Jamaica Me Happy // HS

Part 4

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the straps of your champagne gown for the third time as your stomach twisted with nerves.

It was a big night. 

Sign of the Times was nominated for a Grammy.  It was a huge deal to you and everyone involved.  And as much as you wanted to attribute your existential nerves to the evening ahead of you, it was undeniable that the name associated with said song played on your mind, and your heart. 

It had been a long time since you last occupied the same space as Harry, which wouldn't normally weigh so heavily on you but given the circumstances of your last encounter, you weren't sure what to expect from your lavish night out. 

You couldn't get the image out of your mind, no matter how many times you tried.  He stood in front of you in a white towel, water droplets still gracing his shoulders, the morning sun shining behind his head like a halo, as he fought with you about what you considered to be the future of your relationship. The look on his face, the things he said, the way he made you feel; it was all coming up to the surface as time ticked closer to your inevitable reunion. 

You replayed that fight over and over again.  And each time it killed you a little more. 

You were so mad at him. The delicacy of what you were doing was enough. The risk you took as friends to explore if there was something more there, which you were convinced had become more, so carelessly thrown out the window by a few words. You felt like more then friends, more than a fuck. And to find out he didn't feel the same? And the way he presented the new information to you?  Well, that hurt more than you wanted to admit.   

The way your heart hammered in your chest when you slammed his door closed, how your tears burned your eyes as you went back to your room, alone. Feeling more alone than ever.  You didn't want to relive it, yet your mind had a perfect way of playing the scene like a movie. A movie you didn't want to see but couldn't stop watching. 

You left Jamaica that afternoon, without a word to anyone. Especially Harry. 

While everyone was distracted doing their own thing, you packed up your belongings and booked the first flight home, sneaking out of the house three days earlier than your previously scheduled departure. 

You hoped it stung. You envisioned him looking for you, maybe even going to your room to apologize and finding everything wiped clean, leaving him with nothing but a subtle whiff of your perfume and silence. 

The silence was deafening though. 

Laughter from the hallway pulled you from the memory, shaking your head before you smoothed your hands down your dress one last time.  With a heavy breath, you grabbed your clutch from the end of the bed and headed out of your hotel room. 

Your feet felt heavy as they carried you outside to your waiting car.  Your heart felt heavy as you made conversation with your driver. Your mind felt heavy as you discreetly entered the venue.  By the time you spotted your row, you weren't even sure how you made it there. 

You could see him from all the way across the room; his hair perfectly styled and a sparkly, grey suit adorning his figure as he laughed with Jeff. 

The very first thought that crossed your mind was how much you had missed his smile.

You missed him.

You knew tonight would most likely be hard, you even expected it to be awkward, but for whatever reason, you weren't expecting to feel as much as you did.  Months had passed, and maybe it was just as simple as out of sight out of mind, but now being back in his presence felt like a hundred pounds of bricks were sat on your chest.