Mistakes

Once my mind was made up, it was made up. There was no changing it. I had a one track mind. So when my uncle dropped me off at my flat, I headed straight for my room. First thing I did, was change. I couldn't be in his clothes for another second.

My room was a mess by the time I finished. All my clothes were strewn across the floor. My hats and scarves along with them. Every piece of his clothing, hats, and scarves -that he used as those stupid headbands- were thrown in a box. Next was the rest of my flat. He had trinkets. Everywhere. There was literally no reason this stuff should've still been here. It'd been months since we broke up. But I guess when you get so used to seeing the things on a daily basis, you don't realize they're there.

His toothbrush was still here. His damn toothbrush. That was right next to mine. He had rings laying around. I mean, how did I miss all of this? Was I really that blind?

Once everything was all neatly folded and put in the box, I shut the flaps and taped them shut. Next thing I did was pack it down the stairs and put it in the boot of my car. And of course it started pouring down rain as soon as I slammed it shut. Great. But whatever. At least it matches my mood. Might as well embrace it. I hurriedly climbed in the driver seat and started the car. Did I really want to go over there now? No. Did I need to return his stuff? Yes. Did I have a fear of running into him? Yes. Did I plan on making polite conversation? Hell no. But I was doing it because I needed to do it. This was all a part of moving on.

Logan Masters @LoganMasters
'Cause you’re the definition of someone who has to ruin the best thing that I ever had


As soon as I pulled up to his house in Hampstead, I was having second thoughts. I ignored the thoughts and punched in the passcode. It was the same as it always was. Five-seven-two-nine. No lights were on in the house. The garage door was closed. So I took it as no one was home. I parked my car and turned it off, then climbed out and got the box. Once the boot was shut, I trudged to the back door. His front porch could barely be called a front porch. And I knew he had a hide-a-key in the dead potted plant by his back door. The key slid in the keyhole and I turned it, unlocking the door and pushing the door open.

His kitchen was a mess. And it smelled. Like death. But at least his dishwasher was running. And it sounded like his washer and dryer were running too. Instead of getting sidetracked by cleaning his dirty kitchen, I placed the big box on his table and headed straight for his junk drawer. The small Barbie notepad that I got him as a joke was in there along with the bright pink ink pen.



I left the notebook open on top of the box along with a framed picture of us. It was my favorite picture of us. We may have been car parked but we were both happy and we were both smiling. One hundred percent, through and through, true smiles. Our eyes were sparkling. Our arms were around each other. We were in love. It was good times. Now, not so much. They were just memories. Ones that I wanted to forget.

"Fuck!"

What the bloody hell? My first instinct was to grab the nearest kitchen utensil -a pizza cutter- and quietly creep upstairs. So I did just that. The closer I got to the second level of the house, the more apparent the sound of soft music became clearer. Snow Patrol to be exact.

You could be happy and I won't know
But you weren't happy the day I watched you go

And all the things that I wished I had not said
Are played in loops 'till it's madness in my head—

That was our band. We would play them and obnoxiously sing along. It was our thing. With the pizza cutter held up, ready to protect myself, I slowly pushed open the master bedroom door. I had never seen such a mess. He was a fairly clean person, especially for being a nineteen year old teenage boy. It looked like a bloody hurricane came through and destroyed his whole room. It looked worse then mine did at the moment.

Most of what I remember makes me sure
I should have stopped you from walking out the door

You could be happy, I hope you are
You made me happier than I'd been by far

Somehow everything I own smells of you
And for the tiniest moment it's all not true

Do the things that you always wanted to
Without me there to hold you back, don't think, just do

"'Ello?" I called softly. "If you're a robber, I've got a gun and I know how to use it." Might as well lie and try to scare the possible burglar.

A faint but deep voice came from the closet. "Now I'm hearing stuff. This shit is really getting to me."

What. Is going. On?

"Harry?"

"'M losing my damn mind."

Feeling as if my life was no longer in danger, I laid the pizza cutter on his big, black dresser and padded across the carpeted floor to his closet. The door was open and the light was on, but all I could see of him were his long, jean clad legs and bare feet. "Harry?" I asked, stepping into the closet. God, it smelled of whiskey.

"I can't hear you," he sang, drunkenly. "You're just me imagination." With a roll of my eyes, I stopped in front of his pissed self and crouched down.

There he sat between rows of clothes with no shirt on and a half empty bottle of Midleton Very Rare, Irish whiskey. Damn Niall for getting him that shit. He knew Harry didn't take his hard liquor very well. Now his pints, he could handle like no other. Champagne too. But whiskey? No way in bloody hell.

His glassy, half lidded eyes stared at me for the longest time. "Is this real life?"

"For fuck sakes," I grumbled. My hand ripped the bottle from his hands and sat it on a shelf where his trainers were supposed to be. I then stood up and used both my hands to grab his and pull him up. The next thing he did, scared the living hell out of me. He screamed. Like a little school girl.

"What the hell, Harry!?" I shouted. "What the fuck are you doing? Why are you doing this to yourself?"

He stopped screaming and just stared at me. "You."

My eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You," he slurred. "You're the reason."

My heart felt like it stopped. It shouldn't have, but it did. I loved Jimmy now. Harry was just a bump in the road of my past. That was it. The way he said it, the way he looked at me; made me want to cry. But I bit back the tears and shook my head.

"How long has it been since you've had a shower?" I questioned, pulling him toward his bathroom. "You smell like rubbish."

His sad face quickly vanished and was replaced with a suggestive smirk. "You're just tryna get me naked."

I barked out a laugh. "No, I'm trying to help your train wreck of a self."

His smirk only widened. "Whatever," he sang. His hands drunkenly fumbled with the button of his trousers and slowly pulled them down. It was quite a feat. He actually ended up toppling over into a pile of limbs onto the tiled floor. He was the definition of a mess. "Help me," he whined with a pout.

As much as I hated to, I helped him. And then I practically shoved him in the shower. The water was turned on and the shower head was moved to shoot water straight into his face. He sputtered out, but made no move to turn away.

"Wash up and I'll get you some clothes to change into," I told him.

The fact that I was helping him should've been his first clue. My first clue. The clue that I still loved him and I always would. No matter how hard I hoped and prayed that Jimmy would be that person, I knew he wouldn't be. There was a Marvin Jay M. Torres quote that I remember reading in year nine. It stuck with me all these years and now it finally made sense to me.

"The best thing about loving and being hurt is that you get to know what true love really is. For as gold is tested in fire, and so will love be perfected in pain."

I thought I knew I loved Harry before he hurt me, but now I really know. He made me feel a pain I'd never felt before. Not even when I didn't get a role in a certain telly show. This pain was deep down. It hurt. And it showed me that the reason I was hurting so much was because I loved him with every fiber of my being.

"Guess 'm going naked."

"Put on some bloody knickers and joggers or I'll throttle you."

"Feisty," he commented. He was still completely and utterly pissed. I hadn't seen him this way since his birthday last year. It was the first day he could legally drink and we went bar hopping. If it wasn't for my Druncle, I wouldn't have been able to get him out of the bars. He was basically a dead weight.

He dropped his towel and slid on a pair of briefs and some joggers, along with a jumper and proceeded to burrow himself under the covers of his bed. I took that as he was going to sleep, so I made my way into the bathroom and got his rubbish bin.

"I'm putting the bin right here by your bed," I started. "And here's some Advil and a cup of water for tomorrow morning."

My hand had gripped the doorknob when his voice startled me. "Stay."

And I did. No second thoughts, no nothing. I just did.