How do I make sure you're alright, if I'm the one who broke you in half?

H.P.O.V

"I'm not happy with you," Jasmine spins on her heel and stares down at me, "you think you're my last option? The last man who wants me?" She snarls, quickly adding in a smirk. "There are a million other men who would kill to fill your shoes."

"I said I was sorry--"

"Really? For what? The magazine pictures? Starting ridiculous and humiliating rumors about you leaving me? Can you believe it?! They think you're stupid enough to leave me?!"

I am stupid. I did leave. It just wasn't her who's dealing with my choices. Again.

"She needed my help--"

"Everyone needs help," she exasperates. She plants herself in the chair facing me, she drops her forehead in her hands and sighs with irritation. "Why are you so stupid? Falling for that girl's obvious attempt at breaking us up?"

"That wasn't what happened," the truth is not an option. And the worst part is that the truth is never my priority when it came to Jasmine. "We're friends." Or at least we used to be. We're those friends. The ones who dance around their feelings and annoy everyone until they are forced to fix it.

"You were friends," she clicks her tongue and her face contorts into its usual mean look. "That's over now. You and Pear-- Prue-- whatever her name is. You're not going to speak to her, see her, be anywhere near her. It's done. You both are done. You're going to focus on me and our wedding. That's it."

"Fine," I breathe.

I'd agree to anything to get her off my back. So, now, I don't know what's worse. My lack of honesty with my future wife, or the need of space from her? Or maybe-- maybe I need to be the one who gets away.

And something deep, deep, deep inside knows I've left the wrong girl.

But something deeper, doesn't know how to fix it.

"Let this be the last time you ever do anything this stupid. Do you understand?"

"Jas--"

"Do. You. Understand?"

"Yes."

That seems to satisfy Jasmine and all of her worries. She grins, impeccable white teeth glistening. Jasmine's blue eyes are never kind and they're usually never mean. Not towards me that is. But with that being said, they don't give me a warm tingle I know I'm supposed to get. They don't make me feel the way I know I should.

All they make me want to do is run away from her and never look back.

****
The hardest consequence that comes with my decision is actually staying away. Knowing I can't just go back and have Presley pretend I never left at all. We can't pick up where we left off.
That's impossible and I'm positive Presley can't take it.

I'm the one who left and I'm not doing so well.

I can't sleep. And even if I tried I don't think I'd be able to stay asleep for a long time. It feels like a nightmare. The kind where even when you're awake you know it's not any better.

Because it's not better. It's worse and it's my fault that it is.

It isn't until we get back from an over expensive dinner (that Presley would hate, but Jasmine doesn't and she expects to be taken to such restaurants) Jasmine finally sleeping-- after berating me, that I let myself think about it. And it's a terrible idea because thinking about everything is painful. From the first time I saw Presley again, to the last time I spoke to her. I can still see her betrayed and unbelieving eyes. The way her fist were clenched and shaking.

We had five days left. And I had promised to stay. It was a simple promise and I couldn't keep it. Now it all haunts me. Everything from the hazel eyes I've been trying to forget for years now. About the girl who I gave up on. Who spent a year looking for me until she gave up.

I always thought we'd be together. We had been solid through it all. Never letting the fame get in the way. Presley never paying attention to the hate. If I had to bet on someone I'd bet on us. Of course I'd always bet on Presley. She'd been my first actual, cliché, hand holding, world revolving relationship.

It was painful and I was damned, because everything seemed like a giant circle, with one begging and one end.

Presley.

It's two in the morning and I can't sleep. My phone is becoming a distraction I can't ignore.

Though I should.

And this is where I'm an idiot. My head knows I shouldn't be pressing on Presley's name, but my heart seems to ignore my intuition and hits call anyway.

It rings once. Twice. A third time, before the other line clicks and there are muffled sounds.

"Hello?" That's not Presley's voice.

"Louis?"

"Hold on," he whispers back and all I can hear is shuffling and quiet steps. "Okay. What?" Louis snaps, evidently annoyed.

I had left Louis' a message. A simple, clean, crisp message, explaining where he should go and why. There is no reason Louis should be upset. I did this in his favor.

"You're mad."

"The fuck did you expect?" I can almost hear Louis rolling his eyes and his infamous head tilt. "You think I'm jumping for joy hearing your voice?"

"I was hoping?" Actually I was hoping to speak with Presley.

"You're a shit."

"Lou, why are you mad-- actually why are you answering Presley's phone?"

"Because," Louis' answer is clipped and angry. "I don't have all night. What do you need?"

"Lou--"

"Shut up," Louis cuts me off, my throat dries and my hand holding my phone up is shaking, "what do you want?"

"How is she?"

Do I want to know? Half of me doesn't but the other half of me needs to.

"She's not your concern anymore," Louis' voice only softens a tiny bit, "you left her, Harry. Along with your choice to leave her you also left all of your rights to ask about her."

"Lou--"

"No," Louis seems to not want me to finish any of my sentences today. "Don--"

"Lou?! Louis?!" My heart sinks as I catch a small sound of Presley's voice.

"I'm here, shh-- I've got to go. Bye." Louis hangs up and along with the call my heart drops.

Notes

So I won a short story contest at uni and I think-- I think-- Oh, who am I kidding? I don't think. I'm me.