A chink in the curtains beams a ray of light across the untouched bed. Illuminated particles dance in its glowing stream. The night before is over. If only each new day brought a fresh beginning with no reflection and no hindsight; everything before today's sunrise wiped clean from the slate.

The void has held my stare for so long, mulling over it all, I am numb. I initiated our break-up but that doesn't mean I don't care. I hurt for me but I hurt for him more.

My body has been stuffed into a small tub chair for all the hours of darkness. I roll my head from side to side, stretching out the stiffness in my neck. 

A desperate need to feel cocooned, like a crab in the safety of its shell, sinks my face to hide between the lapels of the hotel bathrobe. The rough toweling scratches against my cheeks. It was probably soft once but repetitive washing has left a clinical scent clinging around its threads.  I wonder how many people have worn this particular robe? What brought them to this hotel? Are their memories whilst wearing it happy or sad ones? These unanswerable questions suddenly make the robe a heavy burden that I must shed off my skin. 

I peel myself out of the faux leather chair and slide a mug across the counter. Cold coffee sloshes over the sides and splatters blackness onto the glass surface.

The fluorescent bathroom light flickers undecidedly then dazes me as I spring into view in the mirror. Battle scars from the night before stare back at me. 

The discarded robe falls into a heap on the floor dragging its burdens with it.  I  trample over last night's saturated pile of clothes and blast the shower on full.  The cold spray awakens my senses but with every turn of the dial, I inflict red blotches to rage over my skin and burn through to my bones. Unable to stand the heat torture a moment more, I reduce the temperature but I am too hot and the claustrophobic bathroom walls begin closing in on me. In a panic, shampoo scratches into my scalp, followed by conditioner-drenched fingers tearing through my tangles, ripping the odd hair strand from its root and leaving it clinging to my digits for dear life. My exfoliator ferociously scrubs the streaks of mascara from my cheeks. Motionless, I stand beneath the jet stream and let it wash my tears, mixed with the lingering scents of him, away with the suds down the drain.

The white starchy towels are as rough as the robe but it doesn't matter. I am going through motions; moisturise, deodorant, underwear, rough hair dry, followed by sweat-pants, a tee, then a hoodie.

Now I am clean.

I don't feel better.

The vibrating of my phone has me grappling through the mess strewn over the bed of yet to be packed items. Snatching my device from under a pile of clothing to see the caller ID, I deflate. Should I answer it or should I let it go to voicemail? Am I ready for what might come down the other end of the line?

"Hi Jeff," my monotone whisper is hoarse.

"Morning Lily, hope you had a great night. Is Harry there for a word please? Can't reach him on his phone."Jeff's voice has a spring in its step.

"Harry?"

"Yeah, fairly tall guy, curly brown hair, sings for a living." I picture Jeff smirking at his own joke.

"Umm no, he's not with me," I respond more in question than answer.

"Oh okay, left and on his way back is he then. Sorry to disturb you. Hope you enjoyed the gallery, Harry has been planning it for ages. Safe journey back, see you soon."

I close my eyes and let his words sink in. 'Harry has been planning it for ages.' "Jeff no, after dinner he dropped me back at the hotel and left."

"That's strange, he didn't come home last night." The ease in his tone flips to one of concern.

"What do you mean he didn't come home? Where is he?" I urge, sinking to sit on the side of the bed.

"No idea. Lily, is everything okay?"

'Harry has been planning it for ages' lingers with guilt. "Umm no, you need to talk to Harry. You need to find him, Jeff," I panic.

"What's going on? You sound worried."

"Do you remember the conversation we had when we first met?"

"We've had lots of conversations, which one in particular?" He quizzes.

"At Summer Haze, you asked me to always look after Harry's heart and do what is best for it and him."

"Vaguely, yes. Why?" His voice wavers.

"I have, done what's best I mean." The crack in my voice is evident.

Jeff pauses before responding. "Lily, what do you mean, what happened last night?"

"Just please look after Harry for me. Promise me, Jeff." I urge.

"Yes of course, always."

"Thank you. I have to go." I bite down hard on my lip to stop the quiver in my voice.

"But Lily, wait."

"Bye Jeff."

I catch my reflection in the mirror again. I want to break the glass but I stare anyway because the clarity of my actions are painfully clear. Where is he? Is he ok? What if he is not ok? Of course he's not ok, you just left him. What if he's hurt himself or been in an accident?  It was raining really hard all last night. Should I call him? I am probably the last person he wants to talk to at this moment. I have to get out of here. I need to be at home.

The plastic bag containing my rain-soaked clothes is the last thing stuffed into my suitcase. One last check around the room I hope I never see again and I am out the door, letting it slam shut behind me. My case trails after me, heavy like my heartache. Unable to face having to make polite conversation with anyone this morning, luckily automatic check out is available.

Hailing a black cab is easy; it's Saturday and traffic is light. London passes by unnoticed out of my window. Euston Station, platform two of twenty-four is where my train patiently awaits before departure.

Lack of sleep and ever hopeful that my journey home will take me away from all this of my creating, is not forthcoming. Life isn't going to let me get away that easily. It tortures me, replaying over in my mind.  It makes me question every word that I said, every response he gave, everything that I didn't say, everything he dismissed. It hounds me as I recall his every action, every hand gesture, every glance, every emotion, every rake of his hand through his curls, every twist of his rings, every sheer look of disappointment. Truth becomes clouded, facts muddle with fiction and doubt creeps into my mind. 

He said he'd give it all up for me. For me! I suppress my screams because I am on a busy train. The only thing I want to do is sleep but that is not allowed. Every time I close my eyes all I see is Harry in his car staring at me standing in the road with the silver shadowy streaks on his cheeks that aren't from the rain.

If I am unable to sleep, I should eat. I buy an egg sandwich and a coffee from the buffet car. I don't finish either.

Why is this back and forth so exhausting when I initiated our end?  I am free to live my simple life. No long-distance relationship and all the worries, stress and frustration that goes with it. No endless missed telephone calls or having to make an appointment to see my boyfriend, no hiding or avoiding fans, no jumping on that roundabout of his circus life.

The egg in my sandwich has turned grey. The white bread crusts curled at the edges. I feel sick. I leave my seat, bin the drink and sandwich and buy another coffee. I drink it this time but it upsets my tummy and has me dashing for the toilet.

Hopeless.  

"Next station is Oxenholme," the guard announces.

Home.  At last. 

I step off the train with a smile. Time to leave all my thoughts and anxiety on the train until the end of the line at Glasgow.

Dad is standing by his car. When he sees me he raises his arm aloft to wave and smile. Deep breath, Lily.

Dad picking me up is a stroke of luck. Dads see things differently to mums. I easily move the conversation away from my 'amazing' week in London to news of family and home. 

Although I might get away with it with Dad, Mum will be a different kettle of fish. There's usually no pulling the wool over her eyes. In fact, all the women in my life are strongly opinionated. Mum, Olive, Nathalie. A few days ago, only my voice was audible as I searched for answers about what I should do. Their voices of reason weren't there. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Sadness doesn't bring good judgement. Happiness clouds reality. I told myself over and over it was for the best; the best for me. It's not what I want and I'm not what he needs. Right there, right then, I couldn't glimpse our happy future.

My phone buzzes.

Message from Jeff: Thought you'd want to know Harry's home. He'll be fine. I promise.

Jeff is the last person I thought would message but most importantly, Harry's home. 'He'll be fine' means he's not fine. I begin a reply. I have so much to ask but I've given up that right. I delete the words.  

Holding back the floodgates, I close my eyes and see Harry in his car staring at me standing in the road with silver shadowy streaks on his cheeks that aren't from the rain.