Those Maudlin Days

Working full time wasn't ideal for a student, but somehow, the schedule worked with my classes. I worked early hours when I had Music Theory in the evening on Wednesdays, worked nights when I was forced to go to my two academic classes back to back twice a week in the mornings. I was only taking a few credits fall semester; somehow over the summer, I had managed my way into a local orchestra and on top of my draining job and sizable amount of studying, I also found myself dedicating a good number of hours to practicing my instrument as well. To be fair, though, the latter was as enjoyable as it was stressful. My violin had become a part of me, and just as the other parts of me, some days I loved it, some days I contemplated smashing it against a wall.

But to say the least, I was swamped.

Luckily for me, it was Friday. I had gotten through the week and beyond my good eight hour shift, I was free to do as I pleased. I got teased by Chase all day long at Costa and his voice taunted me even on the drive home, 'Erin loves her homosexual pretty boys!' But I refrained from making a comment about how he, too, could have been considered a pretty boy, what with his bright smile, chocolate brown eyes and shaggy blonde hair -- he would have just taken the insult as a pass. Instead, I continued to wear my phony smile and when three in the afternoon came around, I clocked out immediately. I couldn't wait to get home.

Being a terrible driver, I hated the ride. But nothing was said 'home, sweet home' like entering my small flat only to hear the television just barely under my roommate's infuriated screams.

"Why the hell would you pick her? She's just going to cheat on your sorry arse!" A too familiar voice yelled from the living room and with a scoff, the remote turned the entertainment device off, slamming back onto the black wood, low coffee table. I closed the door behind me, slipping my heavy coat from my shoulders as footsteps came towards me.

A girl in black sweatpants, a baggy tee and a messy bun came into view -- my flatmate, Abigail. Her dark locks bobbed in their confinement with every step she took, but her hazel eyes seemed to lack interest in anything around her. As she moved into the kitchen, she grumbled to me, "Bachelor's a fucking twat."

"Who'd he pick?" I questioned, as I followed her lead and went towards the fridge. She sat on the counter, picking at a granola bar I had left half eaten on the counter earlier that day. I managed to hide my distaste by turning my back and looking into the refrigerator for something substantial to eat. Honestly, I didn't care who did what to win a reality television show by 'stealing' a man's heart over the other several women she was put against. But I knew it was the only thing Abigail had done all day and asking about it would thus make her feel slightly productive.

"Felicia, that Cuban bitch with the accent," she muttered, crinkling her nose and looking down at the granola bar. She tossed it out, obviously displeased. "Tastes like shit."

I managed to find grapes that were still somewhat ripe at the very back and as I attempted to find a clean bowl somewhere, I furrowed my brow. "How odd, that she'd have an accent when she's Cuban."

"Smartass," Abigail snickered. Nevertheless, she got her payback as she stole bits of my meal, taking the grapes from the stem and popping them into her mouth without washing them. She glanced over at me, not bothering to swallow before speaking. "So how was your day, sweetie? Manage to make the money to feed our child?"

As if on cue, our kitten who we had affectionately named 'Cat' after the feline in Breakfast at Tiffany's jumped onto the counter, meowing for affection. I smiled, leaning down and giving her a sweet kiss on her wet nose before deciding to take the Abigail route with the grapes and leave the bowl behind. Leaning my hip against the sink, I thought aloud as I inspected the somewhat mushy fruit. "Let's see. I pretended to be entirely too cheery for hundreds of strangers, tried not to injure my coworker for being an absolute moron, caught up with Liam Payne and oh! I got a huge bruise on my arm when Amber opened the back door and hit me. Want to see?"

I was just beginning to roll up the sleeve of my dirty Costa work shirt when Abigail threw a grape at me. It hit me in the cheek and rolled onto the floor. "Wait, what? Did I hear a One Direction name within that unbelievably boring speech?"

My blue eyes glanced up at her. "Does this mean you don't want to see my bruise?"

She shot me a death glare, but I sighed in defeat, rolling my sleeve back down. Abigail wasn't a big fan of One Direction, but she adored tabloids and celebrities alike. I was consistently hearing about the lives of people I didn't know of. When Kristen Stewart cheated on Robert Pattinson, I listened to all the gossip as Abigail read aloud from her trusty tabloids. When Miley Cyrus was caught with Salvia, the internet became her guru. And when the royal wedding took over the UK, I constantly had to endure the television being in use to rewatch it a million times from every channel that had aired it. It was only natural that she knew exactly who Liam Payne was, outside of knowing that I went to secondary school with him.

"He came into work today with his bandmates. We chatted for a bit." I shrugged nonchalantly, going back to the fridge for the pitcher of water.

"His bandmates? You mean all the boys in the band?"

As I pulled the pitcher of water from the fridge and set it down on the counter, I just gave her a look; it was too easy to pick at. Abigail caught on to her stupid question and threw another grape at me. "You met One Direction and you didn't tell me that as you walked in the door? Who are you?"

"Will you stop wasting my lunch?" I snapped, grabbing two glasses. "You seemed entirely too into your reality show. And anyway, it's not a big deal. It's just Liam and his friends."

Abigail scoffed, grabbing her glass of water and rolling her eyes. "No, it's Liam Payne and the others of One Direction. They have thousands of teenage girls around the world, hoping to see them even from a distance one day, and you managed to hold a conversation with them."

My mind reeled at this. I had always known that Liam had gotten rather big. His face could be seen on buses, billboards and it didn't help that especially in Wolverhampton, people were proud to say that this was his hometown. But I had never really thought too much of it. To me, he was still the gentleman who spent too much time working out, only had so many friends, and could talk about music for hours on end. But with time, people changed. And I had seen it today, hadn't I? Liam was a busy guy, only in town for a bit. Still a gentleman, it seemed, but unlike before, he seemed out of my reach and with our friendship having been so strong just two years ago, it was sad to realize.

I was pushed out of my thoughts when Abigail tapped my leg with her foot, her hands occupied by giving Cat the attention she had been pleading for. "So what happened?"

What had happened? I thought back to the few moments that work hadn't entirely dragged on at work and with another shrug, I chewed on a grape. "Nothing really. His bandmates teased him about being homesick, he teased me about being a Costa girl and I teased one of his mates for hitting on me."

"One of them hit on you?"

It was a reaction I completely expected. If there was one thing Abigail bothered me most about, beyond the fact that I had had the same haircut for over a year and could dress a little nicer now and again, it was that 'I didn't let loose and have some fun.' And by fun, she meant had my fair share of dirty tales. Abigail, outside of causing a ruckus at the gallery she worked for and very occasionally attending her Art History courses at the university herself, also enjoyed spending her free time at pubs and clubs in search of someone cute to 'have fun with' for a night. Every time she invited me, I politely declined and she would give me the same speech that mostly consisted of reminders that I hadn't had a boyfriend since Robert Tickerman, who hadn't even been my boyfriend, but my date to prom who fondled my chest on the dancefloor and asked if I wanted to 'get frisky in a motel after the night was over.' To be honest, I just wasn't looking. My days were packed and last thing I needed to worry about was the stupid drama that came with a relationship or the always petty aftermath of a one night stand.

"I guess he hit on me. He said my accent was cute, gave me his number and kissed my hand," I mumbled. The more details I shared, the more she'd push so I was pensive as I spoke.

"Which one? Who was it? Give me a name, woman!" Abigail pushed, her foot repeatedly whacking my rear as I attempted to seem very interested in finding a ripe grape. Eventually though, I snapped and pushed her leg away.

"It was Harry, Harry Styles!" I barked at her, blowing my bangs out from behind my glasses and dropped the few grapes I had in my hands back into the container. "But it doesn't matter who it was, alright? It's not like I'm going to go for it."

"Harry Styles gave you his number and you're not going to go for it? Are you fucking mental?" She yelled back at me, but didn't even stick around to listen to my reasoning. She was already moving towards the front door. My brow furrowed. What was she going to do, search all through Wolverhampton for the boys and give Harry my number in return?

As small of a chance as it was, I didn't dare allow it to happen. I followed Abigail as I tried to talk to her. "I'm not mental, I'm just not interested." My flatmate stopped at the coat rack beside the door much to my pleasure, but as her hands moved through rain coats, scarves and coats, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for your goddamn phone!" She cried, as she finally found my small, brown bag and pushed her hand into it. With my phone being the size of a brick -- it was one of those free phones that came with the network contract -- she easily found it, pulling it out and immediately looking through my contacts, no doubt for Harry's number. I just rolled my eyes.

"It's not in my phone, you dud," I snickered. Putting my hand into the tight pocket of my black skinny jeans, I pulled out the gum wrapper that had those seven digits in his sloppy handwriting and raised it up, "It's right here."

Her eyes lifted from my cell's screen to the paper and instantly, she jumped forward to grab it from me. But I stepped back quickly, stumbling over my own feet. Without much thought, I tore the small paper in four pieces. "No! I'm not going to call him! And neither are you."

"Erin!" Abigail nearly screeched. But the damage was done.

I moved to the trash bin, lazily dropping the pieces in as I made my way to my bedroom. Cat followed me as I called back to the defeated girl in the kitchen, "It's better this way, Abby!"

She didn't fight back, which should have been my first concern, but as I closed the door behind me, I was too exhausted to over think the silence that had taken over the small flat. Instead, I got rid of my work clothes and found my comfortable pajamas with ease. Putting my hair up and glancing at my violin, I debated practicing for a bit, but decided that I had earned a quiet night. So instead, I moved back out to the living room, hoping to snag the television before Abigail wasted away the rest of her day.

Instead, I found her still in the kitchen. But she looked very focused on my phone and after a brief moment, I caught sight of why. The gum wrapper was placed back on the counter, all four pieces put together again. I screamed, "Abigail, stop!"

She looked up at me, but her fingers continued to tick away. I took this chance to run at her, my hands out stretched for my brick of a phone, but she saw it coming and ran to the living room. "No! This is good for you! Now if only I could work your stupid T9!"

She got to the coffee table before me, cowering on the other side as she texted, frequently looking up at me to see if I was going to chase her. But I knew that if I went one way, she'd go the other and we'd be playing cat and mouse until she sent the text.

"I don't want to spend time with Harry Styles!" I argued, but she ignored me. I couldn't stand it anymore. Stepping onto the table, I kicked off the remote in the process, but tackled my flatmate to the couch. She managed to outstretch her arm, pushing me away with her free one and with the other hand, she clicked away. I could read the text as she typed it out.

'Hey, it's Erin. Didn't mean to come off so cold today at work. Super tiring. But I wouldn't mind hanging out soon. You in?'

"You do! I know you do!" Abigail continued to fight.

"I don't! I don't! I don't!" But by the third, loudest cry, we both watched the screen flicker to the 'sending' page before the little envelope came up and almost as if it was rubbing it in my face, wrote, 'sent!'

Abigail dropped her arm and a silence washed over us. Our eyes met, our faces entirely too close from our mini wrestling match, and we stayed like that for a good couple minutes before the phone buzzed between us again.

I was the one to grab it and open the message.

'Well, well, well, look who finally came around! Wouldn't mind spending some time with someone who isn't paid to keep an eye on me. How about tomorrow, love? I'll take you up on that pub date. ;) x'

A giggle came from beside me and Abigail, in her small voice, said, "You have a date with Harry Styles."

My eyes were still on my phone, but I whacked her in the arm and sneered, "Shut up."