sign {h.s.}

capitolo quarantasei

n. first of hecking all, i don't really think i need to defend myself, but apparently i do: 1) for all you saying she needs to chill about wanting marriage and that it is okay to not want it--sure, i agree! but, some people do want it. which, cassidy DOES! that is something u need to respect and 2) if the prior point doesn't resonate with you, HE SAID HE DOESN'T WANT KIDS EITHER! which, is a lot less ambiguous as to whether or not they can coexist with different wants for their relationship. if y'all hate cassidy that much--and can't handle a strong woman knowing what she wants in a relationship and with her life--just stop reading!!!! i have other fics or just ... go somewhere else? lmao

second of all, i wasn't going to do a harry's pov, but you wanted it, so here it is on a silver platter:

H A R R Y ' S P O V

"She said 'we're done,'" I slur, bending over the bar top, resting my head in my hands as I pull at the roots of my curls. Mila always liked my hair shorter--tamed. Cassidy, though she has never said it, gives off the impression that she likes it longer. When we are in bed together, she loves to pull on my hair; more innocently, when we are just in each other's arms, she loves to twirl my curls around her little finger. A physical representation of how emotionally, spiritually, and mentally wrapped around her finger I am.

I was.

No longer does she want the fucked up man who doesn't believe in marriage. 

"En français, s'il vous plaît?" 

Everything considered, God bless the man sitting next to me at the bar. Equally as fucked up as I am--considering that he is equally as plastered as me at the bar when it is not even two in the afternoon--he continues to listen to my rants about the women in my life, despite me speaking in different tongues. Each time, he follows with the simple request: in French, please?

"Ma copine a rompu avec moi. Elle m'a quitté," I explain for the millionth time tonight. I don't know if he keeps asking for the story, or if I can't shake it from my mind, but somehow my life seems to be on a continuous loop. All day long, I've been hearing the consistent echo of Cassidy's voice and seeing the image of her hand on the doorknob; remembering how she couldn't even look at me when she said, "we're done."

The man gives me a vaguely sympathetic--while somehow slightly pained--look before cocking his head to the side and saying, "vous savez que c'est un bar gay, non?"

Scoffing, I slam my hands against the table. "Nous sommes tous un peu gay." I say, giving him a nasty look before wrapping my hand around the stem of my drink and sending it back entirely. From the moment that I walked into this bar, I knew I wanted to be drunk. The more incoherent I am, the less I will feel the pain of my Cassidy leaving me. At least, that was what I thought. As it turns out: I was wrong about a lot of things. Primarily, the more I drink, the sadder I get. Secondly, Cassidy is no longer mine.

She never was in the first place. Possessive as I am, Cassidy is too strong for me, I think. She is independent in ways I will never truly master. She is her own person. Once upon a time, she may have been uncertain. Back when she was taking the time to herself and traveling. Now, I think she has a clear view of what she sees in her life. Marriage and kids are in that image. I would give her the world in a second if I could. But, I wouldn't give her that world. 

"D'accord. Pourquoi est-ce qu'elle t'a quitté?" 

"I brought her to Paris," I explain longingly, aching for the moments in which we were driving in my car to the airport. When we still had the entire trip ahead of us. When I didn't know what a fucking bitch Nadine would turn out to be. When I didn't know that we would have the fight to end all fights--sending us in different direction. What would I have done differently? Is there anything I could have done differently? "She hadn't ever left the United States and I wanted to give her the world on a string. I did everything right. We flew here first class. I brought her to stay in my apartment. Elle pensait que c'était un Airbnb. Mais non. C'était l'appartement que je partageais avec ma fiancée tardive."