides my aunt, knows any details and she doesn’t even know the entire story. The mere fact tears were shed from my eyes tonight is an example of how attached I’d become to someone who, in some ways, was still a stranger to me.

A good portion of my night was spent in a state of utter rage, directed solely at myself. I was furious with the predicament I’d put myself in. Pia had the good sense to leave me be after hearing the full story. After she left many times I’d come close to crying again but my self control won over. The only way I managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning was convincing my conscious a night of rest would clear my head. But waking up with hours of sleep under my belt, did nothing for the constant ache inside my chest.

The first sentence out of Pia’s mouth when I came out for breakfast, closer to mid afternoon than late morning, was those ten words. I ignored her completely, pretending she hadn’t said a single word and drank my coffee. If Harry was all she wished to converse about, she would find herself trapped in a rather silent and one sided conversation. If any other topic came up, I would speak freely.

It didn’t take her long to unveil my tactic. She engaged me in an easy conversation about a special evening we might be able to plan in the city in the coming days. I offered my suggestions with unrestrained words and the usual small smile upon my face. Though it did not last long, it was only a few minutes before she brought up the topic again with the same sentence. Again, I said nothing.

We had no set activities for the day and spent the majority of our day walking about in the snow, occasionally playfully throwing a snow ball or two. No amount of playful banter or game took my mind off of Harry, however. His icy expression of betrayal and anger was the only image I could clearly distinguish in my mass of thoughts. It threatened to strip away the mask I’d strewn together over my emotions, but I kept it at bay, for the most part.

My aunt attempted several more times to pry into my feelings but every time she received the same response. It wasn’t until she gave up on her sentence of the day that she found a way around my barrier.

We had just sat down on a green bench not far from the complex when she began her indirect approach. “So, what’s your favorite thing about London, so far?” she asked casually, brushing specks of snow off her black coat.

My immediate and truthful response would have been Harry, but I knew this was what she wanted to hear, so I lied, “Probably the castle. It was beautiful.”

She eyed me skeptically, but made no other notion to acknowledge my lie. “It was,” she agreed, easily, “what I wouldn’t give to catch Prince Harry’s eye just for chance to live there.”