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Nisa & Harry Part I

Dear Harry.

Scratch that.

Harry. No.

Dear Harry,

Fuck.

Harry,

I’m sorry I screwed up.

I’m sorry I screwed us up. It wasn’t meant to be that way. Actually, I don’t know. You know I don’t believe in “meant-to-be’s”.

My mum told me this story, about why we put marriage rings on the left ring finger. You probably know it. You’re fed up with these kinds of stories. Anyways, she told me there was an invisible red cord (how can it be invisible and red at the same time? I asked her then -- she shushed me) that went from our hearts to our left ring fingers, and when we put a ring on it, the red cord would be attached to our partner’s cord forever. That’s why we get married once, she said. (Also, I told you she’s been married three times, yeah?) It’s creepy, I think.

Or scary, you would say. To be tied to someone. It makes it so much more difficult to cut contact, you know? To break the bond.

I don’t know why I’m still writing this e-mail.

You’ll never receive it.

You know I don’t believe in meant-to-be.

Even with you.

Five months before.

(Or, Month One - September)

Harry

It had happened this afternoon, as I was sitting on the couch with her resting on my chest and me stroking her short blond hair mindlessly. She’d sniffed and I looked down at the sudden noise coming from her, as she’d been so still the whole time we’d been sitting on our damn couch. And then, never looking at me, still staring at the turned off telly, she’d said it. I think we should break up. My ears started to buzz and my whole body stilled, my own lungs forgetting how to function for a moment, relishing in that stillness. She’d sat up straighter then, taking the wrist of my hand that was still resting on her hair to put it away from her. Suddenly, she had felt ten meters away, not centimeters. I’m breaking up with you, Harry, she repeated. As if she needed too, as if my body reaction wasn’t proof enough that I had heard her. My throat dried up, but I had still managed a word: why? That’s when she had stood up, a big heavy sigh leaving her lips before she started one of her infamous monologue. She didn’t feel it between us anymore, I couldn’t procure her with what was awaiting in her life next. She felt a need to grow that I couldn’t procure, and my dreams were crushing hers. Bringing hers down with mine.

Those words were the hammer to the glass-shaped heart my fundamental organ had become. When she had finally finished her speech, destroying me with each words, she had asked me to leave. So, still without saying a word, I had gone to our bedroom, hers now, took most of what was mine in a big fabric travel bag, strapped my guitar on my back and closed the front door behind me. It had took fifteen minutes for the uber to take me to Reilly’s flat, two to go up the stairs and ten seconds to knock on his door.

Later that day, after I had told Reilly everything and barely eaten the dinner he’d made me, he called Ian. Ian, who told Reilly he would come straight away and whisk me out into the night to get me smashed. That’s how Ian and I had found ourselves at some shitty bar that wasn’t where Reilly worked. Rei had made us promise not to cost him his job and Ian was pretty sure me being drunk and heartbroken would have done the trick. So we’d gone to the next best place. This no name’s bar had cheap alcohol that got the job done quick. The ground and counter were both slightly sticky and the walls and every furniture pieces were dark enough to make it even harder to see anything with the dim lighting. The music playing was as mellow as my mood. My vision was fuzzy but as unfocused as my head was, it took it too much effort trying to bend my broken heart to do any other work. So, my vision was blurred and my hearing seemed out of sorts, every sound pounding in my ears.

And, God, it hurt in my heart.

“It hurts in my heart.”

It wasn’t that much of a strange thing to think to say, considering I was heartbroken. I’d never thought it would literally hurt in my heart. But the thing was squeezing, ripping into shreds, and contorting into a shape that is not a heart, but rather in some sort of nothingness.

And then it hurt behind my head.

“Ow, what the fuck Ian?” I said wincing, patting behind my head to try and sooth the pain.

Ian was sitting besides me at the bar counter, nursing a rum and coke similar to my own. Except his wasn’t empty.

“Stop being so melodramatic, Harry. You look like a pile of shit,” he scoffed, taking a sip of his drink, his eyes flitting behind my head. He winked. Probably to a girl standing not too far behind me.

I sighed, “Thanks. I think I’m drunk.”

His eyes came back to my face, half squished on my hand supported by the counter. He scoffed, “I know you’re drunk, you’re metamorphosing into some sort of shitty poet. Of course you’re drunk.”

I was. Very drunk. Especially because I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol all the time I was dating Liz. She was good at that, making you do things you didn’t really want to do. Like banning alcohol for instance, or quit bad foods, or become a vegan when you were allergic to legumes. But there was this thing about Elizabeth. It was that light in her eyes.

Anyways, I was so drunk I don’t remember anything until I was climbing the security stairs from Reilly’s flat. When I climbed through the window that night, banging my head on the wood, wincing like a baby, and breaking some sort of cat ornament I didn’t know existed, I didn’t know it’d be such a hassle in the morning. Granted, I even walked in the dark, took my coat, shirt, and boots off and laid down on the couch (that I thought was supposed to face the other way), for a well-deserved rest. Maybe Reilly had done some redecorating after Ian and I had gone, never knew with him. It didn’t occur to me, not once, how a little grey ball of a kitten could sleep on my face, when, kind of, maybe, Reilly didn’t own a cat.

In the morning, when I wasn’t woken up by the morning sunlight peaking through the curtains, but by a blood-chilling scream, it all made more sense.

The scream made me jump out of my skin and falling off the couch in no time. My elbow hit the corner of a table that wasn’t supposed to be there, the kitten that was once upon a time on my head was screeching and hiding under the couch and... I swore (fuck, fuck, fuck, not the fucking elbow, Jesus). I realised then that the bloody couch was dark purple and cozy looking and not grey uncomfortable leather. That the walls were blue so light it was almost white and not that prime coat that Reilly never got to paint. That the girl had stop screaming and was looking at me with amused and disturb interest.

“Hi,” I croaked. It wasn’t everyday I found myself in a situation like this: slightly still kind of, maybe, definitely drunk (a little bit), shirtless, and sleeping in the wrong bloody flat.

The elbow was still sore and my head was pounding but the smile I sent her was trying really hard not to be creepy. She, with her dark brown hair and almond shaped eyes and pretty legs and amused crooked grin, crossed her arms and threw her head back and laughed (what a laugh) until it was all gone and she could talk again.

“Hi. You should tell me right now why you’re in my flat.” The girl said in a very authoritative voice. She looked like she didn’t know if she had to be scared or amused. For a split second, I realised that by finding me this morning, a strange man sleeping on her couch, I might have shattered her sense of safety. And that made me blurt my words out.

“Yeah, um, I’m Harry?” I said like a question. This whole situation had me unsure of my own name, “‘m so sorry about that. Was um… kinda drunk last night.” (I do not know why I was still on the floor.)

“I can see that,” her arms were crossed, a stance of protection.

I passed a hand over my face, wincing, “Yeah, so I think that maybe I’ve mistaken your window with my best mate’s,” I explained, pointing vaguely outside.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, her eyes shifting to the front door.

“Yes, he, um, I assume he’s your neighbour, probably, I hope.” God, I hoped. Because it would have mean I was really freaking drunk last night if not only I didn’t go through the right window, but wasn’t even in the right building.

“I kind of hope too.”

“Yeah?” I said, scratching behind my head.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy dude that sneaked into my flat,” she said, lifting one eyebrow.

I winced again, “Touché.”

“Yep.”

It took a moment for us to move. I was looking at the floor when I realised I still hadn’t put my shirt on. I didn’t want to make the girl any more uncomfortable that that situation was probably putting her in. But I was hungover, and my brain was slow, and for some reason it didn’t occur to me to run out of there as fast as possible. So, I got up on my feet, swaying while doing so, and threw my shirt on the fastest way possible for a man that was probably still a bit drunk. The girl was, still, kind of amusedly staring at me.

“What?” I said, standing there like a moron. (still not leaving).

“Nothing,” she shrugged. She looked up, as if she was debating something, then uncrossed her arms, patting her thighs at her side in a nervous manner.

Cleared her throat, “I’m Nisa, by the way. Want some tea?”

I nodded my head too fast, borderline breaking my neck and throwing up from the movement, because of how scared I was of being thrown out. Even though I’d told myself several time to leave already. She laughed at me, a laugh that wasn’t complete somehow. Probably still in shock from having this weird half-drunk dude in her living room.

“What a laugh.”

She smiled, looking at me sideways. I realised I had said it aloud. My blush began to my neck and went to the roots of my hair.

She walked to her kitchen, and I followed, not too close behind. She boiled water in her electric kettle, and got two mugs and two bags of tea out as I watched. When the kettle beeped and she purred water in the cups, she sat on the countertop and beckon me to join her with a sign of her head before giving me my cuppa. I, with my wild bed hair, flattened out on the right side of my head, my dark circles, hollow under my eyes, trying to smile without looking more creepy than I probably was. Nisa, with her irises as dark as the night, giant green forest sweater on to match, pajama shorts and her cotton socks. Sitting side by side.

“So,” I said once my cup was empty and we’d sat in silence for too long.

“Hmm?”

“I’m very sorry. For scaring you and all. I mean… It really wasn’t something I intended to do, and um… I should probably go now,” I said finally, jumping off the countertop, putting my cup on the counter and taking my coat from the couch.

“Yeah,” she said, “maybe I’ll see you,” She nodded, joining me at the door as I opened it.

“Maybe.”

The door closed on my back, and I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the wall in front of me. Now that I didn’t have to focus on not creeping the girl out, I could feel how dizzy I was. My heart was pounding in my throat, and I needed to keep my lips shut or I would very certainly throw up. Unfortunately for my hangover, it took a while and a tiny bit of effort to realised that Reilly’s flat was two doors on the left.

“You look like shit,” Reilly said as soon as his front door closed behind me. I collapse beside him on the couch, a hand on my forehead in the delusional idea that it would stop pounding.

“Thanks.”

After giving me some ibuprofen and water in a beer glass, Reilly finally asked where I’d spend the night. Ian had texted him the night before to know if I was okay or if I’d died from alcohol poisoning. Fortunately for me, Reilly had only seen the message this morning, or he would have probably called the cops on my disturbing disappearance. Or not.

“Fuck if I know,” I answered, standing up so that I could get rid of all that alcohol in my body.

Vomit. I was going to vomit.

Nisa

It had been a month. A month to the day that somehow… my perspective on life had change. A month since I’d talked to my mum, more since I’d talked to him.

I didn’t want to stay awake the whole night. Not again. So, I had taken some sleeping pills Elaine had given me the week before. To see if it would work, to see if I could finally get rid of those awful dreams. Those pills worked too well maybe. They were the only explanation I was willing to give myself for not hearing this boy get through my window during the night.

The pills had worked anyhow. I didn’t remember falling asleep, nor did I woke during the night panting and sweating. It had been only blank, darkness and then… light. I had to tell my body to move so I could get out of bed and have breakfast, my body still kind of heavy because of the sleep I wasn’t used to have. I had dragged my feet on the floor, my eyes half closed as I went to the bathroom to pee. It was only when I was coming back towards the living room, planning to watch telly, that I realised something wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I yelled when I realised it was a boy. Luna screeched and hid away as she tended to do. For a moment, as he startled awake and out of the couch to the floor, with his disheveled hair in his face and his messy clothes, I had no idea if this boy was going to hurt me or not. I step back as he swore, crossing my arms in front of my body. Somehow through my panic I snorted at him, his clumsiness at trying to get up almost endearing.

“Hi,” he croaked after giving up on standing, looking around in panic and raising his head to look at me. He looked lost, his hand rubbing his sore elbow he’d just banged on the coffee table. His jeans riding up his ankles, all twisted around the legs, his torso and arms speckled with tattoos I found myself being intrigued with.

Through my panic, I felt myself laugh, like a nervous laughter bubbling up my throat and out there to form a sound I didn’t know would come out. When the laughter dried out, I felt myself focusing again on the boy in front of me instead of the weird reaction my body was having. I was pretty sure these sleeping pills were still fucking up with me.

“Hi,” I said, before taking a deep breath, “You should tell me right now why you’re in my flat.”

When I stopped talking, I saw something flashed in his eyes, like comprehension or realisation. He said, “Yeah, um, I’m Harry?” his name sounded like a question, and I wasn’t sure if this meant he was more confuse than I was or if he’d just given me a fake name, “‘m so sorry about that. Was um… kinda drunk last night.”

“I can see that,” I said, my hands squeezing my sides even more. I was still waiting for the explanation. This twenty-something boy had the lowest and slowest voice I’d ever heard out of a man. My dad had that loud, extravagant and rapid tone he would boast out to tell his stories, and Evan, it hurt me to think, had a tone low but sweet, his words tumbling one on the other as he talked.

He winced at my words, “Yeah, so I think that maybe I’ve mistaken your window with my best mate’s,” he said, pointing to the window.

I hummed, still waiting. I didn’t know if his slow manner was due to his drunkenness or if it was a natural state.

“Yes, he, um, I assume he’s your neighbour, probably, I hope.”

“I kind of hope too,” I said, smiling tightly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to be a creepy dude that sneaked into my flat,” I said, lifting one eyebrow.

He winced again, “Touché.”

“Yep.”

I was still looking at him as he stared at the floor, probably thinking about what to do next. I didn’t know why I was still standing there like a moron instead of throwing him out of my flat like a normal twenty-something girl would do if she found a strange boy sleeping on her couch in the morning. My mind was going fuzzy with thoughts and questions. But my eyes were staring. Staring at his shoulders and the tattoos on his collarbones and at his hair, soft, wispy, that ended at the start of his head and the end of his neck. At his hands, searching on the floor for what I assumed was his t-shirt. He stood up suddenly, finally, and I averted my eyes for a second as he put his shirt and boots on. I looked again, he’d managed to make his hair messier than it had been previously.

“What?” he asked suddenly, catching me looking at him.

“Nothing,” I shrugged, hiding my smile. I closed my eyes for a second, uncrossed my arms. I was probably an idiot for doing this, and my mum would probably find out about my murder in the newspaper tomorrow, but I sighed, cleared my throat and said, “I’m Nisa, by the way. Want some tea?”

He nodded, looking a bit green after the act, and a laugh bubble up my throat again somehow, but I caught it, just in time not to look completely crazy. I heard him without registering what he said straight away, and a smile grew on my face that I couldn’t stop.

“What a laugh,” he’d said under his breath.

I turned around to hide my slow blush as I walked to the kitchen, put water in the kettle and let it boiled. I got my favorite green mug and a red mug out and two english breakfast tea bags before putting the boiled water in the mugs. I kept both teas black as I gave his to Harry without asking if he wanted something in it. He nodded without complaint and sat beside me on the countertop as we both drank our cuppas in silence.

“So,” he said, cutting the silence. I kept the still warm mug in my hands as I hummed at him to continue.

“I’m very sorry,” he started as I lift my head up to him, “For scaring you and all. I mean… It really wasn’t something I intended to do, and um…,” he waited, nodding to himself, “I should probably go now,” he said finally, jumping off the countertop, putting his cup on the counter and walking towards the couch to take the coat that was sprawled on it.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “maybe I’ll see you,” I said as he walked to the front door and opened it. He turned to me, a shy smile flashing on his lips.

He said, “Maybe.”

I closed the door behind his back, my forehead leaning on the cold wood. I leaned back taking a big breath as I locked the door, turning around to stare at the window he had come from.

“Fuck.”

It was ten a.m. and I needed a drink.

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