nine | i don't want to participate in an (ordinary) day
(this is short because it's a filler and so is ten; both may be up tonight)

I wake up to the sound of my alarm at nine in the early morning, and that's when I realize that the fantasy is officially over. I wake up to some tedious pop song and try not to throw my phone across the room all over again. The attempt fails as I fling my cell towards the bathroom. My hangover is the worst one I've ever had, and I wouldn't doubt the claim to having alcohol poisoning after last night.

The goal was to forget about Harry, yet here he sits in my mind with no intent of leaving. Instead, I feel like vomiting everywhere; and not just from the hangover.

With a low groan, I roll out of bed and practically drag myself to the bathroom. Literally; I'm not even using my legs. They've lost all power and I can't use them.

"Augh shit..." I groan again, rubbing my forehead as my cat bounds in through the door. Of course. Only if he could help me recover.

"Hey Cutie," I smile, looking back at him as he climbs on my back.

"Wanna get rid of my hangover?"

It's as if he understands what I'm saying, because he stops crawling on my back almost immediately and darts to the window. No one wants to help me or anyone with a hangover.

I take my phone off of the floor where I had thrown it and scroll through my incoming messages and emails. When I spot a late sign in email, I sigh in relief. I don't have to go into work until one today. There must be a case going on that doesn't involve me. Thank god for whoever has blessed me for this opportunity.

With that, I stop fooling around and get up, knowing I have at least two hours to get ready for work. Two hours to recollect myself, and get some actual food in my stomach.

I turn on the pipe in my shower and watch as the water jets out of the hose, simply staring blankly. My mind is hazy and I can't seem to focus on a central idea that isn't Harry, so I might as well try now.

The shower. Well, erm, it's a really nice one, and...oh fuck this.

I strip down and step under the warm water, brought back to when I was in Spain, dying under freezing cold water. I shiver at the thought, running my wet hands over my face as if that will eliminate the memory.

Everything somewhat reminds me of him.

The cold shower before going to the club where we kissed for the first time. A cold shower is giving me painful nostalgia. I shut of the water, standing in slight awe as I stare at the tile walls. Showers are supposed to clear the mind, and my mind can't seem to empty.

I give up, stepping out of the tub and grabbing a towel. I'll just take a shower when I get home; maybe work will put me at ease. Accepting defeat, I put on a pair of sweatpants and rub my hair down with the towel I had grabbed.

Why, why didn't I just listen to Zayn when I had the chance? The trip could have gone so much better; maybe I would've met another British guy with a great accent and a cheesy personality and a terribly wealthy life. It could've been less of a romantic getaway. I wasn't even planning for it to be a romantic getaway.

I feel as if I'm just dragging out my thoughts now. I really don't have anything else to say; he left, and I'm dying. That's that.

"Whatever," I mutter, toddling down the steps and turning on the television. The news blares throughout the room and I head over to the kitchen, taking out my English breakfast tea. I'm preoccupied until the words "bombing" and "Spain" go through one ear and don't leave the other.

"It's said that there was a bombing at Hotel 1898 less than twenty four hours ago. There are very few survivors as we know of, but people still seem to be escaping the tragic scene. We'll be back with more information after this short break."

"No!" I shout, "Don't go on break don't go--"

A Tesco commercial comes on and I sigh,

"--on break."

I was just staying there in Spain, and it dawns on me that I could be in the midsts of that attack if I opted to stay another day, or stayed longer in the hotel, or any other circumstance. I could have been in that bombing.

Shivering at the thought, I'm slightly thankful that Harry took me in.

I debate on whether I should call Zayn or not, being that the last time we talked was when Harry and I were at his vacation house. It would be courteous to give him a call, but I don't think I can mentally bear people right now.

And yet, one would ask why I'm going to work.

I sit patiently as I wait for my tea and the commercials to end and the story to resume. If they have any information, I want to hear it. I don't believe in conspiracy theories, and I never will, but this may be the beginning of it.

Once the commercials end I turn my attention back as they show the burning building. This gets me thinking about last night, and the only thing I remember of it; the paper remaining intact after putting a flame to it. Paper is supposed to burn; isn't that how it works?

I wonder for a moment where the note is, but I slightly remember throwing it to the side in anguish. With that, I head back my room, setting my mug down as I search the floors for the stupid ass note.

"Where are you hm?" I murmur to myself, searching for the piece of paper that didn't seem to want to be found.

"Come on..." I goran, sliding under my bed to search for it, only to find nothing. Of course; the one thing I need, is nowhere to found. It's too typical for me to physically or mentally swallow.

I give up, choosing to get ready for work over finding a measly piece of paper that lacks a worthy purpose. All it represents is the past.

And I need to find a way to look to the future; as soon as possible.

-

"Liam!"

Hearing my name the second I go into work is the one thing I cannot stand. People bothering me, especially with me being in such a fragile state. Usually, work is hell enough. Now, with the ghost of Harry by my side, it's just fifty times worse.

"Hey," I say to the person that had oh-so-rudely called my name.

"There's a new case," she briefs me, "we need you on it as soon as possible."

I nod, sighing as she stacks the pile of papers in my hand. This is my life. This is my sad, endlessly depressing, life. Pretty fucking lonely, if I do say so myself. I never knew how hard it would be to live my life with just me, myself and I.

Hopefully I run into Louis or something; his presence will surely put me at ease. A good memory from Spain.

TWO WEEKS LATER

I step into my car, another day of work behind me. Yet, the trip still remains tattooed in my brain. Every single fucking day in the uninspiring hell I call my office, I see him. I'll close my eyes, and visions of the time spent with Harry will appear. The thought leaves me in utter awe, and I can't do anything other than sit and stare, because of what I have become. The name mural is what I see when I blank out and stare at the white walls.

I can't stop moping around, wondering how, and why Harry would throw such a low blow. I can still feel the depth of his departure in my veins and I want nothing more than the pain to be completely dissolved, destroyed, whatever it needs to be, so I don't have to feel it.

On impulse (and honestly not caring), I pick up my phone shakily and dial the office. I know exactly what I'm doing, but I don't exactly know why.

"Hello?" I say, "Yes yes, I--could you page me to Mr. Fields?"

My boss, why am I calling my boss? Oh wait; I know.

"Hello?" I say, my fingers still trembling.

"Liam?" he says, confusion laced in his voice, "you just left, what's up?"

"I--" I sigh, breathing in and out, "I need to quit. I'm sorry I'm sorry but I'm going through some sort of trauma right now. I thought I would be fine but I'm way too attached to the problem and--I'm sorry. I just need to disconnect right now."

"Liam I don't understand--"

"I'm sorry I--I really am."

I hand up quickly, throwing my phone in the back of the car. I need a break from it all. I need to revert back to what puts me at ease.

The skyline is evening out before me as I look out the front window. It almost immediately fuels my nostalgia all over again, and I resist, starting my car and pulling out of the parking lot. I'm running on autopilot; all the lights are on, but there's nobody home.

I need to run, and the only person I can think of to run to is Zayn.

-

I ring Zayn's doorbell, overly anxious to see him again. What if he doesn't want me around? What if he just laughs in my face and walks away? I need my best friend right now, no matter how right he was about Harry, I need him to hug me, feed me ice cream, and let me cry.

Thankfully, when Zayn opens the door, I know that's exactly what I'll get. The temporary remedy to all heart break is the sympathy ice cream treatement. Thank god he knows that.

"Liam?" he asks, his face switching from confusion to concern as he gets a good look at the expression on my face.

I stand in front of Zayn's door, tears falling out of my eyes rapidly after I held them in for so long while I was driving. He takes me in his arms immediately, hugging me tightly as I cry, clutching onto his arms that are hugging me.

"I told you, enigmas aren't worth it," Zayn sighs as he shuts the door behind him.