102; harry styles (hiatus)

0.6.

It's been two days since the inconvenient tha happened at Harry's appartment.

I've seen Harry yesterday in the hall but when he tried to talk to me, I walked faster until he decided to give up and stopped following me.

I actually feel bad for ignoring him but I don't want to cause more trouble; I'm certain that the fight was my fault. Harry is not a stranger anymore - he's my neighbor, which means that I'll see him again even if I do my best trying to avoid him. I wouldn't say he's a friend but he's more than just a stranger and neighbour. I still feel guilty for putting him in a situation that he didn't belong to. However, I would love to erase that moment from my mind.

In the other hand, I haven't seen Louis and to be honest, I'm glad. He sent me plenty of messages but I didn't reply, what should I say? 'Sorry for your black bruised eye, it looks good on you anyways, don't worry." It would be pathetic.

I've been in two relationships before, none of them were serious. I've never been in this situation before, I've never had a boy that liked me so much to the point of putting his own self in danger. Or, well, I don't even know if Louis likes me that much or if he's just being an asshole. I'm trying to convince myself that the second one is way more accurate.

It gives me a headache to think about this whole issue, I've taken like two aspirins together today and my head is still hurting like a bitch.

Meanwhile, I've been painting a lot. It's the only thing that helps me to escape from my inner demons and reality. Right now, it's my escape from all this mess I've created in only two days. I'm such a professional when it comes to making trouble out of nowhere.

I've always been the kind of girl that goes to parties and gets really wasted but when I get home at three in the morning, I sit down and paint. I love to paint; I'm in love with art. I like the fact that you can be able to put down on an empty paper someone, a place, a dream or a situation, it's something that amazes me and I'm fascinated by it. That's a secret side that only a few people have the privilege to know.

I like to gather my friends in two groups: fake friends and real friends. When you're a girl like me, you have tons of fake friends but not too many real ones. Many of them are with you because you are "cool" and "carefree" or simply because you get drunk and high; I know it sounds stupid but people think it's cool to do stuff like that when in fact, it's not. I'm not here to give a speech about humans but I'm certain about one plain thing: some people don't give a fuck about you if you have something they're interested in.

My reason to be like this it's hard to explain and way too long, so I prefer not to talk about it. Not yet, at least.

I'm standing in front of my easel, painting like a freak. If someone would look at my painting right now, they would easily notice how angry I am; it's about how I tightened the brush against the paper, how dark colors are scattered everywhere, regardless of the prolixity; you can clearly see I'm furious.

I don't know exactly why, though. I know that I am... Not with Harry nor Louis, but with myself.

A pair of knocks send me back to reality as I leave my brush behind and head towards the door, hoping one thing: to go back to my work in progress.

"Yeah?" I ask, yelling a bit so whoever's at the door can hear me.

Nobody replies. I wonder if nobody is outside or if I just heard wrong.

I look through the peephole but I don't see anything. What is going on?

Images from a similar situation like this appear in my mind: a boy standing in my door, with an angry frown in his forehead, a fedora in his head and a pair of lovely green eyes.