Cheated Hearts

I woke up the next morning, feeling like a ton of bricks were crashing on my head. My mind throbbed with the images of the night before. Harper's face had been my dreams. Her words reverberated in every corner of my brain. When I awakened, my arm instinctively reached out and felt for Harper. It was met with nothing, just cold sheets.

My eyes smarted for a second and I miserably turned my stare towards the ceiling. I couldn't remember the last time I'd really cried. It may have been when my mother told me that my father had gotten married again and that I would have to be his best man. That was the moment I realized that my father had abandoned me and moved on to another family. I was not his priority. I had been eight years old.

But now, here I was twenty four, a grown man, and I was crying over stupid Harper Summers. She had ruined everything. She had turned everything I cared about and twisted it with her perfect, little fingers. I had stayed there, fighting the burning sensation in my eyes for who knows how long when there was a soft knock on my door.

I knew who it was. Harper stood at my door in a baggy white tee shirt and some sweatpants. She looked awful, with dark rings around her eyes and a runny, red nose.

"Hi," she whispered and stared up at me with a cold look.

"Hi," I repeated and stepped aside to let her pass. She immediately sat at the small dining table in the kitchen and let her hands rest on the table like she was waiting for me. I sat across from her and looked at my shoes. I hated her. I hated her. I hated her.

When I finally looked up to hesitantly meet her brown eyes, she had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"You c–can't even look at me," she sobbed and held her face in her hands.

I stared at her. It pained me to watch her cry; there was that part of me that screamed for me hug her and kiss her hair and tell her it was okay and that I forgave her. She had been drunk. She had thought I had cheated on her. There were so many reasons that this part of my heart threw at me.

The angry part of me won though.

"I can't look at you the same, Harper. I just... I can't," I muttered.

"Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck Fuck," she murmured and looked up at me with sorrowful eyes. "I have to tell you something."

"What?" I said dismally. It couldn't get any worse.

"I slept with Oliver last night," she whispered.

I was wrong. It could get worse and it did. I saw red and found myself digging my nails into the skin of my forearm.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" I spat through gritted teeth.

"I was angry," Harper cried, "I made a mistake. It was a mistake."

She seemed to try to lean over and touch my hand but I cringed away from her like she was dripping acid. She sobbed harder and put a hand up to her face.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she crooned over and over again, "I love you. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that," I hissed.

Harper stared at me.

"Don't say you love me. You don't. You don't love anything," I whispered angrily, "Why do you say that if you don't mean it? Why did you say it in the first place?"
Harper's eyes watered and she bit her lip.

"I... You let me move in with you. You loved me. So I said it b–back."

I blinked at her. She didn't love me. She had just said it because I had let her move in. She just said it because she knew she had me wrapped around her finger. It clicked.

"Get the fuck out!" I shouted.

Harper stood up. Tears weren't covering her cheeks anymore. It was like a switch had gone off.

"Fine," she said defiantly, "Fine. You just know, Keaton, that no one will put up with your bullshit ever."

"Thanks Harper, now get the fuck out. I'll pack your shit up for you and chuck it out the window. Now leave."

Her eyes narrowed and she walked out the door with sharp, agitated movements. "I really do love you, Keaton and I really am sorry," she whispered before slamming the door shut with a loud thud.

______________________________________________________________________________

It had been hours before I'd gotten back the ability to move. I reached up for my coat and found myself taking the subway downtown. I wended through the city blindly, only thinking of my destination.

I climbed up the stairs to the apartment and knocked on the door heavily. Chloe's tragic face met my own and she immediately reached out her arms for me. There was no conversation. There was nothing but my heavy breathing and her soft whispers of comfort.

She understood what it was like to lose a dream.