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freedomfireflies · 2 years

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Rumours | 2. Lightening Strikes (Maybe Once, Maybe Twice)

Life without Harry isn’t what she expected.

But it’s exactly what she needed.

The days start long. Sleepless nights. Staring at his contact in her phone. Praying for the courage to let him go.

The days turn into weeks. The weeks come easier. She deletes his number. Deletes the pictures. Refuses to linger on a memory when it comes to mind.

She packs him away. Closes the box. Tapes it shut. Locks the door.

The weeks melt into months, the box growing cold as it disappears behind dust and cobwebs in her subconscious.

Soon, a familiar scent or reminder of who they once were doesn’t hurt as much. She can see his old t-shirt and feel nothing.

She finds new friends. Finds new parts of the city she’s never explored. Finds new hobbies, new interests, new favorite songs.

Things that are hers. Only hers. Not theirs.

She becomes who she’s always wanted to be. Who she was always meant to be.

She finds herself.

The weekends, which used to be spent in wallowing and self-pity (and buckets of ice cream) are now spent dancing. All through the night, she and her friends roam the city streets going from club to club as they create memories to last a lifetime.

And enough blisters to remind her why she prefers staying home.

Not once in the two years since she walked out that door and left Harry behind has she seen him. Hasn’t heard his name. Hasn’t caught a whiff of his cologne. Hasn’t seen the familiar curve of his jaw. Of his nose. Of his lips.

Not until tonight.

She sees his hair first. Longer than it used to be, but not by much. It’s grown out around his ears. Gives him a boyish charm.

She sees his tattoos next. The familiar face of the mermaid. The elegant ship that ripples when he moves. The rose he had insisted she get to match his.

Then, she finds his eyes. As hauntingly persuasive as she remembers.

The room moves around them. People dancing. Music loud and lively. Energy infectious.

But they don’t move. They stand in the middle of the crowd, and they reminisce. Five years in five seconds. Taking in the other as they wonder how two years could have gone by so fast.

It feels as though it were yesterday.

And somehow, a lifetime ago.

Then…he smiles.

She hadn’t expected to feel so relieved, but she does. The soft pull of his lips enough to soothe her muscles as she returns the gesture.

She had hoped one day they’d find peace.

She’s glad to see they have.

They turn back to their friends and continue with their night. She’s surprised to find she feels lighter than she did when she first came in. Surprised to find that he doesn’t hurt her anymore.

But she’s happy for it, nonetheless.

As the night continues, she finds herself wondering if she should extend an olive branch. If she owes it to him to put the past behind them. Pursue a friendship.

She supposes she doesn’t. After all, she has no idea where his life has led him. Has no idea who he is anymore.

It’s not her responsibility to find out.

She attempts to push the thought free. Moves about the room until she can find a spot to rest and collect her breath. Rehydrate and regroup. She watches her friends dance the night away with a knowing expression of peace and contentment. Happy to be a part of the night, no matter how bizarre and surprising.

That’s where Harry finds her.

Leaning against the hallway wall as she observes, the water bottle tight in her hand, skin glistening with sweat.

He hesitates for a moment once he realizes, and she herself feels the flush in her cheeks as her heart begins to race.

Then, he straightens up and offers a soft smile. “Hi.”

She feels her muscles unwind, slouching against the wall with relief as she nods her greeting. “Hi.”

For a moment, neither of them truly knows how to proceed. How to be in each other’s company. What to say, where to look, how to act.

But, as usual, Harry takes the lead, stepping closer and crossing his arms. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” she tells him, and she smiles at the truth of the statement. Because it is true, and she’s so glad it is. “You?”

“Good, yeah.” His tone softens, almost as if he’s not allowed to admit he’s been good. To admit that life did in fact move on. “I’m…it’s good to see you, it’s been…what? A year?”

“Two,” she corrects, and his eyes widen. “I know, time goes by so fast.”

“Shit, no kidding.”

A lull in the conversation as his head shakes and his eyes find the floor, lost in thought.

For a moment, she wonders if she should ask what he’s been up to. Wonders if she should attempt reconciliation.

But she’s afraid to open that box. Not after she worked so hard to close it.

It’s as if he can sense her hesitation, gaze flicking back up to find her. “You look good,” he murmurs, and despite the surprise of his compliment, she can hear the earnestness in his voice. “Happy.”

Now it’s her turn to look away, suddenly overcome with sentiment. She can feel her skin grow hot as he looks on, but she forces herself to remain unperturbed. “You do, too.”

And to be fair, he does look good. She can’t quite say he looks happy, but he does look like the Harry she fell in love with. But older. Perhaps wiser. The kindness in his eyes ever-present the way she remembers.

A quick pause in the conversation as he clears his throat and looks toward his feet. “I missed you.”

This admittance is ushered so low, it’s almost carried away by the rhythm echoing throughout the building.

But she hears it, nonetheless, and the strings of her heart are tugged as she regards him. She works to fight the words ready to slip free, but before she can, she hears herself whisper, “I missed you, too.”

Because she did. Of course she missed him. She’ll always miss him. Maybe not as her lover but as her friend.

She’ll forever miss the young boy she grew to adore, who dragged her through the streets looking for the perfect ice cream cone. The boy who carried her on his back whenever her feet got tired. The boy who crawled through her window so he could slip into her arms and find sleep.

He seems surprised to hear this. Surprised, maybe, that she hasn’t told him off.

But she finds no point in holding onto the past any longer. No point in writing him off when all she wants is for him to be happy.

“How is she?”

The question comes out before she can restrain herself. And for a brief moment, she wants to wince…but the truth is, she doesn’t mind hearing about this woman. Not anymore. Not after how hard she’s worked to put it all behind.

She’s strong enough to handle it now.

If Harry had been startled before, he’s gobsmacked now, cheeks growing red as he struggles to meet her eye. “She—” Another clear of his throat. “—uh, I don’t know. It’s…it’s over.”

Her brow raises. She searches her subconscious for any sign of relief but finds none. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He snorts. Not in a particularly condescending way, but she does imagine he finds her condolences odd. “Don’t be.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He pauses. “I…I meant to tell you. Earlier. I mean, it’s been over for a while, and I wanted to tell you, but I just…I didn’t think you’d want to know—”

“Really, it’s fine. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—”

“No, I do.” His voice grows louder, his body language tense. He’s adamant. “I do, I owe you fucking everything. I don’t…I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I never should have…I never—”

He sucks in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, head shaking with bitter disdain as he looks away.

The urge to comfort him is strong. To assure him that she holds no grudge.

But she waits. Waits to see what lies in his heart after all this time.

“Shit, I don’t…I wanted to call you,” he mumbles after a moment, glaring at the floor. “I wanted to call you every fucking day and just hear your voice. Just…just hear that you were okay. But you changed your number, and I knew it was because of me and—and I knew. I knew I’d made you afraid of me, and I’m…I’m so fucking sorry.”

She steps forward. Her hands find his chest. Captures his attention as he looks at her.

“It’s okay, Har,” she whispers, her voice soft like satin. Encouraging him to listen. To understand. “I don’t carry it around with me anymore. You shouldn’t either.”

His breath hitches. Overcome with regret. “I…I just—”

“We were meant to let go.” She repeats the reality she had to learn for herself. “We were meant to find who we are without each other. We were meant to move on.”

Her palms find his cheeks, cupping his face tenderly so he’ll accept what she has to offer.

“We’re okay, Har,” she murmurs. “You’ll always be in my heart. Always be the first man I fell in love with. Always.”

She can see the gratitude woven into his features, but the storm still brews behind his eyes. He’s not quite sure what to say. What to think.

So, instead…he doesn’t think. He doesn’t speak.

He just does.

He kisses her.

There isn’t enough time for her to be confused or disconcerted or aghast. Because suddenly, everything comes back to her then.

The feel. The feel of him. The feel of his touch. The feel of his love.

Muscle memory. Pulling her into him. Washing away her intuition and her grievances. Reminding her of a time when she was at her happiest.

When she was his.

And perhaps tomorrow she’ll find the pieces of her heart shattered on the floor.

But tonight, she can’t find it in herself to care.

She chases the feeling like she chases the taste of him. Rising to her tiptoes as she tangles her tongue with his. As she lets the alcohol and the music and the lust drive her forward.

His aggression is exactly like she remembers. Tugging her into his body as he bites at her bottom lip. As he groans her name. As he whispers how much he missed her. How much he really missed her.

Within moments, he’s dragging her into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut. Locking it before throwing her against it. Having her the way he’s dreamed about for months.

And maybe this is the closure she needed from him. Just one last time. One final goodbye.

It’s rough and it’s messy and it’s so fucking familiar that it almost kills her. A memory that had once been cold and grey now warm like sunshine on a fall day. Comforting. Like autumn leaves that fall from the trees. Like picnics in the park. Like apple cider and large sweaters.

And it’s always been good with them. They know each other better than anyone else in the world ever could. Ever will. They know their bodies, their pleasure, their mind. What drives them mad. What drives them to their knees.

“Shit…fucking waited for me, didn’t you?” he grits between clenched teeth as he fucks her. Hard and unforgiving. Slow and salacious. “Knew nothing would ever make you feel like I do, yeah?”

“Yes.” She’s not sure what she’s saying. Imagines he’s not sure what he’s saying, either. But they say it because it feels right. Even if it means nothing. “Shit, Har…s’always you.”

His nose brushes the skin of her cheek as he finds comfort in the mold of her body against his. “Yeah? Always me, baby, fucking promise. Always me—”

“Always.”

They spend the moments after catching their breath. Still entangled in each other’s arms as he whispers his praises. As he tells her he’ll never go without her again.

And she lets him, fingers brushing through his sweaty curls as his head rests on her shoulder, face nuzzled into her neck.

She realizes then that it doesn’t matter how far she moves on. Who she becomes. Where she goes.

At the end of the day…it all comes down to him.

All comes down to the man he once was. The man he is. The love she has for the stranger in her arms. The love that she finally accepts she’ll never be free from.

It will always come down to him.

And maybe she’s okay with that.

~ Rumours | 1. The Chain (You'll Never Love Me Again)

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