Coming Home

I'm an idiot.

I'm an idiot who's weak and probably has teeth marks all over my skin.

I'm an idiot who's hiding away in a bathroom that does not belong to her.

"Presley? Babe? Why are you-- why did you run in here?" And even though Ben sounds worried, I can't force myself to untangle my limbs and answer the door.

"I need-- I'll be out in a second."

"Presley?" And that's not Ben's voice.

No.

It's Louis who's knocking and it's not making me feel better. It's making it all worse, because Harry's here and Harry makes me stupid. But not only is it Harry, but Louis' here and why is that the two people, the same two people who walked away from me a year ago, are both in the same house wanting to interact with me. At the same time.

"I'm almost finished."

"Do you-- we can talk if you'd like?" If this was all a year ago, I would've let Louis in, no questions asked. I would've clung to him and cried because Louis used to be my best friend. But it's not a year ago. It's now. And the Louis from today is just an acquaintance who wants to pick off where we left off.

"No thank you," and it's not because I'm trying to be difficult or because it's easier. It's because it's a lot less embarrassing not talking about it.

"Are you su-"

"Pj? Can you open the door for me?" I don't have to to be told twice. Not when it comes to Jesse. Not when Jesse will change his tone of voice and I'll feel like I'm in trouble. "Hi there pretty girl." Jesse breathes and smiles once the door reveals his body. He shuffles inside, closing the door behind him and then proceeds to sit us on the floor. "Why did you lock yourself in here? Not very sanitary babe."

"I suppose," I sigh. This is embarrassing. Having to be talked to inside of a restroom because I can't handle facing someone.

"What's wrong? Did that-- did he-- Harry, do something?"

Besides cheating on his fiancé with me? Besides me allowing it to happen?

"No, I'm a girl Jesse. I'm a mess," I'm also a liar apparently.

"You're also shaking," that's not an untrue statement. "Here," Jesse mutters nudging on my wrist until I crawled over and sat on top of him. "Better?"

"Yeah." Even if my situation itself wasn't

“Do you still love him?” Jesse asks carefully. I'm quietly attempting to sufficiently sum up my conversation (was it even a conversation?) with Harry. I'm trying not to cry and feel disgusted that I was a part of Harry's infidelity.

“I don’t really think—well, it’s not really relevant?” I say, and I know it’s the wrong answer.

Jesse sighs. “Everything is relevant, Presley. How many times have we gone over this?”

“A lot?” I guess. I loose track.

“A lot, yes. Answer the question,” He says, but there’s a quiet patience to his tone. I know that even if it takes me two hours to answer, he'll probably wait

I sigh, grip tightening on his hand. “I try not to think about it.”

“Then that’s exactly what you need to do, Pj: think about it. Let yourself feel it and move on."

"Jesse I-" the door is ripped open. And I don't know how to finish my sentence when Harry is heaving and he's looking down, with crazed, betrayed eyes. "Fuck." I'm at a cross road right now. I feel like I've just been caught sleeping with my teacher. I feel guilty, like I've just done something to Harry that I won't ever be able to take back.

"Let her go," Harry's dark warning has shivers running down my spine. It has my mind spinning and I'm so confused. "Get off of him." And now his words are directed at me and I don't know what I'm supposed to say. How I'm supposed react. I don't even know how Harry opens the door, or why Louis and Ben weren't stopping the fight that is bound to start.

This isn't appropriate.

Harry's engaged and that's just it. He's engaged. Has commitments and there's no sane reason for him to be behaving this way with me. Not when I'm not a part of his life. Not the way I used to be.

"Why don't you relax man," Jesse is usually the level headed one. Always knows what's right and what's wrong. Accept now, while he stresses the word man it seems as if I'm meeting a whole new Jesse.

"Why don't you make me?" Harry taunts. And for once I wish harry would think something through. I wish he wouldn't be so confusing and willing to rush into a decision.

"Let's calm down," I stammer, trying to stand from Jesse's lap without giving everyone a show. Jesse stands next, and I can feel his chest breathing in and out. "Jesse and I are leaving, okay? No need to start something you'll regret later." I need Harry to understand what I'm saying. I need him to try and remember what we just did and how bad it was. How stupid and crude it was. Mostly I need him to remember the past year and the way he left. The way he walked out. He needs to remember Jasmine. I need him to remember.

But the way Harry grips my arm and moves me closer to his chest, I know he doesn't remember. I know he's not really trying to. And I don't know what's worse.

That I don't want him to. Or that he doesn't.

"You are not leaving with him," Harry fumes, his fingers digging into my flesh. "You're not leaving me right no-"

"If she wants to leave then that's what we're doing," Jesse's hands are causing more trouble right now. They're upsetting Harry and they're not making me feel the way Harry's hands do.

"Don't fucking touch her," Harry snarls. And I feel like a toy being passed around left and right. "Don't touch her ever."

"Don't-- don't touch her?" I know where Jesse's going to go with this. I know where his limits are and I know they're being tested right now. Even if they're against my well being. "We've done a lot more than just touch-"

"Jesse!" I hiss. But it's too late. It's out there now. Harry's already heard it and if Harry was mad before, he's absolutely furious now. "Ben!" Ben does get there quickly, he's out of breath when he reaches us. He just doesn't help much when Harry's already managed to hit Jesse right in the center of his face.

"You're lying!" Harry mumbles over and over. I wish he were right. I wish Jesse had kept his mouth shut and he wouldn't have let his pride shatter what was left of my dignity.

I grab Jesse's wrist and pull him away. And looking up and seeing Harry's face is the worst thing I have ever done. Seeing the way his eyes are angry and sad, knowing that he's wrong. That Jesse didn't lie.

It feels so bad.

Even if I know I haven't done anything wrong. Even if sleeping with Jesse isn't wrong. It's not unfaithful, when I didn't have anyone to be faithful to.

I can hear Harry calling out my name. I can hear the plea in it.

I don't stop though. Not when I know I'll break. That for the second time in my nineteen years I'll cry enough to flood the entire mansion-like apartment.

I manage to get outside, ignoring the crowds of people, escaping Ben and Eleanor's curious glances, and the way Louis is questioning Harry even if Harry's not listening, because I can still hear my name being called.

I can hear it until the door is shut and I'm outside.

"You couldn't have kept your mouth shut?!"

"He pushed me!" If that's Jesse's only defense, then what kind of person was he?

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Hey no," Jesse's hands are holding my head and his voice is soft. "You didn't do anything wrong, okay? What we used to do wasn't wrong. We were together it was normal."

"Then why do I feel so bad?" Why do I feel dirty and cheap. Why do I want to go back inside and beg for Harry's forgiveness?

"Because you're you." Jesse sighs. "Can I take you home?"

"You always want to do the exact opposite of what I want to do. You really get a kick out of this,” I say, eyes narrowed pointlessly.

Jesse laughs, abrupt and loud. “I fucking wish I got a kick out of it. You’re too miserable for me to enjoy it, frankly.”

“Wow, thanks. Best friend ever,” I say flatly.

“That’s why I'm here, kid,” Jesse says exaggeratedly.

“Yeah, you wish, and you’re only five years older than me, shut up."

Jesse laughs again briskly before leveling and saying, “Here’s what I know, Presley: you spend at least eighty percent of our time talking about Harry, being a miserable sack of bones over Harry, spending your savings on plane tickets to find Harry. You need to figure out what that means. So let's go think about it, and I mean it, I’ll have none of your ten-foot walls or your fucking barbed wire fences. You need to let this one through. So you can finally move on and get on with your life. "

“Okay,” I agree after a hesitant pause.

****
Jesse had fallen asleep an hour ago.

Ben had come home thirty minuets later. Questioning and crowding me until I told him everything. Until I had told him what Harry and I had done. On how confused I was over the fact that my meaningless piercing had upset him so much.

Ben nodded through it all. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, mumbling something I didn't understand, before retreating into his room.

It's four am and I can't sleep. Can't focus and can't forget the way Harry reacted over everything.

Before I can have an actual emotional breakdown over the lack of sanity I owned (and I would, because it only seems to take the smallest of things and apparently being crazy is one of them), my phone buzzes insistently in the pocket of my worn and horribly faded pajama bottoms.

“Can I come over?” Harry asks barely a second after I've hit the answer button.

I turn my light on regretfully and scrunch my eyes up before saying carefully, "Harry, are you drunk?” I know it's Harry. Because I still remember the way Harry used to sound over the phone.

“No,” Harry emphatically responds, and I believe him, because if Harry were drunk he’d tell me—well, he always used to anyway.

“You‘re with Jasmine" I point out. Or last I heard (or saw), Harry was having trouble with his relationship and it had somehow manifested into my fault.

“So?" Harry says warily, startling me out of my flashback, “can I come over?”

“I— what? No, Harry, Absolutely no.”

Pause, and then: “I just want to talk. I won't-- we won't do what we did before." Harry says, almost too-- quiet. And I want to know what he's referring to.

The obsession over my piercing and inappropriate kissing or the few jabs Harry's fist created against Jesse's face.

I stand and begin pacing. It's a nervous habit of mine. I consider going to my bathroom and laying in my tub but I fear I may never move from it again if I do. “Harry, that’s not—that’s not the reason,” I say finally.

“Then what is?” Harry asks desperately.

“It doesn’t work like that. We can’t just—”

“I’m not asking to,” He cuts in, and I marvel at how, after everything, Harry still has the nerve to be able to know exactly what I'm thinking. “I just want—I really want to see you.”

“Is this the part where we forget you're engaged again?” I ask in sudden realization.

“No,” He answers, “well, yeah, but like. It’s not just that.”

“I can’t.” I close my eyes, flinching at how harsh and final the words come out. Harry's silent for a while; I can almost hear his mind thinking on the other end of the line. I chew nervously on my thumbnail before saying, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, for either of us.” Because it's not. Harry and I haven't even had a real conversation besides this one.

And I'm not sure it counts.

“I miss you,” He says out of nowhere, and I think he really shouldn’t be allowed to say that. “I miss you so fucking much.”

I sigh, I kind of want the ground to open up and swallow me but I respond. “I can’t, Haz.” I want to say it would probably be counter-productive to my self-recovery but I'm self-aware enough to know that I'm not in recovery, not even a vague sense of recovery.

“Right.” Harry's voice is distant now.

“I’m sorry,” I offer despondently, but it even sounds insincere to my own ears.
Except it’s not, it’s really, really not.

“I just—it’s been a year. I'm finally doing better.”

It’s a lie. It’s a horrible, terrible lie and I'm the worst person, but I can’t think of anything else to say that will make Harry stop. That will get him to leave me alone in my misery.

“Okay,” He says almost compliantly, and I know that the lie will hold.

“Okay. I should—I need to go.” I wince; it’s a poor excuse but also, stupidly, it’s true.

“Can I call you again tomorrow?”

I take a deep breath, "I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and I hang up quickly because I can’t do the unnecessarily lengthy and unpleasant goodbyes that were inevitably coming. I file away a mental note to forget to call Harry.

It’s easier that way. Less words.

Notes

#teamharry (\^.^/) xx