eight | (he ran) faster than i could ever bear to

He's gone. Harry has fled from the scene and left me here to perish. It feels like déjà vu, looking at the note he inscribed that sits on the bedside table. The table beside the bed that we made love in. Or at least, I thought we did. Did we? If it was making love, would he have stayed instead of bolting away?

He talked as if I was enough for him to settle down and stay with for the rest of our breathing days. Why did he just leave me here with all the memories we had created in his own goddamn vacation house?

I sense my throat drying up and my eyes watering in response to my longing stare at the note. What was written on the paper makes the predicament worse.

Liam,

I know you must be mad, if not standing at the bedside table with tears in your eyes. But I don't want you to cry. As much as you may hate me, or you may be hurting right now, I don't want you to waste it on me. I wasn't worth it, not for you. You'll find someone better than me, someone who will treat you better than I could ever dream.

I know what I'm doing is wrong, leaving you in the house with all the memories we made and personally, where I actually felt like life was worth a second chance. You gave me that light, and that's when I realized what I was doing.

You may not understand now, and as long as I live, I don't think you ever will. I can't bear to explain it to you. If I could I would, but right now, the timing is just not in our favor.

Regardless of this, I just want you to remember that no matter how much you're crying, despite my pleading you not to, you will find someone. I don't deserve you Liam Payne, but I wouldn't take back this week if I had the chance.

You're still my prince, and you always will be.

I'll come back for you when the time is right. Who knows what we'll be then, but, at least let me see your beautiful smiling face when it does come around.

- H

Tears are dripping down my chin as I conclude my reading, dropping onto the mattress and crying. Crying because he doesn't understand that I wasn't just his better, but contrary to how much I'm hurting, he's still my better. That Harry may have found it in him in himself to leave me, but I couldn't begin to find it in me to leave him.

Eventually I calm down, packing up my things as one of his servants waits to help me with my bags. I can't look at the bed let alone any of the people that assist him in the house.

I consider whether I should take the note or not for awhile. It was the only thing I had to keep as a souvenir from this hell of a trip, and maybe when (if) he comes back, I can shove it in his face and scream at him for ten minutes about the indecency of leaving someone alone in their own house.

So I oblige, shoving it into my bag. It's almost as if it adds more weight, just from it's significance.

I feel my eyes burning as I exit the house through the back door, keeping my head down as my bags are taken to the van waiting to take me to the airport.

I pause when I pass the mural. My head tilts up to look at the names of thousands of people scattered all around the wall where my name now lays. I'm just like them now; forgotten. Harry probably doesn't even remember half of these people. I'm going to be just another person that fell under his spell.

"Sir, are you ready to leave?"

"Does he ever talk about these people?" I ask, ignoring the question, "Does he remember them at all? Or are they just minor visions in his memories?"

"I...Mr. Styles is a complicated man," the servant starts, looking at the wall with me, "He comes, makes lives perfect, and leaves before they even have the chance to properly thank him."

"Why?"

"He can't maintain it," he answers me, "he wants when he knows he can't have. And he can't have what most people nowadays have."

"And what is that?"

"The opportunity to love. But I think you're different. I have a feeling he's going to fight for you."

"Why? How do you know?" 'Why' seems to be the word of the day.

"You were something more to him than a person. He cared for you in a compassionate way I'd never seen my young master love. All these years, since he was just a teen, he's never cared for someone as much as he cares for you. And this wall, this sacred wall he's managed to create and admire, you've made the highest mark."

"I don't quite understand what you're talking about." I reply.

"I mean, off all the people on this wall, you're the only one he let write in red marker."

-

I'm silent on the flight home. Not that I had anyone to talk to, but within myself, I'm silent as well. I can't even bring up thoughts to rattle in my brain because Harry has left me so utterly numb, I don't know what to make of it.

He just, left. How do I take it? What does it mean? More importantly, why did he do it?

He said that after the trip we would meet again; now I wonder if that will ever happen. Or was that a bloody lie too?

Coincidentally, Louis is on the flight home with me again, a wide smile on his face as he sits next to me again. His chestnut colored fringe is longer from the last time I saw him, indicating that his hair grows frequently. His vibrant blue eyes shine brighter than they did before as well, and I envy him. He obviously had a better time than I did. Probably because he didn't meet anyone. Knowing Louis and his glamorous personality, he probably has someone waiting for him at home.

"Hey," he says cheerily, "so how was it? What did you do?"

"It was alright," I say hoarsely, "nothing really happened."

"What? You didn't do anything fun?"

"No I...it was nothing really. Could've taken a better vacation." I can't control the tears escaping my eyes as Louis looks at me peculiarly. I'm sure he knows by now that the trip was shit, and won't speak about it again. I'm right, thankfully, as he pats my shoulder and walks away, heading towards the restroom in the back of the plane. Using the solitude I've been granted with, I curl my knees into my chest and read my head on my kneecaps, crying softly. Life isn't fair; even when I thought the odds were in my favor, I got fucked over.

I'm not sure how long I've been on the plane once I stop crying and my eyes are left to be just puffy. I see the sun setting and know that I'll be home by nightfall. It feels like he's already been gone for too long; that I'm slowly losing my mind as I revert to my everyday life. I guess it's sad that my life only took an interesting turn when Harry stepped in.

Louis tries to talk to me a few more times, trying really hand to pry out some information about my vacation. He's trying really hard, which sets me off, but eventually convinces me to tell him a little.

"I met someone," I confess brokenly, "but he was just another one night stand."

"Really?" Louis sighs, giving me a sympathetic gaze, "That sucks. What an asshole."

Those are the last words in our conversation that we utter before I'm left to be alone with my haunting thoughts again. I start to wonder about the promises he made, telling me of places we'd go to; Paris, Tokyo... it all seems like a lie now. Love's a game, and I'm the loser that fell first.

"Excuse me?"

It's been a couple hours without anyone paying attention to me, so I'm surprised to hear a voice aimed at my soulless body. I look up and see one of the flight attendants staring at me, concerned.

"Are you alright?"

I nod, shaking off her glance and staring out the window. Contrary to my request, she sits next to me in the empty seat where Louis was recently sitting.

"You don't look alright..."

"Men," I chuckle sadly, rolling my eyes.

"A vacation affair, huh?" She guesses, "Swept you off your feet, and left you surrounded with the memories?"

"Precisely," I sigh, wiping my stray tears, "he always talked about enigmas, and was so closed and secret and I...he just left this morning. He didn't even say goodbye. He just left this stupid note and I woke up alone this morning and--"

I choke on a quiet sob and she rubs my shoulders,

"How long did you spend with him?"

"Almost a week," I say, "I arrived, and barely spent twenty four hours there before we were swept up in each other."

"Wow," She replies, "the only suggestion I have for you then, is to get wasted as hell tonight when you get home."

"That's the plan," I smile sympathetically and she nods, returning it.

"Just remember, mysteries die off."

-

I step into my house, looking around at what I've been accustomed to all my life. Decent sized kitchen, decent sized living room, decent sized bedroom. Everything was fine to me before I left. But now I want to live in luxury with Harry in his vacation house until my last breath.

My house wasn't that bad to live in; but it's just plain and ordinary to Harry's. It's sad, because all I seem to do is compare my own life to Harry's. And look where that has gotten me.

"You really let him fuck you up, didn't you?" I chuckle to myself, wiping my eyes as I look down at my cat, who has decided to make an appearance.

"Hey Cutie," I sigh, running my hands up and down the hair of my cat, "at least I have you, right?"

He purrs before speeding away from my touch and I roll my eyes, dropping my bags. Of course the fucker would run as soon as I acknowledge him. I'm pretty sure my own cat hates me. Maybe because I gave him such an uninspired name. Cutie? I'm sure I could've done better.

My cat has all rights to hate me.

I take my things, dragging them upstairs and stripping off my clothes from the flight that felt like it was ages long. I felt filthy wearing them, being that they were the clothes I wore the first night I spent with Harry. Gross. Harry makes me feel gross; everything to the mere thought of him.

"God..." I mutter, pulling out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt out of one of my drawers, forgetting about my bags. I run downstairs as soon as I'm dressed, opening my top cabinets and taking out my abandoned alcohol.

"Looks like it's your time," I mumble. I pour a glass of gin and set the bottle down before taking a long sip from the cup. The bland taste of alcohol doesn't seem to help my case and I groan, drowning the cup instead of taking my time.

I need the thought of Harry eradicated, and I will stop at nothing to attain that goal. I get up and take down a bottle of vodka too, filling my glass to the brim with a mixture of gin and vodka. I drown it, gagging as I lunge for the sink, assuming I'd throw up.

When nothing comes up, I take a few more sips until it's gone. I continue this pattern until I feel myself slipping into the intoxicated state I wish to reach. I feel my vision becoming slightly blotchy, and I know I'm on the right track. I pour the combination and add some beer I found as well, drowning that as well. Part of me knows this is dangerous, and that I'll probably get sick, but as long as I can forget about Harry, I don't see a worse option. Remembering Spain at this point is the worst option.

You know, at this point, I wish I had some weed. I mean, I've already crossed the border line? Why don't I just, you know, get some weed or some shit? Zayn probably has weed but he's probably sleeping so I probably shouldn't wake him up. Yeah, good idea Liam.

"Hey Cutie!" I call out to my cat and giggle, "Oops, it sounded like I was hitting on you, but listen Cutie, I need weed. Do you know where I can get some my love?"

My cat doesn't reply and I groan. He's always giving me the stupid silent treatment. Like, what have I ever done to that cat other than feed it and watch it take shits. Like what the fuck Cutie? I don't make you watch me take shits!

"Fuck you Cutie!" I taunt my cat, laughing as he saunters away. I can feel my stomach grumbling at the sudden hits of alcohol in my system, but I shrug it off and take a swig of beer. This helps; this helps forget him and anything is better than remembering Harry. Harry and his stupid beautiful face.

"I want to burn it..." I mutter to myself, "burn the note."

I take my bottle with me as I stumble to my room. Why do I even have stairs? If Harry was here he could probably buy me an elevator so I wouldn't trip on them. Those stupid fucking stairs, and Harry, and his stupid fucking money. It's all so stupid. Just like him. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. El stupido, if I were to reference to Spain.

"I-I bate him," A hiccup escapes my lips and I giggle, reaching into my bag and snatching the note out of the front pocket.

"Hate him, silly! Watch your mouth Liam!" I chuckle before searching for my drawers for my lighter. The last time I used it was when Zayn wanted to smoke in my house. It was weird, and I hated the smell of weed in my household being stuck on everything for two days.

"I want weed..." I murmur, "so I can smoke Harry out of my head."

I put the flame to the note and wait for it to burn in my hands, but when fire fails to catch, I look at the paper peculiarly.

"Burn!" I demand the paper, but it remains unscorched.

"What the hell...?"

I scream loudly, throwing the paper to the side and running an angry hand through my hair. It's not fair that he gets to live on as if we never happened, moving on to the next person giving them their next adventure, while I sit here, drunk and crying over the only adventure I've ever had.

And it's not like we went to fifty places in four days, but being in that vacation house with him every day was enough of an adventure for me to handle because Harry was the most interesting thing to happen to me ever in my entire stupid lonely life as Liam Payne from Wolverhampton. He's Harry Styles, the most worldly, educated, and gorgeous man to ever walk amongst us mere mortals.

I drop to my knees, the note slipping from my loose grip as I crawl to the window, looking out at the stars and the moon. The light from the night sky pours into my dimly lit bedroom and all I can think about is the view I would have had on Harry's roof.

It's then when I realize that Harry could come back any day, and I would run right back to him.

okay, uh, this is the point in time where the story picks up so yay :)