I closed my laptop screen with a heavy sigh and looked out the window in front of my desk. The streets below were empty, it being too cold out for a nice walk, and I could see Christmas lights in the windows across the way. Had we not kept ours up all year long, lining the ceiling and up the staircase, my flat would look like the most festive of them all. I loved the holidays: the smells, the music, the cheer that hung in the air. Sure Christmas and New Years were still a month away but knowing I wouldn't be spending the holidays with my grandparents back home made me sad. I pushed my desk chair back and headed to the kitchen to make some dinner. I took out my chicken, all of my vegetables, spices and seasonings and set them aside as I heated up the chicken stock for my families original homemade chicken noodle soup recipe. Just as I was about to start chopping up the celery I could hear my phone ringing from upstairs.
"Happy Birthdayyyyy Baby Sis!" Jane's voice sang out causing me to pull the phone away from my ear. I missed her voice, I missed her. It had officially been six months since I'd seen her and with my birthday and the holidays coming up, she figured it would be the perfect time for me to come visit her in Paris where she was stationed.
"My birthday's not until tomorrow..." I laughed, just happy to hear her voice.
"I know, duh, but I wanted to be the first to tell you! We're going to have so much fun! I'm just happy you could come out, even just for a day or two." I smiled knowing she couldn't see me. The past couple of weeks had been horrible, Jane only knew the gist of it.
"Yeah, totally." I said softly, easing my chopped celery into my boiling pot.
"Quelle mouche t'a piqué?" she quipped on the other end. I laughed, she was getting much better at her French but I still didn't know what she was saying.
"Oui, oui, uhhhh… vert croissant!" I returned, completely ignorant to what was coming out of my mouth. She found it hilarious. After my short call with Jane I finished my soup and left it simmering on the stove, I still had three more hours before I could even eat it. I shuffled over to my sofa and turned on the TV to find Love Actually just starting. I pulled my quilt over my legs and settled in.
Somewhere between Colin Firth's horrible Portuguese and Hugh Grant's carol singing I started to break down and cry. Not because of the film, though it was one of my ultimate favorites, but because watching it brought back every good and bad memory I had of Harry. This was his favorite movie, we had watched it together once and that was the first and only time I ever saw him truly cry. I wanted to kiss his tears away but I knew it would be inappropriate so I threw some tissue his way and made a joke about getting his wimpy tears on my pillows. That was just a memory now. I thought I was past this, I thought I was stronger but three weeks after my kiss with Liam I still found myself deeply depressed and alienated from the world. I know Harry saw us, I recognized his car right away and the fact that I haven't heard from him, not a single word, in almost a month just confirmed that. Just three days after that night Harry went public with a very popular model 8 years his senior and having to see their pictures plastered on every newspaper, magazine and website in the world tortured me. They were inescapable to the point that I didn't leave my flat for over a week. I stayed in bed, crying and hating myself for what I had done. To make matters worse, Ed was still gone on a short three week tour and I had lost almost all contact with the girls and the rest of the boys. I was too scared to call or text anyone, not ready to hear what they thought when they found out what had happened. Luckily enough, I heard no reports about Liam and his girlfriend so I just held onto the hope that she never found out.
The only thing that brought me comfort in those dark days were Ed's random middle of the night text pictures of his latest Lego creation and the knowledge that Harry looked absolutely miserable in all the photos with his new girlfriend. Did that make it better, of course not, but I knew Harry. I knew his smile, his real smile, and I could see through him in all the interviews where he was asked about his lucky new lady. In my heart, I would lie to myself and say that he was only with her to hurt me, that he really wanted to be with me but just couldn't bare the idea after my indiscretions with Liam. Sometimes this would make me feel better and sometimes I would cry even harder at the idea of him wanting to hurt me, wanting to throw his success and this woman in my face. In the end, I was convinced I was the worst person in the world. I felt 100% responsible for what happened, for not seeing where Liam was going and stopping it sooner and for potentially leading him on. I had let my weakness for a man who didn't want me potentially ruin someone else's relationship and I found it hard to live with myself. As the credits started to roll on Love Actually, I went to check on my soup before pulling out luggage from the closet and beginning to pack for my train the next morning. I promised myself I would have a good birthday. I deserved it.
