LOOSE ➶ « l.s. »

1: HOME

« HARRY »

The crisp air and distinguishable smells of morning dew drops. The feeling of the fog tickling your nose and cheeks on a brisk morning. Whistling down the wet pavement, gravel crunching underneath the soles of your shoes. I used to speed down the hills on my bicycle, my nose turning cold and wet from the chill of the air. The clouds depicted nearly every colour on the greyscale, filling the sky even on the hottest of days. Kissing a different girl in the same spot behind an old shoe warehouse every other Thursday. Everything I'd be wishing a goodbye.

"Can you explain to me why we're deciding to move?" I asked my mother, who was calmly flipping through her newspaper as my father ran back and forth packing boxes into the moving truck.

"I've told you many times already, Harry" my mother began, her nimble fingers running through the paper, "There are better opportunities outside of London for your father"

I groaned, slipping into the rocking chair propped behind me, and blowing the hair out of my face. "Why couldn't it have remained in England?" I sighed, "I genuinely can't find a valid reason for it to be in the bloody States"

My mother narrowed her eyes to me over the pages of her articles, making me drop-down for her looks, at most times, filled me with nerves. Either way, I knew I'd never get an answer to my question since, according to my mother, I've asked many times.

Therefore instead, I drug myself out of the what seemed to be an increasingly depressing house, and decided to walk around the town to get the least of the last glances of it as I could.

London was my home, and as I walked down the streets I looked mindlessly between the memories I'd be forced to leave. I looked to my right, where the restaurant I had spoken my first word in was closed in the early morning; I look to my left, where the park I learned how to walk formed weeds and dew in its grass, and I swore I could still feel the coldness of the grass against my bare baby feet; then I look ahead of me, where the street I woke up to everyday lay before me. I'll never see it again.

The yelling of my name caught my attention, making me turn to the source and shield the rising sun from my eyes. A slim figure making way toward me, her hips moving graciously as her silhouette strode down the street.

With a small wave to Olivia, I watched as her light coloured hair began blow into her face as she walked toward me. "Shouldn't you be packing?" she asked when she reached me, wrapping an arm around my waist.

I brought an arm around her shoulders and rolled my eyes, "I'm not going to assist in the source of my misery"

Olivia giggled, shaking her head and looking to me, "You never fail to entertain me with how overdramatic you can be" she told me, "It's one of those qualities I adore about you"

I sighed, letting go of her shoulder and pulling away, "Liv–" I sighed, "–that's not how we function" I told her, and she gave me a small nod.

She told me she understood in the most casual way she could, "I can't compliment you?" she asked. I cracked a smile, bringing her back into my arms as we continued to walk.

I had met Olivia three years ago, she always had her hair ties up and you could barely see her face passed her beer bottle white glasses—but by the time six months had passed, and she'd gotten rid of the glasses, and her chest had grown a few cups, nearly every boy in school wanted her. I supposed it can be said that I won her over, but that'd be a lie.

Olivia and I are unintelligible, we loved each other, but we refused to admit or believe it.

She wasn't my girlfriend, to make clear; she wasn't my girlfriend, nor my friend, nor even my friend with a specific benefit. She was Olivia—and I never dared to take that away from her. Olivia was her own special type of adrenaline I seemed to be addicted to.