BRITs (2012 - 2018)
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harry & louis’ tattoos close up
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Everything I’m Not | 2
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“I’m sorry.”
Harry practically croaks to your voicemail which is the only piece of you that he could go to for the past week, tearing up a bit as he does so, and it’s almost as if he’s never really fallen into routine for the seven days he’s been doing this.
It was to wake up in warm pajamas that he’d be delighted to wear in any other occasion, because there can he feel the actual warmth. Warmth that didn’t just put away the cold that bites on his toes and prick on his skin, but warmth that heated him up both inside and out.
This warmth that he’s feeling is only a dull and faint one, no thrill in his bones that he’s wearing his favorite pajamas of all time because it was his obligation to, having no will in him to even adjust the thermostat. Or it could be either the warmth that he’s feeling because he’s aware he’s cold, so there goes his brain tricking enough some of his gears enough that he’s hot to the touch.
Or maybe he really just has a fever because he hasn’t been taking care of himself, and that the migraine he’s feeling is apart from the migraine he feels upon thinking of you, what he’s done to you, and the guilt that just isn’t impending anymore.
It was to drag himself against his home’s wooden floors because he feels too heavy; too heavy in the sense that he doesn’t even wanna walk and that the moment he does so, he’s gonna go let himself crash in the nearest object that’s suitable for him to lie down on.
Felt like guilt has taken on its purest form that he could physically feel it weigh him down to this extent, only taking not more than a flick of you face to drive him to crippling frustration over himself.
It was to bask in a hot shower and have him look at the caddy, only to see your body wash that you’ve left when you used his bathroom because his guest’s didn’t have the heater properly functioning, and then later tell himself to just put it some place else.
He really couldn’t for some reason because taking it away meant having to go to the guest bedroom that he’s converted to be yours, meaning that he’d get to see a faint image of you in it with his mind, and he doesn’t want it no more.
Doesn’t wanna go to sleep, only to dream of you and wake up later to know that him holding your hand while he babbles was very much not true and had the large chance of not happening at all, given the circumstances.
It was to eat hastily whatever he’s cooked, based on what appears to the top of his head; which meant instant noodles for breakfast, bread for lunch, and a reheat of the tempura from just a day ago before you hopped out of his car.
It was to either listen to something turned on really loudly for it to even register as white noise to his mind, or him becoming alone with his thoughts that were equally as bad. The only thing practically stopping him from just bursting is the image of you in his head, scolding him for what he’s doing.
Was funny, really. Just as a little obedient child, he quickly follows. Pretty amazing too because no one could really get him to do that in the past few days, let alone speak and be heard – but Harry, oh god does he get pliable when it comes to you, even more so now that he’s wronged you.
Pliable to the extent that it’s him trying to make up for things, even if it meant following an imagined version of you in his mind.
“M’sorry for being a prick and saying things I didn’t mean.”
He wishes, literally prays at this moment, that when you listen to this voicemail or any of his for the matter, you could hear everything on it.
He hopes that you could hear the wholesome rawness to his voice that was a result of continuously crying and sobbing; the cracks at the highs of it and the grumble at its lows when he do. The rawness to how empty his voice sounds and that there wasn’t anything sharp to be heard besides his intake of breath when what happened sinks in again, and his voice breaking as a result.
Hopes that when you hear him, you could see him fumbling for something while he speaks; wanting to have his fingers, if not his mind, be occupied to doing something that would distract him from pain. Gripping and twisting and bending and breaking with his hands felt nothing, but he wishes otherwise. It’s him taking out his rings because it felt like they were suffocating his fingers and his feeling.
Hopes that you could hear the fatigue in his voice that only barely scratches the surface if it was to reflect his current state; it’s the fatigue that’s weighing him down from sleeping, yet not resting. It was him going to bed unwell, and waking up probably even more unwell. The feeling of being unkempt was growing on him quickly.
Harry hopes that you could hear everything, not because it should revolve about him. Yet, it’s because it represents a diary of sorts that would show you what it’s like to immensely regret, fuck up, and have that take a toll on you.
“I’m sorry if I’ve basically told you that you were replaceable; you’re really not.”
That he’s sure of because the mere thought of your place being taken over by Blue and anyone else for that matter felt like and is a long shot.
You’re certain that it was this that got your nerves quickly on edge and your mind running about and your heart dropping, all by the moment that he’s said “just so — perfect, right? Don’t have to come to you for anything now.”
It was just the vague thought of being unneeded that put you back down that maybe you’re one of the people Harry’s taken temporary joy in. White noise over a wide hollow space to momentarily fill in his solitude.
Sets you off too because having Blue meant not having you anymore — knowing that just a simple add of words to “friend” made up a whole new meaning you haven’t warmed up to yet.
It’s the feeling that sets you back because being replaced feels worse than it actually sounds. Mind-blocking pain that gets you shifting in your spot and thumbing at whatever.
If Harry were to go in depth, he feels like his pain couldn’t be put into his words and his remorse into anything but breaking down.
An hour later after he messed up, the guilt didn’t quite settle yet.
He’s stubborn, and he thought then that he shouldn’t let the departure of his friend ruin this date (that’s supposedly between the two of you) go to waste, because he admits that he has some sort of attachment to the café too.
Orders your favorite, which happens to be his too, and didn’t make the mistake of ordering two of it because it’s wuite clear that you aren’t here.
The bare concept of him literally just carrying on feeling untouched had Niall writhing in his seat, gripping the edge of his chair with his fists, and attempting to stabilize his breath.
He wanted to ask him “how much of a heartless prick you are?”, then storm out on him without getting to know the answer. But he wants to raise up your flag of course, but he can’t. Since raising your point up meant that he can’t control his voice and his actions.
Because just as livid as Niall is, he isn’t too livid to storm off cussing that would be another headline attached to Harry’s name.
A day after he messed up, that’s when it all settled in.
The actual feeling that he didn’t even get to remember your face while he fucked things up, was maybe a bit of a stab because he wasn’t really paying attention to you at all.
Paid no mind to nothing but his selfish and foolish self.
“Played your insecurity that only I know, and used it against you. Don’t think I could ever forgive myself for that.”
It’s true — true to the point that it feels so harsh yet it feels so right, because after all, Harry did deserve this pain, right?
Can’t imagine what it must have felt like being compared to someone who you’ve been with for not more than a month, when he’s the one who’s been known by you for years.
Can’t imagine what it must have felt like being told that he’s not as dashing as your lad and that there was no question about it.
Can’t even choke down what it must have felt like to have your lad be praised as perfect even if he’s not there, when he’s so used to be called perfect by you even if it’s far from long a shot.
Much more, be told that he’s unneeded.
“M’sorry if I made you feel alone when I was with her.”
Harry’s voice cracks and the tears that have been steadily flowing down to his cheeks felt heavier and more aggressive, a heart-wrenching sob racking through his whole chest.
He could remember clearly now on how much it hurts.
Hurts him that your eyes were blank and spacing out whenever you were invited to hang out with him and his love — on how you felt lonely even when you’re physically not.
Hurts him that the reason you’ve replied a bit too quickly before that time he fucked up, was because you’ve been gripping it in your hands and just expecting him to be the one to reach out.
“I made you feel less and you aren’t. But s’been a week — and I’m available always yeah?”, he feels his heart slack and his fingers numb as he grips his shirt with his fists while he cracks out the last part, “just gonna wait for you.”
Doesn’t have any pride in him to be even the one to quit on you, much less be absent, because that’s the last thing he wants to do now.
“I still need you.”
He whispers to his phone and into your voicemail, and he prays, literally prays that he hears you now.
That the moment you listen to this, you could see him struggling too and believe that he does need you.
Prays that you’re still there, no matter how few is your will that compels you to just hear him out even if he doesn’t deserve it.
“Y’know what — screw that.”
Harry mumbles as he looks up to the ceiling; the white staring back at him and it does nothing to calm him and remind him that it feels so dull without you here — on how he isn’t used to this at all and how he’d never be.
“I don’t think that m’never gonna stop needing you.”
