Cannes | H.S

Innocence

Harry

I couldn't fucking sleep.

I tried, I truly fucking tried. But every single time I closed my eyes, vivid memories of the ever near past showed its haunting sight. I even tried to pace my breathing like mum taught. You know, counting calmly in my head until everything just begins to slow down. Often times, it works as I get lost memorizing the curves and cracks in the familiar ceiling. Yet tonight for some reason, none of that provides me with any beneficial relief. Being far too stubborn for my own good, I try once more, tossing and turning on the oddly comfortable sofa, allowing my eyes to take in the boldly lit holiday tree. Come on man, you can do it. Slowly, I try to control my racing heart, clenching the blanket tightly within my grasp as I recall the message that surfaced onto my phone only a number of hours ago. I was fucking out of words for once when I saw it at first, blinded by such an unexpected greeting. Then again, nothing with her was ever the expected.

Welcome home, baby.

Anger continues to spread all throughout my body once more at the reminder. Honestly, I guess I'm at fault here as well, giving into the temptation of it all. Alcohol, drugs, sex. I gave in, put myself out there wholeheartedly, remaining so fucking vulnerable all these years. And she knew. She knew my heart, knew what I had to offer and decided to toy with me like a puppet, stringing me along for her own personal moments of pleasure. It's not my proudest moment in life, resorting to sex and liquor in order to feel something. But I was so fucking sick and tired of the media lurking around in every corner, desperately seeking a glimpse into my pathetic life. I wasn't the playboy they thought I was and am. I never used her, if anything it's the absolute opposite as I granted her every wish at the drop of a hat. I was so fucking intrigued by her every move, finding her so damn seductive--like a goddess that fell into my lap. And as I shut my eyes yet again, I remember being so fucking wasted; high on whatever it was she had given me that I didn't even realize the party had turned into an audience.

Livid that she would even think to text me after all this time...after knowing that I've moved onto someone that brings out the mere amounts of good left in me. And that's what Layla resembles--the sun's essence. She's so bright, so full of life that she captivated me by her persisting stubbornness that afternoon in Cannes. I was so intrigued that a complete stranger had the boldness to stand in front of a crowd and call me out as an actual thief. I had basically escaped to Cannes to find something...anything to pull myself out of the personal hell that was created and instead, I found an angel through and through. A part of me knows that the pathetic reason why I can't sleep is because she's not safely wrapped up in my arms, lost in a sea of dreams as she rests her head upon my chest. But considering mum is in the other room, we figured it be best if we slept in separate rooms.

And as the time on my phone reads half past two, I know there's no point in fighting it. Might as well give into the lack of slumber like a fool. I scroll mindlessly through social media, seeing everyone out and about, enjoying the holiday spirit, pretending that their lives are an absolute perfected dream as they construct the best image to post. I return a few of Jeff's emails, using the opportunity to harass him once more on when exactly he's going to propose to Glenne. However, just as my message goes through, another one arrives, holding far too much bitterness and betrayal that one can cope with at such an hour.

Miss me?

I stare at the screen, instantly sitting up on the sofa, tossing the blankets to the carpet as I attempt to control my rage. How dare she? After all this time? How dare she message me when she knows my heart belongs to another? How dare she try to play these games with me once more after I walked away the first time. A slur of profanities escape my mouth as I recall that night I assumed was spent with dear and near friends. Then again, I was way too foolish, ignoring the advice given by others, far too intrigued in the exciting woman who would message me teasingly throughout the day. I was addicted to her in the worst possible way, allowing her to crush my heart more and more as time allotted. She was the sole reason I had resorted to the healing effects of alcohol, wanting to lessen the pain, the guilt. I wanted to sink away from the disappointment evident in my own mother's eyes. For I had turned into her greatest nightmare. I was a complete train wreck, holding no value for anything or anyone afterwards as I wasted my days away.