The Pretenders

the pretenders| chapter 3

03. The Miracle of the Cellphone

EMBER
I sighed contently as I managed to dry out fifty out of the sixty-two used pages. It was about good enough - the last twelve were mostly shopping lists anyway. I flipped to the page I'd been writing on before the lad had spilled his latte. The page was stained brown like vintage parchment you'd find in your great aunt's attic.

     I read the items over and completed the list gently as the paper was still damp.
     Things to buy:
- Bells's gift
- Eric's socks
- Chinese takeout
- small candles
- flowers for Alex
- green dress

     I quickly kept my notebook, got up from my set outside Gracie's Cafe and made for the taxi queue.
     Strolling through the partly empty park, I passed the center. A beautiful statue of a man and woman carved from marble was situated right in the middle of the cobblestone octagon. Trees with low-hanging branches shaded over benches and sprouted out from the paths' sides, welcoming guests to enjoy their day.
     I wrapped my cream cardigan around myself more tightly when the cold breeze nipped at my neck.

Damn, this January was brutal.

I saw couples walking in pairs, some small groups of friends playfully punching each other's shoulder, and all I could think about is how lucky all these people were. Just to have someone to be there to make memories with.

I wanted to be happy for them - for others - I wanted to so desperately. I pinched my skin in frustration so tightly together it made small crescents on my forearm. I wanted happiness so, so badly, yet I couldn't help but feel this inevitable sheet of sadness blanketing me while I walked past a laughing bunch of children.

I shook my head, discouraged. Just forget about it, Ember. I thought to myself, hopping into the next available taxi.

If only forgetting could be that easy.

HARRY
"Seriously, mate?" I drily asked Niall.

He cradled his ankle with his hands and winced every time he attempted to move it.

Earlier, when I just stepped foot into my own flat, Zayn had hurriedly greeted and ushered me to the couch where Niall was all but going out of his mind. Which leads us to where we are now.

I patted his foot, making Ni cringe. I smirked, amused by the fact that Niall thinks he'd broken it when he tried kicking down the door.

"Call the doctor," he growled, then yelped when Zayn rested his hand on Niall's calf.

Zayn rolled his eyes. "What do you think I've been trying to do?"

"Break my ankle and kill me..." Niall muttered.

"Apparently, he's on his bloody honeymoon with his new wife," Zayn continued as if he hadn't heard Niall's last remark.

Hm. Note to self: congratulate the doctor.

Niall shoulders slumped as he dejectedly settled on the couch, his foot raised. I could tell it bothered him a lot by the way his brows drew together. And yes. Of course, Harry. Of course someone would be worried about their damn ankle if it was sprained or some shit like that.

But it was different. It was a different kind of worry.

"Ey," I put my hand on his shoulder, me standing behind the couch. "What's on your mind?"

Zayn had stopped trying the doctor and was now scrolling through his games, next to Niall.

Ni sighed and shifted so that he was in a sitting position.