Tongue-Tied

I don't know long I sat out there crying for. It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been. I sat on those stairs until I was absolutely freezing, my whole body convulsing not only with sobs, but with the cold. I finally pulled myself up off the ground, and went inside.

The house was quiet, all the lights shut off. I flicked some on, and scanned the living room, which was the first room you entered when stepping in. I saw Harry's coat balanced carefully on the corner of my sofa, and pushed it to the floor. I didn't even bother looking at all the pictures of us plastered on the walls, in frames, on the fridge. We did everything together. It was going to be hard to escape that.

It already was.

I wandered aimlessly around my house for almost ten minutes, and everywhere I went was haunted by ghosts. I felt the wisp of a memory at every doorway, in every room. I'd worked so hard for this house, the whole time Harry and I were together. When I fell short on payments, Harry picked up the slack. It wasn't a huge house by any means, if anything it was absolutely tiny, but it was mine. I bought it, it was mine.

Harry was thinking about moving in.

I guess that wasn't happening anymore. If I couldn't keep paying for the house, I'd probably get kicked out. It wasn't like he was going to help me pay anymore, and my job alone wasn't enough to pay for this and feed me at the same time. Maybe I'd have to move back in with Mom.

I shivered, walking into my bedroom, where Harry had slept only last night. I could still smell his cologne clinging to the sheets, and I wrinkled my nose. I'd have to wash them.

I was almost numb now. Like I was having an outer-body experience. My mind knew Harry was gone, he wasn't coming back. It was over, all over... but my body eased into bed, reaching over to grab him and bury myself in his chest before I fell asleep. I went through the motions of realizing he was gone, but they weren't real. It was like it almost didn't happen, like I was sleeping, and I'd wake up pretty soon and everything would be fine.

But the bed was empty and cold. There was far too much space for one person, and I could roll over without squashing Harry's arm as I tended to do. When I stretched, I didn't kick him in the shin. When I let out a groan, he didn't hiss "Penny, it's time for bed". He wasn't there.

He wouldn't be, ever again.



The flat was a ghost town of Penny.

Everywhere I turned I saw a picture of her, lips on my cheek. They were in frames on every flat surface, taped onto the fridge, even scattered across my dresser, just waiting to be put in an album.

I hated it. As soon as I walked in, I smashed all the picture frames down. I heard the crack of broken glass, but ignored it, and stalked off to my bedroom.

I hated this flat. I hated it more than I've ever hated anything in the world. It was the same one I lived in when I first met Penny. Weird to think how she'd moved out before I had. She had goals, that girl, goals I would never be able to live up to. Maybe it was better this way.

Louis had moved out, and I had been on my way to do so before tonight. I was moving in to Penny's place, though I wanted to buy a nicer place for us, she insisted on buying a house all by herself. Of course, I filled in the cracks every now and again, but she probably could've if she set her mind to it. It blew me away how dedicated she was to everything.

The bedroom was a mess. Clothes strewn about carelessly, food containers, garbage... if Penny saw this, she'd probably wrinkle her nose in that cute way she always does, and make me clean before she even thought about stepping in again.

I couldn't help but think it was always going to be like this. Penny this, Penny that. Relating everything I did, or didn't do, to her. I could already feel it, as I stripped off my clothes, and sat on the side of the bed. I let my head fall into my hands, and rubbed my temples, trying to slow my thoughts. Everything was racing, it had been all night. Everything happened too fast, and I didn't know what to do, I had no way to stop it.

I felt my blood boil, and I stretched my hands. I watched the joints as I opened and closed my fist. I watched the veins in my wrist become more apparent with every strain on my forearm. I imagined my fingers intertwined with Penny's, and looked away.

On my wall was a large framed picture of us on our one year anniversary. I'd been on tour, but she'd come out and surprised me. The picture was absolutely perfect. It was a candid shot of her greeting me backstage, taken by good old Louis. I had never loved her more than in that moment. She looked so beautiful, we looked so happy.

Everything was a blur. Everything happened so fast. I was on my feet again, and I watched my fist open and close. Open. Close.

And I collided it with the glass.

It shattered down the floor into a mass of clothes, broken glass stabbing into my knuckles. I felt the heat of blood slide down my wrist, but I ignored it. The picture fell out of it's broken frame, slowly wilting, and falling to the ground.

I didn't let myself calm down. I didn't even bother going to the bathroom to bandage my bloody hand. I just flicked off the light, and crawled into bed. I curled up like a baby that needed it's Mother, and just prayed I'd be able to get even an hour of sleep.