About (Harry Styles)

38.

I don't shed a tear. Not one. The blank pang of agony is there, lodged deep in my empty chest, but I can't force one tear.

Am I really that heartless?

I replay what just happened over and over again in my head, going through hundreds of scenarios of how differently it could have went.

If I had kept my mouth shut ... If I had let him explain himself ... If I had ran into his arms like I so pathetically wanted and be consoled by him...only him.

Why did I say those things?

Yes. I'm angry with him.

Yes. I'm rash, impulsive, and selfish.

But did I really have to take it that far?

But ... why would he leave without a word on the night after we slept together and then reappear the next morning?

It doesn't make any sense.

He did tell me he had an explanation, but I stubbornly refused to listen. Every cell in my body was amplified with nothing but retribution which clouded my thoughts. My logic was all fogged with adrenaline and pain, and there was not an ounce of me that wanted to listen to his excuses.

I don't usually contemplate the consequences of my actions. I've never really thought about the repercussions of anything really.

But when it comes to Harry ... There are circumstances which I don't want to acknowledge that places him in a totally separate category.

The look on his face ... Of all the looks he's worn, this one was the worst of them all. I don't even want to remember it...

Seeing him so unexpectedly triggered something in me, and I couldn't decipher whether it was eagerness or anger. Maybe both.

But I know that I didn't want it to be eagerness. If I was eager to see him, that only meant one thing - that I was shamelessly waiting for his return. That I had a foolish fragment of hope that he'd come back to me.

I, so badly, wanted that with Kai. For him to come back to me. For him to show in front of my doorstep and pull me into an embrace and realize that he was wrong for leaving. But he never showed.

And when Harry showed ... I was shocked.

So by natural instinct, I picked anger to rely on because I didn't want to admit that I was waiting for him. Because I didn't want to be weak. I needed to be strong. But when I try to be strong to protect my already impaired heart, I end up hurting it myself - just exactly how I wanted. I rather hurt myself than let someone else do the hurting. That way, I won't have to feel the sting of humiliation when we run into each other. Thanks to me, we will never cross paths again.

But it's okay.

Because this is the way it's supposed to be.

He's Harry Styles.

I was foolish to believe we even had a chance. I was foolish to think he'd become someone more in my life.

He's nothing to me. He's nothing. Absolutely nothing. He can't be anything more. Nor will he ever be.

...

The ride home is quiet. I'm not sure whether my mother and her husband were questioned or anything. Obviously, it was all in his plan to talk to me. To explain something that no longer needs an explanation.

What's done is done.

My mother frequently looks back at me, a sorrowful frown on her face. I know she knows there's something more between me and him. I can see it in her concerned eyes. You know, that natural seventh sense that mothers have. She definitely suspects something is off.