Letters to Paris

Louis
Paul, sat infront of me, in the local cafe the group was in – whe’ll minus Harry. Now, usually Paul was a very timely man, and was usually fine if we showed up five or ten minutes late, - it had been an hour. I’d had several cups of coffee, and three teas, Niall, had just ordered his third plate of food.

I really needed to pee.

Just as I was about to get up, Harry strolled in, a very guilty look adorning his face.

Paul stood up, and grabbed Harry by the shoulder roughly, pushing him out the door.

Harry was in shit.

Deep shit.

I mean, I didn't think Harry’s punishment was too, overboard. In a week, he’d be able to go out meandering along the streets again, just not anytime this week.

And I was fine with it until he told us why he had been late.

It was almost as if the world stopped around me.

I couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything, and couldn't feel anything.

I had gone completely numb.

It was like a CD on repeat,

“I was out with Chanel, sorry. We lost track of time.”

What a painful sentence.

“I was out with Chanel. With Chanel. CHANEL.”

My brain was screaming.

Almost mocking me.

Niall, was waving his hand back and forth in front of my face, repeatedly as I came back into focus.

All I could stutter out, was the measly sentence.

He lied to me,

My best friend.

We were suppose to tell each other everything, even our secrets.

“Harry, you lied to me?”

And then, I walked out of the cafe. Down the street, not paying attention to my surroundings at all.

Not the smartest action.