Playboy » L.S

Chapter 38

Harry's pov.

The days dragged on and my life that suddenly returned to it's boring, lifeless routine continued to persevere and further drive me even more mad than I already was.

I missed him. Fuck, did I miss him. I miss the way he'd smile at me where his mouth was so wide that his eyes squinted and I was afraid his cheeks were probably aching, but he was happy, and that's all that ever mattered to me. I miss the way he always had something to say about everything - the bastard was never apprehensive to voice his opinion, never once thinking before he acted. Sometimes that would piss me the fuck off, but I still missed it beyond belief.

I miss everything he did, said, and I even miss the way he'd get absolutely intoxicated out of his mind, which always resulted in him screaming at me or attempting to strike me. I want to go back to him so bad - my heart fucking aches. It literally feels like it's empty, like inside my rib cage where my heart is supposed to be is vacant.

Zayn thinks it's for the best.

He thinks it's absolute bullshit what Louis did to me - how he kissed Niall - but I want to forgive him. I just want to forget it ever happened and run back to him, my arms spread as wide as they can go so I can engulf him in the biggest fucking hug ever and crush his cute little body against mine and just hold him until my arms are sore.

Zayn says that's petty of me.

I always knew that Zayn didn't necessarily like Louis - even from the beginning he always thought Louis and I were just fuck buddies with nothing on our minds besides sex, sex, sex. He was so, so wrong. Although Zayn will never admit it, he knew that Louis and I were good to each other. He knew we had something, but he was always trying to look out for me.

Fuck Zayn, I mumbled in my head, The bastard is engaged to a woman all while he's fucking a man. He doesn't know shit about connections. His view is black and white - Louis was my color. He hasn't found his brightness, he doesn't know what it's like.

The loud knocking on my bedroom door made me jump, cutting my thoughts short. I'm kind of glad for that, because thinking about Louis is a heart-breaking topic on it's own.

"Come in," I say, straightening up in my bed, my back against the head board. The sheets are scratchy and an ugly brownish color now, my white blankets burnt and probably residing in a landfill somewhere. I didn't want any reminder of Louis and all I could picture was his body sprawled across my white duvet, so I resolved that problem. Probably not in the most idealistic and simple way, but it worked nonetheless.

"Hey," Gemma says quietly, standing by the door that she opened. Her hands are clasped together in front of her. "How are you feeling?"

"Shitty," I admit. This is only continuing my routine - Gemma would come in my room, make sure I'm okay, and I'd end up insulting her or saying some shit I didn't mean. Thinking about Louis hurt and all she did was bring him up, resurfacing that pain and making it even worse.

"I was wondering if you wanted to.. I don't know.. talk? Or something," She trails off, her eyes hopeful. "You know, maybe watch a movie?"

"No thanks," I reply, staring at her with a blank expression. None of this is her fault, but ever since Louis left me - or I left him, I'm not sure - I didn't want anything to do with social interaction. I went to work, ate dinner a few days during the week, and then I'd go to bed.

"Harry," Her shoulders slump and I knew what was coming. "You have to get over this, bubby. You're not yourself anymore," She frowns, "I miss you."

"What do you expect me to do about any of this, Gemma?" I bark, not exactly meaning to come out so crude but whatever got her to go away was alright with me.