Holiday Hell

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Harry hadn't the stomach for lunch. The anxiety of even walking with her was enough for his mouth to go completely dry and absorb any train of thought he potentially had in order to initiate conversation. He didn't know how to talk to her. Once a upon a time, it was the easiest thing in the world. They would conversate like their lives depended on it. They used to share their hopes and dreams, the darkness within them and their frequent nightmares. There was not a second that would pass between them that would not be filled with comfortable smiles and laughter. Now, all they had between them was an awkward gap to prevent their hands from accidentally brushing against one another and this painful silence. It was like he had been stabbed in the heart once more. All the heartbreak and torment they shared in their relationship came back a million times more sharp. It was like a sickness he had thought he had found the treatment too, returning to beckon him to the final kill.

What was worse was that she looked absolutely stunning. He wasn't completely certain that she wasn't wearing any makeup as he eyelashes were naturally long and her face was as clear as day. He decided to himself that she was probably wearing foundation, concealer and a dozen other products in order to create that amount of radiance. Though he knew that beneath all of that, she would still remain beautiful. It wasn't like he could switch off his feelings for her. They weren't like a tap. They were ever running, constant, unleaving. They were a part of him forever, whether he liked it or not. His love for her was limitless.

But that didn't make this a date. No, not at all. This was a quiet reconcilliation with no hope of a future together. A friendly catchup, if you will. He knew for a fact that she no longer saw him in the way he saw her. There was no chance in hell that she would take him back anyway, even he wanted to himself. They were the perfect jigsaw puzzle that detonated the bomb that destroyed both of their lives. They may have fit together but the results were catastrophic.

Besides, it was just lunch. Lunch meant nothing. It meant a sandwich in the sun. A cheeky glass of wine. It wasn't a date. Not at all. He felt he had convinced himself quite a bit, now.

They sat opposite one another at a quiet table in the corner, not drawing much attention to themselves whatsoever. That was just how Harry liked it. They each opened a menu and he found himself burying his face in it, not wanting to make eye contact. He knew the effect she had on him was way more powerful than he was. One glance and he would be gone - desperate to make amends, forgetting the countless reasons as to why they didn't work.He would be back in that trance she had created, back to making a fool of himself.

The waiter came over to take their over and she stared right at him with a twinkle in her ocean eyes as she ordered the chicken salad and a water. He stammered that he would like a BLT and some orange juice. He only broke eye contact once the waiter left. He didn't even know if the water was a man or woman. All of his other senses had totally shut down the second he laid eyes on her. It was if she were a supernatural being, a siren entrancing him to look at her and only her. He felt his cheeks flush and coughed awkwardly to fill the silence.

"You look so handsome," she beamed at him, a lilt in her tone. She fanned her face in the heat and let her hand run slowly through her hair. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. She was in control and she loved it more than life itself. More than she ever loved him. "Have you lost weight?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, maybe."

Detecting his discomfort, she leaned in closer and grinned even wider. "Well, you look all the better for it!" She reached her hand over and brushed a hand through his hair. "Your hair looks great. You stopped putting that awful jel in it. I'm glad. It looks way nicer." He leaned further back in his chair so he couldn't reach her. "What?" she questioned.

"I-- I have to go the bathroom," came the response. He had no idea what he was saying. He just knew he needed to get out of this situation, to leave. He couldn't cope much longer. He felt the sweat running down his back as he jumped out of his seat. He marched towards the toilets, eyes spaced out and trailing the floor. He wasn't looking where he was going and managed to bump into a couple of waiters along the way, who seemed a little miffed but were disinterested at his inner toilmoil. Of course they didn't care. They didn't know him. They didn't get it.

Thankfully, nobody was inside the toilets when he burst the door open. He raced towards the sink and buried his head on the side for a moment. He longed to bash his head against the counter but thought better of it, not wanting to explain the sudden bruises on his head once he went back out there. Because, no matter what, eventually he did have to go back out there. He couldn't just abandon her. That would make things a million times worse. He initially thought that God sent her here to torment him. Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe he had sent her here in order so they could get closure on their relationship. So they could move on, so he could be truly happy once again. True happiness was something he had dearly missed. This was his chance to achieve it once again.

Harry returned to the table with nothing but guilt painted in his regretful, lovesick eyes. He knew deep in his hearts that his feelings for her would never fade and that was the worst part. Loving somebody who you knew for a fact was toxic. The heart wanted what it wanted, no matter how much pain and suffering it would endure to obtain its own form of happiness. He hated himself deeply for it.

"You were gone a while," she teased, eyelashes fluttering gracefully.

"Sorry," was all he could muster. "There was a line."

"I was just kidding. God, you're so uptight. Relax. It's me, for Christ's sake. You know me."

That was the thing. The reason why they could never be together. He knew her better than he could ever know himself. All of her flaws had become untangled before his eyes and she was naked. He could predict her next move and know the exact psychological reasoning for it. She was a force not be reconned with. She was unfixable. Neither was he. All they had to do was stay apart. That way neither of them could cause any harm to one another. It was way better that way. Once he had obtained some form of closure from her, they would walk away from each other. Never to be seen again. That was the way life had to be. For both of their sakes, for the rest of their lives. They were much better people apart. That was the only way they could cope in life.

"I loved you, you know," uttered Abigail, so quiet that he could barely hear it himself. It was not attention, it was a mumble of a confession. She was silently pouring her heart out to him.

A few moments of silence went by. He wasn't sure how he was meant to respond to that. This kind of situation wasn't something you read about in books. It was awkward, chilling. If only he had some kind of manual then he would be golden.

"You broke my heart. Into millions of tiny little pieces," she continued so he didn't have to. He felt a little more content but the more she spoke he felt the anxiety seep through his veins, sending his entire body on edge. "You hurt me, goddamn it. You hurt me so bad. I've never let anybody hurt me like that. How could you do that to me? I thought you loved me. I really did. I really thought we were--"

Tears began to spew from her eyeballs. A sob emerged from her throat. Before he knew it, there he was, sitting across from a bawling girl while he sat there frozen, straight face, unable to move or say anything or do anything. A sickness caused any possible apology to sink back down his throat until he was unable to breathe. He didn't know how he was supposed to respond to this situation whatsoever. He wanted to leave, to get out of here, to magically teleport back home - his real home, not his hotel room - and bury himself under the covers of his nice warm bed. Though that wasn't possible right now.

She raised her head from the burial of her hands and gazed at him. Those sad eyes transformed into something else. Was it confusion? Was it understanding? No. It was undeniable rage.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" she asked him, though the tone was unlike any other question he had ever been asked before. Her voice had dropped an octave and carried no emotion whatsoever apart from built up anger. It was almost monotone and he felt a chill run through him.

"I-" he began though she would never, ever let him finish. There was no way in Hell.

"I? I? That's really mature, Harry. You tear me apart by breaking up with me randomly and you can't even manage to f*****g apologise. What does that make you, Harry? Some kind of f*****g psychopath? No, that doesn't even begin to cover it. Do you realise what you've done to me, Harry? You've left me to burst out into tears in this f*****g restaurant! You don't understand what you did. You will never understand how much hurt you caused me that day and what has never stopped ever since. How dare you do this to me."

She stood up and threw the breadbasket all over him. Fresh rolls bounced off the table and onto the cold concrete floor. He stood up out of pure shock, and felt the need to act, to do something. But he physically was unable to do anything.

"Don't even bother to call me. Don't bother to do anything. Just leave me alone, yeah? For good this time."

With that, she stormed out off the restaurant and he stood there, eyes of judgement burning into his soul, doing nothing. Her sudden mood swing had thrown him completely offguard. What happened between him leaving for the bathroom and coming back? Confusion circled its way through his tired brain. He had no idea what he was meant to do. Was he supposed to go after her? He decided against that. With the mood she was in, he was 99% certain it would end in his quick brutal death. Instead, he chose to play it safe and actively avoid her from that moment forward. That girl... was beyond psycho. She was crazy. She was insane. She was....

She was the goddamn love of his life and he resented it. She was the one, he was certain of it.

No. He pushed these misleading, twisted thoughts out of his sensitive mind. She was not the one. She was batshit crazy. He was so much better without her.

This was the closure, he thought to himself. The proof that reconciliation would do nothing to mend the relationship, instead making it a million times worse. He smiled to himself and began to pick the bread up all over the floor. He left the waiters a nice little tip for the disturbance and went on.