Masked

Mess

That night I sat on the floor of my room and cried my eyes out for hours. 

It took me until that moment to realize the insignificance of our relationship.

I made my way into the small mini fridge on the other side of my room and swallowed down some old vodka. 

I couldn't stop myself from becoming belligerent. 

I was drunk off my feelings and high on the thought of him.

Before I knew it, it was nearly three in the morning. My eyes were bloodshot and barely open when I finally made it to my bed.

Just before my weak eyes said goodnight for good my door burst open.

"Harry," he practically screamed.

I remember jolting out of bed and trying my best to hold the liquor down. 

"I'm so sorry," he ran to my side.

"It's fine," I stared at the ground. 

I could barely see out of my swollen eyes.

"How is she?" I asked without looking into his eyes.

"She's okay, she's gonna be okay," he cried to me. 

"Good."

"Please don't be mad baby."

He was so vulnerable while his tears poured all over his face. His breath was quick, hands were shaking and beads of sweat were building on his forehead.

"I'm not mad."

The next thing I remember before falling into a deep sleep was hearing the door close and watching him leave. 

The next morning I woke up to the sight of vomit all over my sheets. I was hoping so badly to see him but he was no where to be found.

I carefully stepped out of bed to clean my bed up.

It was so easy of a mess to clean, so unlike the mess Lou and I made. 

He was back before noon while I was catching up on some reading.

"What are we doing?" was all he said.

"I'm sorry," I said to him and meant it.

"I am too," he started to smile.

He made his way to my neck and covered it in small but strong kisses.

We made love for the rest of the night.