Lightheaded

Early September 2013

Harry’s voice ricocheted off her still bare walls, making her head pound, “Jilly wake up!”

“No.”

“Yes!” there was a heavy weight landing next to her, he was far too cheery for the morning after a night out, “I’ve got news! Big, exciting news!”

“Unless you won the lottery I can guarantee you I will be much more excited when I’ve slept…” she trailed off and cracked an eye open to look at the alarm clock on top of an unpacked box, “For approximately three more hours.”

His weight landed on her thighs, each of his legs on either side of hers, “I got a job!”

She hadn’t considered that possibility and as much as she wanted to be irritated as her eyes naturally popped open, she couldn’t be. His hair was sticking up in a million different directions and his sleepy eyes were glittering with excitement. He was grinning bigger than she’d seen in weeks.

Her lips cracked a smile despite her body begging her to let it fall back to sleep, “Well it’s about time, ya fucking freeloader.”

His grin turned impossibly bigger as she held her arms out for him and he practically dove into them. She was so tired, but she knew how much it meant to him. Harry hadn’t been without a paying job since freshman year.

“Congratulations,” Jillian hummed, eyes involuntarily slipping shut again as her arms wrapped around his neck and his body splayed out against hers. She was just so drained. She hadn’t even drank the night before but her eyes ached along with her head.

“Don’t laugh,” he pulled away suddenly and her eyes popped open again, feeling his stare as he rolled off of her.

“Why would I laugh?” she yawned sleepily, rubbing her eyes, “Which one is it?”

Harry had been contacted for interviews by nearly every place he’d sent an application to and she couldn’t keep up with what ones he’d gone for in the past week.

“Promise not to laugh?” he mumbled and buried half of his face in her pillow, she nodded, “Whole Foods. ‘M gonna be a produce boy.”

Jillian’s lips threatened to crack a smile again. She could just picture it. Harry’s hair pulled back into a makeshift bun. An apron tied around his neck and rubber gloves on his hands as he stacked apples or pears.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” he cried dramatically and buried his face properly in the pillow, “I-it’s more than minimum wage! A-and they needed someone good at math who had experience!”

“I’m not laughing!” Jillian held back a giggle, head swirling with thoughts of Harry sorting different types of apples and explaining the difference between them to the sorts of people that shopped at Whole Foods.

“You are!” Harry whined loudly, kicking his feet like a child.

“I’m not!” she swallowed down the laughter, let it settle in her stomach for another time, maybe after a few celebratory drinks, “I’m proud of you! We should celebrate!”

So they did. Jillian picked up a few boxes of the best pizza place they’d found yet and invited Niall and Kelsie over for dinner (the latter may have not been her best idea). Kelsie brought two bottles of champagne that no one was sure of how she’d gotten a hold of and Niall brought Ellie, his 70 pound yellow lab that no one was sure how he’d snuck into and kept in his apartment.

The terrace was disproportionately larger than all the rooms in their apartment, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. They’d found a small, worn picnic table at the curb a few weeks back and managed to rope Niall into helping them carry it up to their apartment along with a few plastic patio chairs. It wasn’t much yet, with fall and winter fast approaching, but Jillian hadn’t shut up about plans of hanging baskets and ivy and candles. Eventually, Harry had promised her, after the snow had fallen and melted.

They laughed and ate and drank and Jillian felt lighter with every passing minute. Being with Kelsie and Niall (despite their constant bickering) was so much less pressured than being with Zayn and his clique. She didn’t need to prove herself or anything, she could just be. She could throw her head back and cackle until the entire city heard her. She could tip back her champagne and nearly choke on it when Niall spit out some terrible innuendo. She could nearly spit out her pizza when Kelsie ripped into Niall for his terrible innuendo.

She felt so free, there on the terrace with the sun setting and her limbs warm with yellow sun and bubbly champagne. It was so easy to forget everything that had tangled itself up in her head lately, to revel in the breeze and the drink and her friends’ laughter. This is how it’s supposed to be, she thought.

She wanted to paint them all, she could feel the itch only subdued by her last drink. She wanted to capture Ellie with her head resting on Niall’s lap, begging for a crust of his pizza. She wanted to recreate the way Kelsie’s curls blew on the soft breeze and the crinkles by her eyes when she smiled. Most of all, she wanted to put down on canvas the way Harry’s hands moved when he retold a story from their childhood, the way his eyes lit up and his lips moved too fast for his voice, deep and slow. She wanted it to be infinite, kept somewhere sacred where she could look back on it as often as she liked, for the rest of her life, and remember what it felt like to fit somewhere so simply.

Jillian had just gotten done telling the story of the night before, of how they’d gone all the way to Brooklyn and Zayn’s friend’s band was so shitty they’d been kicked offstage after the second song (and how subsequently, they’d all been kicked out of the bar) when Harry spoke up.

“I didn’t really like them,” Harry confessed, breaking off a piece of crust for Ellie, who at that point had resorted to resting her head on his lap.

“They were pretty bad,” Jillian giggled, oblivious to the weight behind his statement. They were some typical, indie boy band with loud guitars and ripped jeans.

“Not the band,” he muttered under his breath, one hand patting Ellie’s head, “Zayn’s little clique.”

“Why not?!” she took it as a personal offense, she hadn’t heard any complaints from anyone, not even Niall, about them in the time since Zayn’s party.

“Bit pretentious,” he shrugged his shoulders heavily, “They didn’t appreciate my movie references.”

Jillian snorted, “You’re pretentious. That’s what me and Niall are for anyway.”

“They are a bit pretentious,” Niall, the film major, chipped in, a smirk adorning his face, “Not as pretentious as Harry though.”

Everyone laughed at that, knowing it was partly true, and if Jillian had been any more sober she would’ve noticed that Harry’s eyes weren’t lit up anymore.

“I think they’re alright,” Kelsie offered softly, “Everyone seems to write them off as pretentious and a little wild, but Zayn’s party wasn’t that bad,” she drew with the condensation from her glass on the picnic table with a purple painted nail, “I think you just need to crack their armor is all.”

Jillian admired her reason and sensibility (or blind optimism), but she wasn’t sure if it was just because she wanted to believe her or not. She’d known since she’d met some of them at Zayn’s party, that they weren’t like most groups of friends. They were all different and a bit mysterious, giving off an aura that only made her want to know more. She knew they liked to drink and smoke and get a little rowdy but so far no one had made her feel uncomfortable. She wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt.

“I agree with Kelsie,” she nodded to herself, crossing her arms on the tabletop and resting her chin on them.

“Course you do,” Niall teased, eyes half lidded and shining.

That sent him and Kelsie into another little spat of bickering that made Jillian laugh until her cheeks ached and she’d forgotten all about anyone else’s opinion of Zayn’s friends, her new acquaintances.

“I’m throwing a party,” Niall announced after Jillian had brought out the congratulatory cupcakes. Red velvet, Harry’s favorite, because it was a celebration after all.

“A party?” Jillian raised her brows as she licked a smudge of frosting off her thumb.

“For my birthday,” he answered through a mouthful of cupcake, “Good enough excuse, innit?”

Niall was a sophomore which meant he was already turning 20 and just the thought of such a monumental birthday, made Jillian’s stomach knot uncomfortably. She’d hardly survived 18’s existential crises.

“Should we start looking at nursing homes?” Kelsie raised her brows, a smirk on her lips.

“Oh, fuck off,” Niall glared at her, brows pulled together, “You’re uninvited!”

“You can’t uninvite her,” Jillian chipped in with a giggle, “She’ll be my plus one. And if you don’t let her in, I won’t bring a present.”

“Evil!” Niall rolled his eyes and shoved the last of his cupcake in his mouth, “The both of you!”

When the sun had set and the air was cool, they were left with empty pizza boxes and drained glass bottles but the itch in Jillian’s fingers was still there. Her tipsiness hadn’t taken it away.

They cleaned up and said goodbye and before Harry had even locked the front door, she was gravitating towards her room. Harry didn’t stop her.

She let the mild amount of alcohol flow through her. She let it dictate what colors she used and how she blended them. She let it make her lose herself in her work. The image still fresh in her head, swirled in her brain and flowed out through her hands, through her brushes.

It was the first time she’d painted on a canvas in months and although it was small, the improvement felt like a leap. It reminded her she was still capable of working out a happy, picturesque piece without having to delve into whatever was plaguing her head. Though, that could’ve been the champagne or the sugar.

When she was finished, her buzz hadn’t completely worn off and she was sleepy. The city outside her window was lit only by man made lights. People working a little too late and a little too hard in their offices, cars and taxis whirling past carrying all sorts of people impatient to be somewhere. It wasn’t as daunting anymore, she didn’t jump at every siren or shout in the streets below. It was sort of comforting, knowing there was a whole world churning and humming just below her. In the beginning it had made her feel so small and insignificant, but eventually it made her feel a part of something, connected to something, like an artery to the ever beating heart of the city beneath her feet.

But that didn’t mean her half-drunk head wanted to sleep alone.

She crept down the hall to Harry’s room just like she had all those weeks ago, a little less coordinated and quiet, and slipped in. Alcohol had always made him a sounder sleeper too, so she assumed he wouldn’t even notice her arrival. She didn’t bother to change out of her painting shirt (an old, outgrown flannel of Harry’s) or her old sleep shorts, instead she slid into bed next to him. She just needed to feel someone breathing beside her, slow and steady.

She’d just settled her head against the pillow next to him, eyelids already falling shut, when he turned and threw an arm around her waist.

“What’re you doing?” his voice was slurred and heavy with sleep but his body was warm, familiar, safe.

“My room smells like paint,” she mumbled, settling herself closer to him.

He sighed, a contented, sleepy breath, “You smell like paint.”

*

Harry started on a bright, Wednesday afternoon, after a few days of training. His grocery boy experience from Publix had helped, but a suburban supermarket was nothing compared to a Whole Foods in the middle of Manhattan. Jillian had woken up to a cold bed and an email announcing her only class of the day was cancelled. It made for the perfect opportunity to harass him.

Whole Foods wasn’t exactly Jillian’s ideal place to spend unexpected time off, but being with Harry was. So she suffered. She wandered a few aisles, not looking for anything in particular before she stumbled into the produce section.

He was stacking heads of lettuce in an organized fashion when she spotted him. She could see the apron tied around him and his hands moving carefully. It was strange to see him in his own element, but still one she wasn’t familiar with. They’d gotten their first jobs together, bagging groceries at Publix, and stuck with it all throughout high school. But now she was keeping sticky kids from breaking unbought toys and he was organizing produce for Upper East Side moms who cared about things like GMOs and artificial sweeteners.

“Excuse me, sir?” she pitched her voice and tried to hold back a giggle, as he jumped, nearly dropping the produce in his hands and struggling to keep it from hitting the ground, “Could you explain to me the difference between these dark and light cherries?”

“Jilly,” he hissed, whipping around with big eyes, “You scared the shit out me.”

She had, his heart was nearly beating out of his chest and his eyes were wide, but there she was, bare faced and grinning wildly.

“Sorry,” her brows knit together but she couldn’t contain her grin, “Have we met before?”

“Stop,” he mumbled, turning back to the lettuce and ignoring the tug in his stomach at her surprise appearance, “What’re you doing here?”

She waited patiently until he had turned back to her, her fingers running along bags and bags of organic cherries as she insisted, “What’s the difference?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, “Don’t like cherries. You know that. Read the signs.”

She made a face, her nose and eyebrows all wrinkled as she deadpanned, “You work here.”

“I don’t like cherries,” he imitated her tone as he repeated himself, “What’re you doing here?”

Her fingers brushed along an open bag of bing cherries and dipped inside, pulling one out and holding it by the stem to examine it as she shrugged, “Trying to learn about cherries.”

“Jilly,” he hissed, but it was too late. Her lips had wrapped around the fruit and plucked it off the stem before pulling into a smirk.

“Hm?”

“You’ve got to buy them now,” he spat, looking around frantically for a manager or someone else who would notice and care. He hadn’t even gotten in a full day of work and his best friend was going to get him fired.

“Oh relax,” her eyes twinkled as she spit the pit out into her palm and chewed slowly, “I’m testing the goods.”

“You’re gonna get me bloody fired,” he tried to bat her hands away from the bags, “I go on lunch in an hour, can’t you wait to harass me until then?”

“Nope,” she managed to snag another cherry, her now stained lips smirking, “Have one. They’re so juicy.”

“Put it back, Jillian,” his eyes widened as she pushed it towards his lips, “‘M serious.”

She giggled and popped it into her own mouth. Harry was certain they’d be caught any minute and he wondered if she’d even care.

“You’ve really got to buy those now, you know,” he muttered under his breath and crossed his arms over his chest.

She spat out another pit into her hand, “Says who?”

He made a face, “Says common courtesy.”

She shrugged and swallowed before grinning to reveal pink teeth and a dark red tongue, “No point in buying a bag if I’m the only one who’ll eat them. Let’s go for lunch.”

*

It’d been a long week. Jillian’s school workload was getting heavier, she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep, she’d ruined a new pair of flats in a spontaneous rainstorm after her far too early Monday class. But it was Friday, Niall’s birthday, and she was ready to forget all of it.

She stood with Harry at the door, present in her hand and case of beer (courtesy of one of Harry’s older ‘workmates’) in his. She was wearing a thin, soft yellow sweater, printed trousers, and new, red flats, (x) but that jittery feeling was back in her stomach. The one that always came before a big night out, the one she hoped meant a good night ahead.

Niall was already a bit drunk when he opened the door and let them in, but it was expected. They gave him his gifts and put up with his bear hugs and teasing of being the first guests to arrive.

It wasn’t a big party by any means, which put Jillian a bit at ease even if she didn’t know most of the other guests. There was Kelsie of course, and a few other people from a few of her classes, but other than that she was a bit clueless. Even just a few months ago that would’ve scared her and made her feel like maybe she shouldn’t be there, but now she didn’t have a second thought. These were Niall’s friends and acquaintances, they were good people.

After food and cake and a few drinks, she found herself on the sofa sandwiched between Harry and a boy Niall knew from his freshman year, coincidentally in one of Harry’s advanced math classes that Jillian couldn’t wrap her head around. His name was Steven and his choice of drink was a Jack and Coke (which Jillian realized maybe should’ve been her first warning sign).

He wasn’t really her type at all, blond and boyish (sort of like Niall), an avid sports fan, a recipe for disaster. But he had a charming smile, he was giving her his undivided attention, and after a few drinks, his laugh wasn’t so booming and his stories were a little funnier.

Harry though, didn’t seem that impressed.

Jillian didn’t understand why it had to be such a big deal every time she tried to get someone in bed lately. He knew she wasn’t looking for anything serious, there was no need to ward off losers. She just wanted someone pretty and nice, those weren’t hard requirements to fill. But there Harry was, every damn time, with his eye rolling and snide remarks that usually went over the pretty and nice person’s head (depending usually, on the number of drinks consumed).

“He’s a prick,” was the first thing out of his mouth when Steven had gotten up (a bit unsteadily for only 11:30) with an offer to refill all of their drinks.

“He just offered to get you another beer,” Jillian deadpanned, “The least you could do is not shit talk him the second he leaves.”

“He’s a prick,” he repeated, adjusting the Packers beanie on his head and crossing his arms over his chest, empty amber bottle forgotten on the littered coffee table, “Don’t fuck him.”

“Why has this turned into a weekly conversation?” she glanced around the room, taking in the half drunk bodies floating around, before turning to her best friend, “Since when do you care so much about who I take to bed?”

His eyes narrowed in the dim light, “Since we share walls.”

“Who said I’ll bring him home? Maybe he’ll take me to his place,” she turned up her nose, “And either way it’s none of your business. So stay out of it.”

His lips moved to spit something back, but Steven had already returned, hands full of drinks and Jillian was eager to bounce up and help him.

Harry disappeared somewhere in the middle of that next drink and the topic of films. Normally, she would’ve made a jab at what a film snob he was, but she didn’t have the chance. He was gone before she could even catch his expression, which sort of made her feel off. She buried it with another drink.

By the time the alarm clock across the room read 2:00 AM, Jillian had had a few more drinks, lost a round of beer pong (courtesy of the birthday boy), and danced with Niall, Harry, and Steven with a smile on her face and her head thrown back. By 3:00 the party was dying down but her lips were attached to Steven’s, his hands on her hips, her knees on either side of his, and she felt a little drunk and very alive.

His lips were soft and his hands were rough and she thought maybe he could be just what she needed. He’d take her home and fuck her right and maybe let her steal a sweater for the morning after. He’d take her mind somewhere else for the night and she’d never have to see him again if she didn’t want to.

Except they never got further than a few drunken kisses and his hands sliding up her top on Niall’s sofa. She’d pulled away just enough to ask him something about leaving, when her eyes blinked open and she realized something was wrong.

He was practically crying.

At first she thought maybe her vision was just blurry, but it wasn’t. His hands were shaking on her sides and his eyes were teary. Her stomach dropped.

“W-what’s wrong?” she was already extracting herself from his lap, oblivious to the music in the background and the people still hovering around, “W-what did I do?”

His pretty lips parted and his thick lashes blinked, “I-I. I-I’m sorry. I-it’s not you, I-I’m stupid a-and I’m still not over someone and I really think I sh-shouldn’t because it wouldn’t be fair-”

Jillian shook her head with a tight smile, something in her chest burning, “‘S fine. T-totally fine. Have a good night. I-I hope it all works out.”

And it was so ridiculous, so stupid, but she was a little drunk so she locked herself in Niall’s closet of a bathroom and cried herself. Her whole night crumbled down around her.

It wasn’t fair. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t just fuck someone. Why couldn’t she just go to a party like any other college student and get a little drunk and go home with someone, without something ruining it? What the fuck was wrong with her?

So she kicked off her new, red shoes and sat on the cold, hard tile and cried pathetically until some asshole’s impatient knocking became unbearable.

“G-give me a minute,” she answered finally, knees pulled up to her chest.

“Jilly?”

And of fucking course it was Harry. Of course he would get the satisfaction of being able to say ‘I told you so’.

“B-be out in a minute,” she scrambled to her feet, desperate to make herself look less pathetic than she actually felt.

“Can I come in?” he didn’t sound half as drunk as she felt and she knew that if she let him in, she’d probably only hear a stream of ‘what did I tell you?’ and ‘you should’ve listened’ but right then, she just really wanted her best friend.

So instead of protesting, like she probably would’ve if she had anymore self control or was a little more sober, she unlocked the door. Harry didn’t hesitate to barge his way into the tiny room, his brows knit and lips pressed together tightly.

“What the fuck did he do?” his voice was low and a bit intimidating as soon as he locked the door behind him.

She blinked up at him, leaning against the sink so they both had room to stand, “N-nothing. ‘S stupid, ‘m fine. I-I just wanna go home.”

“What happened, Jillian?” he shuffled even closer, leaning down a bit to study her expression, “Why’re you crying?”

It was obvious he was worried and she didn’t dare make it any worse, “H-he said he wasn’t over someone. A-and then he got all teary so I-I told him I hoped it worked out a-and then I came here and I just feel so pathetic.”

“Oh Jilly,” he sighed, arms wrapping around her naturally, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that shit.”

“I-it’s alright,” she sniffled into his sweater, “C-can we go home?”

*

Home was warm and familiar. Harry had managed to slip them out of Niall’s unnoticed and she wasn’t sure she’d ever been more grateful they shared a floor. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been more grateful to have Harry as a best friend.

He didn’t mind when she grumbled about the apartment being too cold but stripped off her itchy, tight pants and left them in the living room anyway. He didn’t mind that she lied about wanting to go to sleep and be left alone. He didn’t mind when she reappeared twenty minutes later, makeup smudged and hair distraught, only in the same thin, yellow sweater and pink underwear, to sit on the counter and continue her crying with her favorite midnight, comfort snack.

“Alright?” his head picked up from the back of the sofa when her door reopened. He’d been waiting.

“Fine,” the backs of her hands swiped clumsily under her eyes as her bare feet carried her across the cold floor and into the kitchen.

Harry knew better.

“Jilly,” he mumbled when he appeared in the doorway, watching her hoist herself onto the counter, legs dangling, “It isn’t a big deal. You don’t have to let it be a big deal.”

“I’m not,” it was meant to be snapped but it came out sort of pathetically as she craned around to the wraparound cabinets and dug around in the hidden corner.

Harry sighed, knowing there wasn’t much use when she was still drunk. There wasn’t much he could do other than listen. So he pulled out an iced tea spoon as she unscrewed the lid of a bear shaped jar of honey.

She pulled her legs up and crossed them, tugging her sleeves over her hands and getting settled before she spoke, swirling the spoon inside the bear, “I just don’t get it.”

“It isn’t you,” he promised, leaning against the opposite counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

“It always is,” she muttered under her breath, popping the spoon into her mouth, “It always was.”

“That was different, Jillian,” his voice shifted and his muscles tensed, “You know that.”

“What if it isn’t?” she looked up at him with big, watery eyes, her fear radiating off of her and filling the room, “What if I’m trying so hard b-but I still can’t get myself together o-or figure out who I am or what I-I want and all I am is some fucked up, bad energy that no one w-wants to fuck?!”

“Jillian,” Harry choked, eyes widening as her sentence ran on and on until she ran out of breath and she wasn’t looking him in the eye any longer, “This isn’t you. That bird didn’t shag you because I ruined it. What’s his name didn’t shag you because whoever was in his head ruined it. Neither of those were you. Y-you’re just having a bad streak or something. This isn’t like it was with everyone back there, yeah?”

She sniffled and dug for more honey, “H-how do you know?”

“Because, Jilly,” he watched her ankle tap nervously on the counter, up and down and up and down like it was the only thing keeping her in her skin, “You’re happy now.”

His words made her head snap up and she nearly dropped the bear of honey, “I-I am?”

Harry swallowed harshly as her ankle stilled and the honey was forgotten, “Aren’t you? Y-you’re painting and are making friends and that?”

She blinked, mind running far too fast for the amount of alcohol she’d consumed, “I-I’m not sure.”

Harry’s own stomach churned, despite being far more sober than she was, “Th-that’s okay. Y-you’re happier than you were then aren’t you?”

Her lips wrapped around the spoon again and she nodded, seeming more content with that question than the previous.

“That’s what matters.”