And if the night is burning, then I will cover my eyes.

H. P. O. V

Presley: Then don't ask for it.

Was it possible for a text message to hurt? And if so; why do people do it constantly?

To Presley: I can't help it.

Would that be a good enough excuse? I can't. God knows it was the truth. As pathetic and simple as it seemed. It was the hard truth.

Presley: Try really hard.

I smiled at her response. Though, there was nothing really amusing about it.

To Presley: I would if it were anyone else. Xx

"Who are you texting?" Jasmine asks as she rubs harsh smelling lotions-- or moisturizers. I forget which she uses. She twist her body until she is facing me. Her eyebrow is quirked upward, lips in a tight line.

"Louis," the lie slips easily through my lips. It's easy enough that it has me feeling guilty for being able to lie without thinking twice. "M'wishing him a happy trip."

She hums and continues her night routine.

Jasmine's hair is down and styled. Her night gown costs more than someone's entire closet, and she smells of expensive body butter. She looks ready to go out. Not ready to sleep. She doesn't look comfy, doesn't look soft or homy. Rather; she looks like a magazine add, or a bedroom scene from a movie.
"Where is he going? Did Elly-- or whatever, finally realize he's juvenile?"

"Eleanor, and no. Louis' not juvenile. He knows how to have fun. That's different then being juvenile."

Through the mirrors reflection I can see Jasmine roll her eyes. She does that a lot. Especially when she doesn't agree or my friends-- or anyone in my life, for that matter-- pops up into our conversation.

It's getting harder to be satisfied every time I remind myself: that's just who she is.

Do I like 'who she is'?

I'm not sure anymore.

"Sure," she mutters, doubtful. She stands and advances toward me with a look I'm all too familiar with. A look that should excite me, but does nothing but make me want to pretend I'm too tired to move. She crawls on top of me and smirks. "How about you and I take a trip, yeah? Sound nice?" She begins to suck on my neck. Her tongue joining in on her attack every few bites.

"Babe--"

She doesn't respond. Doesn't even look up.

"Babe," I try again. But it's in vain as she begins to lower her self suspiciously. "Wait, Jasmine--" I try again, once my mouth is free. She doesn't stop, though. Doesn't even look up. "Jasmine."

"What?" She mumbles, lips puckered against my skin.

"I'm not in the mood."

Jasmine scowls and rises. "What do you mean you're not in the mood, Harry? You haven't been in the mood for a while now." She snaps with angry eyebrows. "How can you not be in the mood? Look at me!"

"I am," I muster. "I'm tired." I shrug. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Now," she snaps with a fury.

I sit up, eyebrow raised, head spinning. "I'm not thirteen, Jasmine. My hormones aren't clouding my head. I'm too tired."

"You've never been too tired before," she accuses.

I want to roll my eyes. I want to shove her off and sleep in the guest room.

"Well I am right now," I try not to fist bump when she finally gets up and away from me. "Let's just go to bed."

"I'm not sleeping with you," she snarls. She rummages through her closet, pulls something out and slams the door as she exits. I sigh at the closed door and scrub my face with my hands.

If I was a good person, I would have gotten up, followed Jasmine, and then proceeded to fuck the fuck out of her on the couch to satisfy her. But I'm not a good person. I have no want to satisfy Jasmine. I have no need to go after her and comply to her demands.

My phone vibrates on the bedside table, and because I'm not a good person I hope it's Presley.

Presley: I am anyonelse.

I bite my bottom lip and puff out a small breath.

Texting Presley and realizing that she is so far away-- it feels-- I feel empty and miserable.

To Presley: You have never been just anyone.

Presley: True. I used to be funny. Yesterday, this kid at the store told me I have dad humor. Like, what? The fuck?

A loud laugh bubbles up my throat and out my mouth. Only Presley would turn a deep conversation into something amusing.

To Presley: I think you're hilarious :D

Presley: That's cause I am.

I can feel a smile on my face, and I can feel a childlike giddy deep inside.

This is bad. I should not be doing this anymore.

Presley: You're not funny, though. You wear weird boots and you're the first person I've come across who wears tighter pants than me. WTF.

To Presley: Not my fault your pants aren't up to par.

This was nice. Texting Presley. Joking and messing around. It's how it used to be. How it should have been, from the start. How it would be If I hadn't been so stupid.

Presley: Put a stamp on your face and mail yourself to my butt.

To Presley: You're naughty (;

I hit send and scroll around until I find Louis' contact name and press the green call button.
It rings three times until there is a distinctive click. "What?" Louis snaps into the receiver. And fuck me. Louis still mad and I haven't seen the lad in three weeks.

"Hey Lou."

"What is it Harold?" He sighs, it's clear he wants to hang up.

"Why are you still mad at me?"

"Because you're a dick."

"Lou--"

"Listen, Harry. I have a bit of packing left to do, so if you don't need anything and you're just planning on wasting my time--I'm going to hang up."

I puff out a breath, deflating at Louis' cold tone. "I said I was sorry."

"Yeah. And it's not the first time. So unless you want me to explain why I think you're scum, I suggest you hang up, while you still have a few good thoughts left about yourself, mate."

"Louis, I called you, didn't I? I didn't just leave Presley alone."

"You did exactly what you promised you wouldn't!" Louis voice is harsh and angry. "You're an idiot and you've just about ruined your life with your fiancée."

"Louis, please--"

"No, Harry. I don't want to help you. Honestly, I don't know how."

"Just--" I sigh and rub my eyes. They're wet and I'm embarrassed. "Be my friend again, Lou. Don't give up on me."

"Stop giving me a reason too," Louis says weakly. "This isn't a conversation we ought to be having over the phone. I'll ring you when I get back, yeah?"

"Trips still on?"

"Yeah. We leave tomorrow morning. Steve's coming to get us. Why?"

"I have something, I'm hoping you'll give Presley?"

"Harry--"

"Please, Louis? I think it'll make her feel better. Please?"

I've had it wrapped for about a week now. I would've given it to her personally, but I don't deserve such a luxury. Not after the last time I saw her. And it was not willingly on her part.

"I don't know, Harry. It's already risky with Ben and I surprising her. I don't know how she'll handle an impromptu gift from you."

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it'd help."

"Yes you would," Louis comments. "Can you drop it off now, then?"

"You'll give it too her?"

"I'll try. Don't know if she'll accept it, but I'll give it a go."

"Thank you, Lou."

"Yeah, yeah. M'probably digging my own grave, but whatever. Bring it down curly."

"Okay," I say excitedly. "Be there in twenty." Louis says goodbye and the line goes dead.
I have to remember to thank Louis over and over, until he's sick of hearing the words. Or until I'm tired of saying them.

I look at my phone and click on the unread message.

Presley: That's what everyone loves about me.

I love Presley. I love her more than I'll ever be able to explain. I love the way she's funny without realizing it. The way she can make my coffee with her eyes closed and zero focus on the task. I love the way Presley loves me. Or the way she used.

To Presley: Maybe I love you too much and show too little.

And maybe that's my problem. That I don't show it enough. Maybe that's what is hurting her the most.

Presley: Maybe you stopped.

To Presley: No. Don't think I ever did.

Notes

Today is the last day I'll have to rinse my mouth out with salt water. TODAY is everything. Also I'm out of lucky charms but it's cool cause my mum didn't buy milk. She's not very cool.

Also, it has come to my attention that, apparently Louis, is not an only child ? What?