We were silent for a while.
I was tempted to ask if he was mad at me, even though I knew that he wasn't. It was far too natural of an assumption for me, even when he constantly proved otherwise. I knew whatever frustration or annoyance he was feeling wasn't directed at me.
He was texting for a little while, before Stella called him. He had this thumb nervously between his teeth, chewing on his nail as Stella spoke on the other end - and I assumed she was mapping out whatever they were going to do about this. It was exhausting, and I didn't have the capacity for it.
Harry had an image, and that had been abundantly clear from the start. He'd sat me down and told me what I was getting into when it came to his public image, and the more I'd gotten to know him; the more complex it had become.
I knew he had been paired in publicised, fabricated relationships before; other celebrities, models, and such - people who either wanted a push in the industry or who had a management team who felt that there would be mutual benefit in Harry being paired up with them. People who were nothing like me. These relationships were calculated - and when media outlets would inevitably deep-dive to tear apart his partners, they'd find them to have similar images, pre-cultivated by management teams of their own.
I knew, equally, that he hadn't been pictured with somebody he was actually with - let alone, somebody like me. There was no professionally, delicately constructed image for the media to delve into with me - there was only a real one, of somebody who was a dull, plain, and ordinary shell of the models he'd spent the past half-decade or so publicly parading around with. I knew none of it was real, and he'd expressed to me before that he was very thankful that his career was in a place, now, that he was no longer as greatly served by those types of industry ploys. He was famous enough in his own right, now - he had his own name that he'd made.
His image had shifted, he'd told me, from how they'd painted him in his teenage years as a the charmer who every girl fawned over - but it was never real, at least not to him. Then, as the years had gone on, he'd finally - slowly, but finally - elevated himself into a position by his own talent, that he could be left alone at least a little more. His image, now, was a limited one, and somehow, it worked for him and his fan base equally well. He'd told me that whilst he'd been in his former band, he didn't have an ounce of privacy - but, now, he'd managed to draw back in that at least a little bit. There was an air of mystery around him, in that nobody truly knew much about his real relationships, or how he spent his private time - and now: how he spent it with me. Despite the fact that media sources and fans alike would follow his every move as much as they could, there was never much substance in what they knew or saw, and I knew he held his personal life close to his chest. He was private, and he didn't show himself to just anybody. Every day, I considered myself lucky to know him the way that I did, and I knew he didn't want the rest of the world to become a third-party in our relationship. I trusted him in knowing that wouldn't bring anything positive.
He was insecure about his current position. It was like he feared the rug might be pulled out from under him at any moment - I knew that, and he'd been honest in confessing that to me early on. He may have earned some privacy, but that didn't outweigh how he hadn't truly earned much freedom in how he spent his day-to-day life. He was at the mercy of his fear that it could all disappear if he grew the slightest bit complacent; that was why he'd take every interview that Stella got for him, and do his shows without a day of rest in between and with only an hour or two of sleep under his belt; why he was already foreseeing his next album and tour, because he refused to risk his own hype dying down. He couldn't see that he transcended that. He was endlessly grateful to be where he was, no matter how draining it was - he didn't dare utter a word of complaint. He did exactly what he was told, and any slight infringement made him panic.
I'd told him before that it couldn't possibly work like that - but what did I know? He'd never undermine my opinion in such a way, but he must've thought that I just didn't really understand it. And I supposed I didn't.
I didn't hear what Stella was saying to him on the phone. It wasn't that Harry let me, but rather, I didn't ask - I didn't want to hear her voice, in all honesty, and I could only hope she was telling him something to ease his nerves. In his head, his image and his career was fragile, and I couldn't convince him otherwise - no matter how incredible he was. I should've been the one to ease his nerves.
I was exhausted - emotionally, and physically. I felt as if I'd ought to be doing something, here, to make him feel better - but even if I'd known what I was talking about, I didn't have the strength right now.
I didn't know what this meant for us. I didn't know what happened now.
"We're ignoring it."
Harry's voice broke me from my thoughts, and then I realised that I hadn't even noticed his phone call ending. I looked up, snapped back out of my returning habit of growing depressingly lost in my own head. His eyes locked onto mine and I wished that relentless dread in the pit of my stomach would just budge.
He exhaled, his eyes softening for a second as he looked at me, and realised I'd barely taken in a word that he said. My head was spinning. This was just the tip of the iceberg, and the cracks that had been forming for the previous day felt like they were relentlessly deepening. The last thing I could begin to wrap my head around, now, would be a million different eyes on me in some sort of industry crisis. I was out of my depth in every way.
"Well, somewhat. We both need to wear that hoodie, tomorrow," he said, and I blinked as I took a second to register his words. He was talking about the hoodie of his that I'd been pictured wearing. "Stella's getting one brought in for you. We're both wearing it tomorrow so it doesn't look like we wore the same one today. She might get one of the others to wear one, too - then it doesn't look specific to you and me."
I nodded tiredly. Great. I didn't reply verbally - I was just going to do as I was told, whether it really made sense to me, or not. He sighed again, bringing his hand to the side of my head and gently caressing my hair.
"Get some sleep. Don't worry. We'll sort it."
I hated that what he was talking about wasn't even my primary source of anxiety, right now. I couldn't even focus on my own relationship. I was taking it for granted. I was being stupid. I nodded again.
"We'll sort all of it," he corrected softly, and I knew he meant everything. And I didn't believe him, despite how I wanted to.
I knew he was still a little on edge, but so was I. There was a tension in the air as we went to sleep, and even if it wasn't directly between us, I couldn't help but feel like I'd caused it. Not only could I feel myself shutting down with everything going on, but I'd also just had to wear his stupid hoodie. I'd just had to look like a deer in headlights when somebody had asked about Harry and I - I was sure it was only a matter of time before that interaction surfaced online, too. I was an idiot, and time after time, I was met with reminders of how I was practically drowning out of my depth, here.
I knew that if it was simple; if Harry had it his way, then he'd love me in public, and we'd be together like any couple. But there were too many layers to this; too many years of hard work, and too much at stake - at least, it felt like that was what he'd been convinced of. It came down to two things; his image and his insecurity about it, and the poisonous nature of those who would interfere. Harry did far better when the hounding media knew less about him and his life - the years he'd spent with every area off his life being overly publicised had been torturous in so many ways. If the media found their way into my personal life, too, I couldn't say how detrimental it could've been to the already wavering progress I'd made. I knew he didn't want to subject me to that, first and foremost.
Sleep didn't come, despite how I'd spent most of the day aching for it. Part of me thought about opening my emails and sending Theresa another shameless appeal, but I felt too empty to even beg. Not yet.
I eyed Harry as he fell asleep, facing me, and I slowly lifted my face from where I'd buried it into his neck in search of the comfort I needed to fall asleep. I knew he was asleep when his hand had stopped its gentle, mindless coaxing over my back, and his breathing had grown a little heavier. He was beautiful like this - I'd never get used to it. So often, it felt like no matter what had happened throughout the day, laying here with him meant that everything would be all right. I just couldn't get that awful feeling to budge.
"I love you," I whispered softly, my thumb tracing a soft line beside his slightly parted, peaceful lips. I knew he wasn't awake to give me a response, but it didn't matter. I wanted his subconscious to hear it, and to know it. I may have been slipping back into old habits, but I was clinging onto this new one; this beautiful thing he'd taught me. It felt like the closest thing I possibly had to a lifeline, right now.
After tonight, I had one more night sleeping beside him - at least, for a while. I didn't know how long, but after the last show tomorrow, there was a flight with my name on it to take me back to London the following day. I'd spent weeks ignoring that fact, and I knew he, too, was declining to accept that it was true, just as I had.
I'd only been putting it off for my own sanity - I think, perhaps, there'd been some part of me that had been caught up in my happiness this Summer, that I'd believed that it would somehow all work out. Somehow. I wasn't sure what that would involve, but I'd been too damn lost in all of this to care. I was a fool to have thought there'd be some kind of seamless transition away from being as happy I was here, to being back in my old, miserable life - I was a fool to think I could have my cake and eat it, too; that I could have a taste of what I'd always wanted, and then go back and miserably prove what I'd spent years yearning to. And I knew I was throwing all I had left away, now - my boyfriend had the power to make it all go away. He could set me up here with a permanent job, with him, but I was too stubborn. I needed that degree, and I needed it to the absolute best of my capability. I needed my father to be wrong. I was going to finish that last year of my degree if it killed me, and I wasn't just going to scrape by. I wanted that degree with flying academic colours, even if it was at the cost of my own self.
I'd been living a shell of a life before this Summer, but I refused to give over. I couldn't make anybody understand it. After everything I'd been through, I needed to do what I'd spent my entire life being convinced that I couldn't.
Harry and I had, perhaps naïvely, avoided the topic of what would happen to us after this final US show. Naturally, as I laid restlessly in his arms, feeling his endearing, sleepy hums against my hair, it conveniently began to occupy my mind. I had a pattern - one little misstep would always make me rethink everything else, and losing my job at firm was a misstep in the largest, worst form.
I think, in his mind, he'd always planned on convincing me to stay on tour - or, if my stubbornness had insisted on taking me back home, that it wouldn't have really been for as long as I was insisting it would be. If everything worked out in my own head - I'd be back home for the academic year, and I'd see him whenever we had the chance. He only had a month or so left of this tour, on his leg in Australia, and then in Asia - and then, I wasn't sure of the logistics, but we'd have made it work. We'd have had to. I'd work at the firm and work myself to misery, but I'd have him, and I'd be graduating - so it wouldn't matter. I supposed, if I'd ever stopped being too cowardly to pay it mind, then that's how I would've foreseen it. Until today, when a large component of that had been pulled out from under my feet, and by no fault other than my own.
I'd gotten too comfortable, and I'd gotten lazy. Focusing on Harry had caused me to lose focus on my studies and my degree, and that wasn't allowed. I was disciplined in maintaining my own cycle of misery at home, and I'd let it slip here. I'd been stupid and irresponsible in pouring all of myself into Harry, and I'd made a stupid error, and it had cost me. I wouldn't allow myself to make another one.
I woke up feeling like I'd never really been asleep. I opened my eyes, and closed them again straight away, trying to shield myself from the mess my emotions were in as soon as I found consciousness every morning. I sighed, feeling a gentle squeeze on my hip from one of the large hands that enveloped me every night.
"I know you're awake," he muttered, his voice still slightly thick with the remnants of sleep. It didn't surprise me to know he'd been watching me sleep, and had clearly caught the brief flicker of my eyes and shift in my breathing that told him I'd stirred; those tell-tale signs that I'd learned from watching him sleep so many mornings, in the very same way.
"I'm not," I mumbled back, feeling my body instinctively nuzzle against his own. My face buried back into his neck, and I could sense that he was smiling, even if I couldn't see him.
"Oh, you're not?" He kept his voice low and quiet, and I could sense the teasing in his tone as his hand drew smoothly over my back.
"Mm-mm," I shook my head, humming a soft denial. His ability to bring any form of communication out of me when all I wanted to do was curl up and pity myself was unheard of. Even when I hated everything else, I could never love him any less.
His hand drew downwards from my back to rest on my hip again, slipping under my shirt to caress my bare skin. His touch was warm and comforting as my eyes drew shut again. I was so overtired that it was almost unbearable, now, but I'd wasted the hours I had to sleep by mulling over every problem I had and every dreary possible outcome.
I kept my face buried into the warm crook of his neck, not wanting to face anything else for the rest of the day. He didn't have any media appearances today - we had soundcheck, and I knew he was due a meet-and-greet with the young teenage children of the venue owners and a couple of executives, which had been quite a common practice throughout tour. But I knew we didn't really have to be anywhere until the early afternoon.
I'd have stayed in bed with him, avoiding everything else, forever if I could. I didn't want to face anything outside of these four walls, but unfortunately, I couldn't discard my mind and its relentless racing no matter where I was. I wished I could extract it, somehow, and just exist in this bed with him - but I was too far gone. My mind was made up in my suffering and I wasn't sure I'd even fully realised it yet.
Harry made me a cup of coffee in the exact way I liked it and handed it to me in bed before he went to get in the shower. The moment I was alone again, my mind took off - but I realised, soon enough, that my mind was no longer easing much in his presence. I felt sick with anxiety and was beating myself up in my own head whether I had his arms around me or not.
After I'd showered myself, there was a green hoodie matching the one of Harry's I'd borrowed yesterday, lying on the bed waiting for me. I could hear Harry clattering around in the kitchen downstairs, and I exhaled, pulling the hoodie on. This was a process, and who was I to question it?
Harry was wearing his own hoodie when I joined him downstairs. I almost laughed at how we were dressed in the same thing, and his little smile told me he saw some humour in it, too. It all felt a little stupid.
"So," he began, his mouth full of toast. He paused to chew it, and swallowed before speaking again. "We're being picked up with the others, today."
It wasn't uncommon for us to travel to the arena with the others, when we'd all stay in the same hotel - but it equally wasn't uncommon for Harry and I to make our way there as a pair at a different time to the rest of them, in our own car. Harry had mentioned wanting to drive himself whilst we were here, at a house with half a dozen cars that he owned, but I supposed that plan was out of the window. If he drove us on our own, from his house, it wouldn't exactly do much to combat the narrative about us that was floating around at the moment.
Harry had said weeks ago that we needed to be more careful - time, and time again, and we'd never really made those adjustments as we'd ought to. We'd been too caught up. I supposed this is what we should've been doing. I supposed this was careful.
We left his house and got into the car waiting for us. It was one of the bigger cars we always got into as a group, with Sarah, Elin, Mitch and Pauli in the back.
"Good afternoon, lovebirds," Elin exclaimed playfully as Harry opened the car door for me to get in before him. My mood was instantly lightened a bit to see everybody wearing this wretched green hoodie, rather than just one or two of them as a coverup. A weak attempt at a smile pulled on my lips. We looked ridiculous. Maybe there could be a little humour in it. Maybe I could forget the weight of it all.
"Final US show," Pauli said, as the car took off, and I felt that heaviness in my chest. It was their final show in America, and my final show before I went home. I bit my lip, glancing at Harry to find him already looking at me. He exhaled, bringing his hand to rest it on my knee. He didn't push.
I was sad that this was my last time travelling to the arena with them. As we arrived and entered the building, I looked around as if I'd formed some deep connection with this place, despite there only having been one show here so far. It wasn't so much this building, but it was what it stood for. California was a big place for Harry and I, and the final show being here felt kind of symbolic.
Harry had mentioned wanting to go back to the museum before we parted tomorrow, for however long. We still hadn't spoken about us, and I knew that conversation had to come. I figured Harry was really just putting it off for my sake, rather than his, but I wasn't exactly eager to initiate the conversation and confront the reality of where we were, and I knew that was irrational, but it was how I'd always been.
I could feel how Harry was in denial of my departure tomorrow, but my mind was already made up, and my stubbornness would prevent it from being changed. In my head, we'd make it work and figure it out, somehow. But I could feel it slipping further down my priorities, falling secondary to picking up all of the shattered pieces I had waiting for me back in London, and I wasn't sure how that was going to be very sustainable. For either of us.
I was slipping away, and he could feel it, even if we both refused to accept it.
I sat with my knees up to my chest and my arms wrapped around them as I watched the band complete their sound check. Harry was messing around with Mitch's guitar and laughing in his little high-pitched outbursts that seemed reserved only for those he felt comfortable around. His eyes squeezed shut as he laughed, and even in my exhaustion, a fond smile pulled on my lips. He was adorable.
They ran a playful rendition of 'Cinema', and I took some photos as they messed around. They were so happy as Harry tormented Mitch and never let him play a proper chord, intercepting his strums on his guitar and laughing at one another. Everybody on that stage adored him, and it was so apparent in their fond smiles and laughter at his antics as he playfully danced around and shuffled about the stage.
It felt like I couldn't fully immerse myself, and my head was starting to hurt. I usually loved getting to watch them do their soundcheck. Why couldn't I enjoy this? I knew why - but it was my last show out of what had been the greatest Summer of my life, and I hated wasting a second of it. I tried to put a smile on my face - it wasn't like I didn't truly love being here with them, but I was sad, and I was tired, and I was drained.
I was getting sick of myself, and I was starting to doubt where I went from here. I was conflicted in trying to understand if I could really turn all of this around when I got back to London. I'd convinced myself it would have to be done, because I refused to accept that there was any other choice. I was reverting to how I'd been before, and I couldn't stop it. I had a number of complex conversations that needed to take place with myself, and with my boyfriend - conversations I'd spent far too long avoiding, even before being fired from the firm.
Harry reluctantly left me by myself for a little bit to go and do his meet-and-greet. I knew he felt a little better after Stella had reassured him last night and composed the plan with us all wearing that hoodie today. He'd said from the beginning that she was good enough at her job to balance out how rude and difficult she was to be around - and I supposed he was right. A part of me felt a little stupid that I'd been useless in reassuring him, but that, too, couldn't make the top of my priority list right now, as much as it probably should have.
I tried to lose myself in editing my photos, but I couldn't focus much. I'd bitten my nails down to the quick, and I'd started to pull on the increasingly sore and reddened skin around my fingers. I scrolled through and tweaked endless photos of that beautiful face I got to see every day and night, feeling the screen blur beneath my tired eyes.
Harry came back to me after about half an hour, finally freeing me of the torturous silence. He let out an exhale as he re-entered his dressing room, and he closed the door behind him, stopping in the doorway until I looked up at him. He simply looked at me blankly, and I tilted my head from my lazy position on the couch, before my eyes flickered down.
Paired with the outfit he was going to be wearing on stage tonight - a simple, well-fitted t-shirt that hugged his biceps perfectly, paired with some wide-legged trousers, my eyes flitted down to his feet, to see him in a pair of slippers that he secretly liked to wear when he was in the dressing room.
"You wore your slippers to meet those fans?" I raised an eyebrow, a soft laugh leaving my lips as he looked at me with feigned annoyance.
"Yes. I did. And I didn't realise until one of the kids pointed it out," he said bluntly, though I knew he wasn't actually annoyed. He was just playing around.
"Amateur," I teased, and he finally allowed himself to grin at me, closing the gap between us and throwing himself down on top of me on the couch with a dramatic grunt. I barely managed to save my laptop from the crossfire, managing to place it on the coffee table as the weight of him collapsed in a heap on me.
He hummed softly as his nose nudged my cheek to let him kiss my jaw, before he drew back, scanning his eyes over my face.
"You okay?" he murmured softly, lowering his voice and replacing the playfulness with affection as our faces were mere inches apart now. I nodded softly, and his eyes lingered on mine.
"Mhm," I replied, trying to make my tone sound a little brighter. I knew he wasn't convinced, so I continued. "Tired."
"And did you take a nap like you said you would?" he raised his eyebrows to playfully condemn me, knowing full well that I hadn't. I had told him that I would, briefly, to reassure him before he left for his meet-and-greet; I'd forgotten that promise as soon as he was out of the door.
"Shut up," I mumbled before his lips met my own. I loved my playful Harry, even when I didn't feel like being playful at all. He could always make it go away - at least for the briefest of seconds.
I knew he was trying to make me happier - making a point of dramatically huffing as he laced up his proper shoes to wear them on stage. He kissed me again and again, and it was all beginning to sink in for me, as well: this was my last show.
We watched his opening band, again - I told him I'd wanted to. I wanted to experience all of it, no matter how shitty I felt. I wasn't crying like I had been the night before, but I couldn't pretend our dynamic was much brighter. He leaned back against the equipment box and held me in his arms, my back to his chest, and a comfortable but heavy silence between us. He wasn't the problem - I, and what felt like a million external factors, was.
He kissed my hair as I played with one of his hands in front of me, tracing my fingers over the individual details of his ring, before it settled on the little tiny cross tattoo he had etched on his skin, beside his thumb. I traced the outline again and again, and he let me, staying quiet as we listened to the music.
I was going to miss this so, so much. This opportunity; being on this tour, had let me experience a million things I'd never have dreamed of experiencing, otherwise. I'd never even stepped foot in America, and now I'd almost toured it in its entirety, made a beautiful group of friends, and fallen in love along the way. I'd gotten to experience working the job I'd dreamed of having since I was a little girl; the job I'd craved and yearned for despite it being constantly ridiculed and thrown back in my face by my parents. I'd finally gotten it - I'd finally let myself have something I wanted, and it had been everything and beyond what I could've conjured up in my wildest dreams.
It made my heart ache to be leaving it, but I couldn't rationalise doing anything else - whether it was the right decision or the wrong one. I was leaving it.
I used to always be waiting by the stage entrance when Harry arrived to go out. Even after our first date, I remembered that I'd been waiting for him, nervously and excitedly anticipating his arrival, clad in feathers and exuding glamour. I liked how that dynamic had shifted; I liked how we would typically arrive together, now - I got to watch the others surface from their dressing rooms with Harry already here, and his arms around my waist.
Elin surfaced first, and made me even sadder by pulling me into a hug. It was all getting very emotional, and I'd never have expected that anybody would care so much that I was leaving. I exhaled shakily, not wanting to get caught up in it. I wasn't sure I'd ever had something so great that I'd had to struggle to say goodbye to it; but here I was. The night wasn't over yet, though - and so despite how relentlessly I was being tortured by my own head; I needed to be as present as I could.
Harry's performance was incredible. It always was, but tonight felt indescribable. It wasn't uncommon for me to analyse his every move, but tonight, I did so more than ever. I watched each content, grateful sigh from his lips as he peered around his happy place, taking it all in. He didn't give me as many subtle winks and smiles as he always did, and I knew he was trying to be mindful about our interactions with the heightened attention on us. I might have been bothered by it on any other night, but I was too focused on trying to immerse myself in the show. I was too busy trying to ignore everything that was wrong. If I could just force it, maybe it would work.
Harry and I were due a long conversation, and we had a decision to make about how to move forward. I hated that it was looming over tonight like a dark cloud, only worsened by every other seemingly endless difficulty I was facing right now. I knew he loved me, and I loved him, but I'd never faced a situation like this with somebody like him not only by my side, but to consider with my decisions.
Harry said his typical thank you's, but with a little more emotion than usual. I knew he was sad to be leaving the US, for he really did enjoy it here, even if he was only leaving to continue touring the remainder of the world. Plus, it was never long until he was back again.
"Thank you... thank you, for always accepting us here with open arms," he spoke as beautifully as he always did - his hand on his heart as he peered around the packed arena like it was merely a small room of his closest friends. "I've never felt as happy as I have on this tour... getting to be with all of you. I've never felt a love quite like this one," he said, then, and I felt my heart thump. He was addressing the room, but even as he barely let his eyes flicker to me, his words hung heavily on my heart, and I knew the intention. I'd never felt one like it, either - with him, with the band, and within the rooms he's filled every single night on this tour.
"I promise, we'll never be away for too long. We'll always come back for as long as you'll have us," he finished, as the crowd erupted into deafening cheers at the idea of him already planning to return before he'd even left. "I can't express how grateful I am for all of this. All of you - thank you-"
I knew he meant every word. He was so beautiful in that way - he never lost sight of how grateful he was to be here; never took it for granted. It was yet another endlessly admirable quality of his.
The show ended in the same electric manner that all of them did. The crowd was deafening and Harry gave it his all, as did the band - each of them exchanging wide grins and bouncing around happily as if this was the first time they'd heard these final songs. Harry looked so elated, caught up in his enjoyment. The energy was indescribable, even as I stood still - photographing it, desperate to take in every little morsel before I had to let go of it. This was unlike anything else. I'd been so lucky to have this.
The buzz in the room took the edge off my anxieties temporarily. When I reunited with Harry and the others backstage, they were all smiling widely; panting with exhaustion. The adrenaline pumping through me gave me a brief reprieve from how heavy the previous days had been, and it sort of gave me an odd sense of hope. Hope - going into this inevitable conversation with my boyfriend this evening - that somehow, it'd be alright. I couldn't even keep up with my own verdict.
Harry was required to go and socialise only a little more tonight - just to show his face, really - with a few more executives and people in positions that I'd already forgotten the titles of. He'd told me earlier on, and he did his usual in ensuring I was okay before reluctantly leaving me behind. They'd be coming to his dressing room - mainly for a few pictures and formalities. He'd told me it would be half an hour, at most, and so I took the opportunity to spend more time with Elin and Pauli before I didn't really have the chance.
Mitch and Sarah had headed back to the hotel, leaving me with the other two - not that I overly-minded, though it would've been nice to hang out with everybody. I'd be seeing them tomorrow, anyway, for our typical routine before we parted ways at the airport that afternoon, and so I couldn't hold much of a grudge for their absence. I knew everybody was tired.
The proposal Elin had given yesterday regarding heading out for drinks had sort of fallen through. It was never a formal plan, but I didn't particularly mind that, either. I was silently glad I didn't have to go out and make a lot of effort - I was content hanging out with Elin and Pauli, and then heading home with Harry when we had the chance. I was also glad that we had tomorrow - I didn't have to start dwelling just yet. I could still cling onto avoidance, in knowing I'd see my friends again in the morning.
We talked a little about what my plans were after I'd headed home, and I sort of bluffed my way through the conversations. There wasn't huge substance in anything I was saying, for it all relied on me being able to go back and somehow reacquire the job that I'd been careless enough to lose. I was thankful neither of them asked about how Harry and I planned to move forward, because it wouldn't have been a question I'd have known how to answer. It was supposed to be enough, when you loved somebody - wasn't it? Why did it have to feel so complicated?
Elin and Pauli's unprecedented capability to lighten up any situation meant that I felt a lot brighter by the time I separated from them to go back to Harry. We were supposed to leave, all together - again, to ensure Harry and I weren't seen just as a pair - and so I told them I'd see them in just a few minutes, after I'd gone back to fetch Harry.
It had felt good to laugh for a little while, and have some light conversation that predominately veered away from all the relentless turmoil I was aching to be free of. I almost felt somewhat okay, though I knew it was pretty vapid. It was up and down. It never took much to completely destroy any optimism I'd mustered up, but this one did feel particularly fragile. I was putting a mask back on, and I hadn't even realised it. I hadn't quite realised how increasingly vulnerable I was, right now. I was ignoring the problem, whilst simultaneously fixating on it like it was all I knew how to do.
I texted Harry to tell him I was on my way when I was only really a minute or so from opening the dressing room door. I approached the door, reaching for the handle only seconds after I'd sent the text to him, leaving him no real chance to reply, and leaving him no real chance to warn me that Stella was waiting on the other side of it.
She opened the door before I could, and I was greeted with her perfect exterior in front of me - that exterior that always made me feel like I'd ought to just shrivel up and die, in comparison. Her face was set - her eyebrows arched, and I was a little unsettled to find her greeting me at the door of my boyfriend's dressing room. I looked up, puzzled, blinking a couple of times as she spoke to me, in a rare occasion.
"Oh, there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up."