Left My Heart Out

My Liam-free life is, if I’m honest about it, boring.  I used to spend several nights a week at Liam’s, and now I’m spending that time at home in my own bed in my own flat, watching “Gilmore Girls” on Netflix and trying not to feel pathetic.  But the truth of the matter is that I’m the most pathetic person in the entirety of London, and possibly in the entire world.  I fell in love with my best mate and kept shagging him even though I knew he would never love me back, and just when I was about to dump him, he dumped me instead.

It’s the irony that kills me.  If I’d only been able to be the one to dump him, maybe I wouldn’t feel so terrible right now.  Maybe I wouldn’t be spending my days in my joggers, curled up in my duvet with my laptop burning a hole in my uterus.  Maybe I wouldn’t feel so absolutely, completely useless.  

Except maybe I would.  There’s a space in my heart where Liam used to fit, and now that I’ve forced him out, my chest feels hollow.  But sometimes, late at night, I can still feel him in there, and then I begin to regret it.  Maybe I went wrong somewhere, and instead of alone under the covers, I could be beside Liam, my heart intact.

But I can’t go back, so I have to accept that this is the way things are now.  And Lila’s proud of me for it.  She won’t stop saying how proud of me she is.  She’s so proud of me, in fact, that she shows up at my flat on Saturday night with the intention of dragging me to a party.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I tell her as I follow her down the street.  She’s managed to get me dressed and out of my building without too much resistance, but now that we’re actually on the way, I’m starting to regret getting out of bed.  I could be at home right now, buried under my duvet in my joggers.  “What if Liam is there?”

“So what if he is?” Lila says over her shoulder.  Seeing as she’s nearly a foot taller than me, she walks much faster than me, and she keeps having to slow her pace a bit so that I can catch up with her.  “You lot agreed to be friends again, didn’t you?  You can be friends with him without the whole bennies thing, Q.”

“Sure,” I say, rolling my eyes.  I know it’s not going to be as easy to slide back into a friendship with Liam as Lila makes it sound, but I’m going to pretend it will be.  I’m going to pretend it will be the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do.  “But that doesn’t mean I have to start today.”

“You have to start sometime!” she singsongs, coming to a stop at the corner.  She turns around and cocks her head, looking me up and down.  I didn’t dress up, and she’s disappointed, but she hasn’t said anything.  “Today’s as good a day as any.  It’s going to be great, you’ll see.”

But all I see when we get to the party are dozens of faces that only look vaguely familiar to me.  The party is being held by somebody that Lila knows from the English literature department, so most of these people are barely acquaintances to me, if that.  I don’t know them, I don’t want to be here, the whole place smells like beer, and to top it all off, I’ve decided not to drink tonight.

Lila drags me along behind her for a while, introducing me to a bloke called Max and a bird called Maxine, and when I show very little interest in either of them, she stomps off, telling me that she’s going to the loo and that I’ll need to fend for myself for a while.  So I look around the room, in search of someone I know who I might be able to talk to, and also in search of an exit.  I’m not having much luck, and then I spot Liam.

He’s standing on the other side of the room, wearing a black and grey plaid flannel shirt that I’m pretty sure I picked out for him, and there’s a girl under his arm.  She’s tall and cute and brunette, basically his female duplicate, and she’s wearing a midriff-exposing crop top.  Come on, it’s winter, I think, not at all bitterly.  I watch Liam tip his head back and laugh, and the girl smiles fondly at him, and I expect to feel angry, but all I feel is sad.  That space in my chest throbs a bit, and tears form at the corners of my eyes.  I blink to hold them back.  I was never that girl under Liam’s arm, but I used to be his friend.  I used to be somebody he’d tell about his new girlfriends.  And now I’m nothing to him.

I wonder if I should go say hello.  What would he say to me?  Would he introduce her?  Or would he turn me away, making an excuse about having somewhere to be?  Or maybe he’ll pretend to spot a mate across the room, and then he’ll grab her firmly by the shoulder and steer her away without looking back.  

Maybe that’d be best, though.  Because, in the heart of my heart, even if I want Liam to be happy, I’m not sure that I want to watch him do it with somebody who isn’t me.  So I clutch my plastic water bottle tighter in my hand and turn away.  I stand on my tip toes and stretch my neck so that I can see over the heads crowding the room, but I’m not looking for anyone.  I’m just pretending, in case anybody comes looking for me.

“Quentin?  Is that you?”

It takes me a second to place the voice, and when I realize it’s Niall, I try not to groan too audibly.  Then he steps directly in front of me, blocking my view.  He’s wearing an olive green scarf and he still has his coat on, though it’s unbuttoned, exposing the black jumper he has on underneath.  I think of the scarf he was wearing a few days ago, when he trapped me in the lift: it was red with black stripes.   

“Hey Quentin,” he says.  He’s a bit drunk; I can tell from the way he’s grinning.  There’s no way Niall would ever smile at me like that if he weren’t inebriated.  He hates me.

“Niall,” I say, wishing I were drunk too.  But I promised myself that I wouldn’t drink tonight, because when I’m drunk I do stupid things, like kiss Liam Payne full on the mouth and ultimately destroy our entire friendship.  “What are you doing?”

“Saying hello,” he says.  “Hellooooo, Quentin.”

“Hello,” I say.  Niall, cheeks red from alcohol and the heat of the crowded room, bounces from one foot to the other.  “You’re drunk.”

“I am.”  He grins even wider, a feat that I thought impossible until now.  “Why aren’t you?”

“I’m not drinking tonight,” I say, looking over his shoulder for an escape.  Lila’s been in the loo for a while now, which I expect means she isn’t coming to rescue me from Niall Horan, unfriendly neighborhood arsehole, anytime soon.

“Oh, that’s strange,” he says, smile suddenly turning into a pout.  He looks a bit like a puppy as he frowns down at me.  “You love drinking.  Are you okay, Quentin?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, trying to turn away, but Niall moves with me, shoving a blue-haired bloke out of the way in order to stay close to me.  “Do you need something?”

“Just saying hi,” he says again, his voice a bit too loud.  “You don’t sound like you’re okay.  Are you cold?”

“Not particularly,” I say, but that doesn’t stop him from lifting his olive green scarf off of his neck and putting it around mine.  I freeze for a second, wondering if I should follow my instincts and toss it back at him immediately, but as it settles around me, I realize I don’t want to take it off.  It’s soft and cozy and reaches down to my knees.  Somebody’s an over-enthusiastic knitter.  “What’s that for?”

He shrugs, still grinning.  He tugs on the ends of the scarf, wiggling them in front of my face and making them dance.  “You look like you’re having a bad night.  Scarves always make things better.”  

“I’m only having a bad night since you showed up,” I say, trying to ignore the fabric flying in front of my eyes and the smile that’s threatening to overtake my face.  I go to lift the scarf my neck and give it back to Niall, but he shakes his head.   

“Keep it, I’ve got loads.  And it looks like you need it more than me right now.”  He looks at me thoughtfully, his eyes on mind, and I wonder if he can see the hole in my heart where Liam used to be.  I’ve always fancied myself a decent actress, but Niall’s looking at me like he can see my every emotion written on my face.  Something stirs in my stomach, and I decide it’s discomfort.  Niall hasn’t earned the privilege of looking at me with such focus.   

I tear my eyes away from his without saying anything, and a second later he shrugs and turns away, pushing his way through the crowd.  When I manage to get my bearings back and figure out where I am in the room, Liam and his new girlfriend are gone, and Niall’s scarf is still hanging around my neck.  I wrap the ends around my hands and pretend that they’re giving me strength, but all they’re really doing is making me smell like Niall.    

+++++

“Maybe what you need is to shag somebody new,” Lila tells me a few days after the party.  She waves her hands around to emphasize the importance of my shagging somebody, her bright pink nails flying through the air.  “Put your heart out there again.”

“My heart is healing,” I say, picking at the hole in my jeans.  My nails are bare and bitten.  

We’re at my flat, and Lucia’s home for once, cooking something in the kitchen that smells delicious but is probably more vegan than anything else on the planet, which means I wouldn’t touch it with even the thickest of gloves on my hands.  Lila and I are in the living room, watching a film.  Well, she’s watching a film and I’m picking at the hole in my jeans.  My Liam-free life involves a lot of that.

“Your heart is done healing,” Lila says.  “You know how I know?  You haven’t cried in, like, a week.”

“How do you know when I last cried?”

Lila rolls her eyes.  “I’m your best mate.  I know these things.  And I also know that you need to get laid.”

I shove my finger in the hole in my jeans, feeling the unshaven skin of my thigh.  If there are any perks to my Liam-free life, not shaving my legs on a regular basis is certainly one of them.  “You sound like Harry.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to Harry.  He thinks that you can live on fruit.”

I shrug.  “He’s not dead yet.”

“He should be.”  

I don’t know what to say to that, so I focus on the telly screen, where Hilary Duff is standing in the rain and kissing Chad Michael Murray.  The making of this film was probably the only time when Chad Michael Murray didn’t look like a boy who is named “Chad,” the most unfortunate white boy name of them all.

“All I’m saying,” Lila continues, clearly not ready to let the conversation die, “is that you can’t sit around forever.  You’re going to be old and shrivelly before you know it.”     

“You’re not dating anyone,” I remind her, but she rolls her eyes.  

“That’s because I’m self-sufficient,” she says.  “I don’t need boys to give me their hoodies.  Or their scarves.”  

I turn to her, open-mouthed.  “How the hell do you know about that?”

She laughs, and that’s almost more offensive than her insinuation that I can’t take care of myself without the help of a bloke.  “I was at the party, remember?  We left together?  And when we left, you had a scarf that you didn’t come in with.”

I cross my arms over my chest, finally giving the hole in my jeans a rest.  “Well, I’m going to return it.”

“Sure you are,” Lila says, turning her gaze back to the film.  

“I am,” I say.  

And I am.  I mean, I’m going to.  Eventually.  I haven’t talked to Niall since the party, which means I haven’t yet had the chance to return it.  It’s wrapped around the bedpost in my bedroom, tied in a neat little bow, and it matches my sheets, which are pale green with pink flowers.  Okay, so maybe, if I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t really want to give it back.  It’s soft and cute, and I think when things match.  

But I don’t tell Lila that.  Instead I sit in silence and watch the film even as she continues to laugh at me, the poor, helpless girl who needs to collect items from boys in order to feel satisfied.  Oh my God, I’m practically a serial killer.  Or worse, a hoarder.  A scarf hoarder.

I didn’t mean to get attached to the scarf, honestly.  I haven’t even worn it since Niall gave it to me.  I’ve barely even touched it.  I just wrapped it around my bedpost and left it, and it’s been there ever since.  Except, you know, when I brushed my hand along it this morning as I left my room to head for the shower.  And when I ran my fingers through its fringe before I fell asleep last night.  It’s soft and comforting and it feels nice, but I am definitely going to give it back.  

You know, eventually.

+++++

My first scarf-returning opportunity arises on Thursday, when I’m working on my architecture reading in the coffee shop on the far side of campus.  I’ve only started coming here not that I’m avoiding Liam, and it looks so much like the coffee shop on the east side of campus that it’s barely felt like a change at all.  

That’s a lie.  This coffee shop has maroon couches instead of forest green, and the barista behind the counter can never remember my name (“Ken?  Did you say Ken?”) and the light in the back corner outside the loo is flickering and will continue to do so until it finally burns out and someone is forced to change it.  And there’s one other thing that’s different:  Niall does his work here.

The first time I see him, I decide that it must be a coincidence.  He’s a jock and this cafe is always filled with lit majors who wear oversized tortoiseshell glasses and usually smell a bit like pot, so this can’t be his regular study spot.  He’s probably just on this side of campus for a meeting or something.  

But I don’t ask him about it.  Instead, I keep my head down, letting my hair fall over my face as I stare at my textbook, and pray that he doesn’t see me.  I listen to him place his order; I can’t hear what he says, but whatever it is, it makes the barista laugh.  The till dings, he mutters a thank you, and then a few minutes later I hear one of the other baristas call his name.  I don’t look up again until I hear the cafe door click shut.  

“Quentin?”

I blink, realizing that I’ve looked up straight into Niall’s jumper-clad chest.  He’s standing beside my table, drink in hand, backpack over his shoulder, and questions written all over his face.  Instead of answering any of them, I say, “I’m going to return your scarf.  I promise.”

The edge of Niall’s mouth quirks, and I blush, realizing how stupid I must sound.  He probably wasn’t even thinking about the scarf, and here I am bringing it up.  Now he’s certainly going to be annoyed that I’ve hung onto it for so long.  But, to my surprise, he just shrugs.  

“Don’t worry about it,” he says.  “Keep it for as long as you need.”

As long as I need?  I’m not really sure what he means by that, but I say thank you anyway, and then I look back at my book, expecting him to leave.  When he doesn’t, I lift my head again.

He’s watching me, not unlike the way he was at the party.  But this time his eyes are completely clear and infinitely deep, and I can tell that he has something that he wants to say.

“Can I help you?” I ask, ignoring the swirling in my stomach.  I expect him to shake his head, say something stupid, and leave, but instead he sets his coffee cup down on the table and pulls out the chair across from me.  “What are you doing?”

“Sitting down,” he says.  He drops his backpack on the floor and puts his elbows on the table.  “Didn’t I see you in here the other day?”  

I shrug.  I didn’t see Niall the other day, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t see me.  That thought makes me slightly uncomfortable, but I try not to let it show as I answer.  “I don’t know.  Did you?”

He presses his lips into a thin line as he studies me.  I want to know what he’s thinking, and I get my wish when he asks, “Are you stalking me?”

“No, I’m not stalking you,” I tell him, rolling my eyes once I manage to recover from the surprise of the question.  I should be the one asking if Niall’s stalking me, honestly.  First the hallway outside his flat, and then the party, and apparently he saw me here the other day, too.   “I’m just changing up my study spots.”

“By invading my study spots?” Niall asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow.  “You sure you’re not just avoiding Liam?”

“So what if I am?  Is that not okay with you?” I say, not looking up from my textbook, which I’m no longer reading.  In fact, I’ve been reading the same paragraph over and over for half an hour.  “And did I say you could sit here?”

I lift my eyes to see Niall shrugging sheepishly.  “You looked like you needed some company.”

“Maybe what I need is some peace and quiet.  And to not be reminded of Liam every two seconds,” I bite back.  I’ve already had two cups of coffee this morning, but the caffeine hasn’t done anything to ease my annoyance.  I woke up in a terrible mood this morning, and Niall’s appearance has only made it worse.  

It takes Niall a minute to respond, because the barista appears at the table, setting a steaming mug in front of him.  Niall thanks her with a smile (his blue eyes twinkle, I swear) and then looks at me again, shifting in his chair.  He pushes the mug my way.  “That’s for you.”   

I push it back towards him.  “I’ve had enough today, thanks.”

“It’s hot coco,” he says.  “Not coffee.  You’ve had enough caffeine for a lifetime, Quentin.”  I open my mouth to argue with him, but before I can, he’s grabbing my hand and folding it around the handle of the mug.  “Just say thank you, and drink it.”

I hesitate, but then the smell of the chocolate reaches my nostrils.  I lift it to my lips begrudgingly and take a small sip before I say thank you.

Niall nods.  “So, anyhow, I wanted to talk to you about the party.”  

“The party?” I repeat, deciding to pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about.  I don’t have his scarf wrapped around my bedpost like some meaningful keepsake.  I haven’t thought about it every day since he gave it to me.  No, certainly not.  

“Yes,” Niall says.  “I just wanted to explain something to you.  About Saturday night.  When I was drunk.”  

“Yeah, I remember,” I say, picturing Niall’s drunk ass standing in front of me, making me even more uncomfortable at a party I already didn’t want to be at, and his hands, waving the ends of the goddamn olive green scarf in front of my face.

“I was trying to help you, at least I think I was,” he says quickly, not giving me a chance to interrupt him.  “I don’t remember it very well.  But I’m pretty sure that Liam was there with Taylor, and I didn’t want you to see–”

“I already saw,” I butt in.  “Before you showed up, that is.”  

He nods.  “Right, I know.  And I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t, like, just being belligerent or annoying or anything.”

“You’re always annoying.”

Niall’s knuckle wraps on the table, once, twice, three times.  “Well, I’m trying not to be.”

I clutch my mug tighter.  “Keep on trying.”

Niall opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but then he closes it, letting me have the last word.  He reaches into his backpack and extracts his laptop and I go back to my reading, satisfied that I won this one, whatever this one was.  But I can’t help but wonder why the hell Niall Horan would try to spend his evening helping me when he could’ve been snogging some girl in a corner.  Hey, if I had the choice between snogging some girl in a corner and helping me, I certainly wouldn’t choose me.

We spend an hour working silently across from each other, and more than once, I look up and catch Niall staring at me.  He looks away whenever I catch him, but not before I make my wtf face at him.  Eventually, I have to go, so I pack up my stuff and leave without saying a word.

When I reach the door, I look back find Niall watching me.  He ducks his head down as soon as I spot him, but I swear he’s smiling.