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Louis was restless. She was a horrible person, she was the worst friend in the world, a wretched home-wrecker. It was two in the morning, and Louis was sitting in her bed, unable to sleep.
She had spent all night thinking of Harry, her chocolate curls and green eyes that made her look like a frog sometimes. She thought of the way she laughed, cackling so loud she even startled herself into covering her mouth. She thought of Harry’s left dimple, the way it got deeper and deeper the more Louis talked, the fondness of her eyes when she looked at Louis. The way she would never see Louis as anything other than her friend.
Louis wanted that for herself. She wanted to be effortlessly pretty and interesting, wanted to have everyone eating off of the palm of her hand within seconds. She wanted men to flirt with her and with a smile on her face show off a several-thousand-dollar ring and say, Sorry, I’m married.
What would Harry think, when she heard what Louis had done? Would she cry? Would she feel the need to come running to Louis? Would Louis finally lose her love?
She looked around the room, eyes landing on the photo stuck to the vanity mirror. A younger Harry and Louis looked back, wearing smiles on their innocent faces and glitter on their eyelids. Louis felt an urge to rip the photo in half.
Her phone rang. She walked towards the couch to get the phone out of her purse and winced as she read the name on the screen. Maybe if she didn’t answer he’d get the hint, leave and go home to his wife, to Harry. She pressed a button and sent the call straight to voicemail. She heard a knock on her door.
Louis pressed her eyes together and prayed it wasn’t him, prayed she wouldn’t have to see him anymore. Another knock.
“Louis, please, I need to talk to you,” Mark’s voice boomed through the door. Louis thought he would wake up her nosy neighbors, and she silently hoped this was just a dream, that she would wake up and all would be forgotten. “Louis,” Mark yelled again.
Louis sighed and walked towards the door, she looked through the peephole and saw Mark’s figure, standing there in the night. She opened the door to find his red face staring back at her, she felt disgusting. His clothes were disheveled and his breathing was heavy. He was deeply unattractive. She wondered what Harry had seen in him all those years ago, what she had thought, to keep him around for so long. Harry could have anyone in the world, why would she choose him?
“What,” she spat. Mark went suddenly silent, it was clear to Louis he wasn’t really there to talk to her, he had nothing to say. “We made a mistake, you’re married, and it’s never going to happen again.”
She started closing the door on his face, but stopped when he started talking.
“Louis, you’re the only one who understands,” he motioned to come inside, and for the sake of not being interrogated tomorrow by the nosy neighbors, Louis let him in. He closed the door behind him as he entered, and Louis thought of Harry. What had he told her he was doing? Certainly not visiting her best friend in hopes he would fuck her again. He moved his hands as he continued, “You and I, it makes sense right? We’re not like her, we’re different. She’s never understood you, and she’s never understood me.”
Louis wished she didn’t understand what he meant, but she did. Harry was shiny and pretty, Louis had always been second best with her, but for some reason she was only beginning to understand, Louis had wanted to be beside her since the day they met. Something about Harry made Louis feel something she had never felt before.
“Then leave her,” she said, head high. Mark’s eyes went big, like Louis was asking him for the moon. Only a man would want to keep someone like Harry while having other people, too. Louis thought if she were a man, she would take better care of her, she would know Harry’s worth and treat her with the respect she deserves. Louis wasn’t a man, though, and she was actively disrespecting her right now, like she had done last time. “Leave her,” she repeated.
He shook his head. “I— I can’t, Louis. Why are you asking that of me?”
“I don’t want to share,” she said simply. Share what, exactly? She wasn’t sure.
His eyes flamed, stepping closer to Louis and ridding him of all fear or nervousness he showed before. He was definitely not enough for Harry, she decided then, and Louis was doing her a favor by asking him to leave her. Harry would see that one day.
Mark kissed her, Louis let him. She pressed him against the door and wondered if this was the way he kissed Harry. She wondered if she would be able to taste Harry on his lips if she kissed him hard enough.
She imagined what Harry would think when he came back home, smelling of Louis.
As soon as she made him come, Louis kicked him out of her apartment, muttering that it was too late for him to be out. He ran outside, tucking back his shirt into his pants. Louis was disgusted.
—
The next day, she heard another knock at the door. Louis tightened her silk robe on top of her pajamas and looked through the peephole. Harry.
Louis’ eyes widened and she fixed her hair as well. She looked around her flat, it was still messy from last night and she hadn’t bothered to wash the dishes yet. She had half a mind to at least tidy up her living room when Harry knocked again. Louis prepared herself and opened the door.
She found Harry on the other side of the door like she had never seen her before, watery eyes and a red, runny nose. Louis let her inside and Harry walked all the way to her couch, tears streaming down her face. Louis’ heart broke.
This, Harry crying, could only mean Mark had told her. But why was she here?
Louis cleared her throat and Harry looked up, bottom lip trembling.
“Mark came home last night at four in the morning,” she said. Her voice was like looking at the moon, Louis held her breath. “He smelled like perfume.”
Louis started shaking, the room temperature went down, even in the middle of summer. Maybe she was here because she didn’t know yet.
“He’s been very distracted,” Harry continued, looking Louis in the eyes. “Ever since the wrap party? Remember?”
Oh, Louis remembered. She remembered the lights and the liquor and how Harry had all the attention to herself. She remembered the producers and writers eating off of the palm of her hand, offering her parts in projects they hadn’t even written yet. She remembered the jealousy and the hole in her stomach she had intended to fill with vodka sodas. She remembered how Mark had sat with her, held her hand the whole time. She remembered how she had hoped Harry would see them, maybe scream at her, maybe slap her across the face.
She also remembered how they had left together, both saying they weren’t feeling so good. How Harry smiled at them and grabbed her things so she could leave with them, how Mark said she should stay, he would drive Louis home and then go pick her up, how he said Harry shouldn’t miss her own party just for them. Louis now thought he had done it on purpose, because after helping Louis walk all the way to her apartment, Mark had kissed her on the doorstep. He had walked her inside and touched her and fucked her right in the couch Harry was sitting on, and Louis, consumed by envy, had seen it as an opportunity to take something from Harry, instead of it being the other way around.
Louis nodded, urging Harry to continue.
“Well, he’s been distant since.” She said, lowering her head.
Louis thought that was Harry’s only evidence of Mark's affair. She sighed, relieved. She tried to find a way to ask if she knew he was cheating on her without revealing the truth.
“Why do you think that is?” she asked as she played with her fingers.
Harry eyed her suspiciously. “I don’t know.” she said. “I came to ask if you had seen anything strange that night.”
She had stopped crying, making Louis think her sobs were just some scheme, something to gain Louis’ sympathy. Like she had rubbed at her nose and pinched her cheeks before she got there, like it was some sort of play.
At least that’s what she used to do, before she started booking movies and became this suburban dream all wrapped up in Chanel and jewels, back when they were doing community theater, reading Shakespeare for breakfast. Harry’s eyes scanned Louis’ face, but it betrayed no emotion. Her eyes flicked to Louis’ lips briefly, which Louis licked absentmindedly.
“Do you have any coffee?” Harry blurted, surprising herself.
Louis nodded and stood up, taking in the image of Harry one last time. Her perfectly laid pink tweed suit, the way her brown curls fell on her shoulders and back. Louis looked down at her own clothes, her worn pajamas she had bought back in college and her messy straight hair on top of her head. Harry looked out of place, like instead of being here she should be meeting the queen of England or something.
As she filled the coffee pot with water she thought of the girls they were before.
When they met they were both starry-eyed young actresses, doing plays nobody really cared about but them, bonding over character studies and rewriting dialogue. Harry always got the best parts and Louis got to be her understudy, despite the fact that everybody always said Louis was the better actress, but back then, she didn’t care, all she cared about was doing the actual plays, going from her full time job at something she hated and barely paid to spend every cent in her bank account buying props and costumes; paying for classes she couldn’t afford just so she could be with Harry.
Harry was dating Mark back then, he was a banker with access to daddy’s money and a house in the suburbs. Harry wasn’t sure about him, she had said while she stared at the pink diamond in her promise ring, but it was nice that she never had to pay for anything while they were together. Louis didn’t think that was a good reason to promise to marry someone. Also, whenever they would speak of Mark, Louis would get a weird feeling in her stomach, so she would almost always avoid the topic of him.
They did auditions together, and after, Harry would drive them to a McDonald’s parking lot, and they would make fun of the casting people–who would never call them back–, as they shared chicken nuggets and milkshakes. They always laughed when they said Louis didn’t have ‘the look’, whatever it was.
But one time, Harry was called back. Just as Louis drank from a milkshake that would possibly jeopardize her financial situation for years to come, Harry had gotten a call. A call that had put her in a movie, which would give her a part in a show, which would separate her from Louis forever.
So Louis grew bitter, all the things she had found charming about Harry would now seem narcissistic and shallow. Louis knew it was envy, that she was jealous Harry was told by everyone she met that she was special, that she was talented, and Harry was eating it up. Suddenly all her smiles turned forced, she found herself going to auditions and readings on her own and everything turned dark. Still, she was unable to be away from Harry, hoping everything would return to normal as soon as they were in the same room. She ended up being third wheel a lot, or being set up with one of Mark’s boring friends, most of the time watching Harry from afar, wishing she had her life.
And she knew that was absolutely no excuse to do what she had done, but it felt like someone somewhere would probably understand her reasoning.
The sputtering sound of the moka pot startled her. She filled two cups and brought them over to Harry, who was staring at the window in thought. Louis cleared her throat, making Harry look up at her. She said nothing, only took the cup in her hands.
“What are you going to do about it?” Louis asked, thinking maybe Harry would hire a private investigator, like they were in a bad 80’s movie.
“I know it’s you,” Harry spat, after taking a sip of her coffee. Louis almost fell to her knees, guess they were not playing around anymore.
She blinked hard and fast, taking deep breaths. “So why are you here?” she said, close to tears.
Harry’s facade fell. She frowned, opening her mouth, like she expected Louis to start apologizing immediately, like she wanted her to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness. “I– I want to know why you did it. I thought we were friends.”
“Harry, why are you upset? Mark is disgusting and you should’ve left him years ago! But you didn’t, only because you wanted to fulfill some weird suburban dream of the perfect housewife! And for what? You didn’t even like him when I met you!” Louis yelled.
Christ, stupid word vomit. She shouldn’t have said that. If only Louis could turn back time, she would stop herself from even being friends with Harry, then she could avoid this whole mess. She stood up from the couch, pacing at her living room
“Then why did you sleep with him?!” Harry stood up, pointing at Louis with her finger. “If you think he’s so disgusting.”
That was a good question, yeah. A question Louis had asked herself a million times since the party. Louis had not stopped thinking about why she had done it, and she told herself another million times it was just because she wanted Harry to suffer, wanted her to be the second choice for once, but that was not the truth, and she knew it very well. Why, why, why.
What was the feeling she got whenever Harry would speak of Mark? The same feeling in her gut that urged her to sleep with Mark’s best man at their wedding, only to never call him again. The same feeling she hoped to evoke of Harry whenever she would talk about a guy she went out with. The same feeling she would get whenever Mark would talk about his wife and how incredible she was. It was jealousy.
And what was the feeling she got whenever Harry would speak to her earnestly? That thing she felt in her heart whenever Harry would speak of her dreams, and the way she interpreted characters. That flutter in her chest she felt that one time they were asked to read Romeo and Juliet, and Harry suggested Louis play Romeo, just for laughs, but it had been real to Louis, all too real. That pride that filled her every time Harry performed. It was love.
Oh no, oh shit. How could she not have seen it before? How was it that she never made sense of these feelings? They seemed so fucking obvious now. She wanted to taste Harry on his lips, wanted to feel Harry’s touch through his fingers. She wanted to know Harry wouldn’t have sex with him, and the only way to make sure was sleeping with him herself.
Louis felt light-headed, she could pass out, she could vomit. Word-vomit.
“Because I wanted you!” she blurted out. “I wanted you.”
Harry’s mouth fell open, shocked. “Lou.” Her hand reached out for her.
Louis shook her head. “No, no,” she knew it was a mistake. She knew she had to make peace with the fact that she wouldn’t ever see Harry again, she had fucked up and nothing would change the fact that Harry would never, ever forgive her.
Harry’s eyes filled with tears, real ones this time, as she watched Louis.
Louis had always felt Harry was the only person who truly saw her.
“Lou,” she tried again. Louis couldn’t speak over her own tears, so she didn’t stop her this time. “Since when? I mean, since when do you feel this way?”
Louis almost laughed. She honestly couldn’t tell, perhaps since she first saw her, covered in sweat after a dance class. Maybe since the first time they acted a scene together, maybe Louis had fallen for Harry then. Maybe before she even met her, maybe it was written on the stars, like life was some stupid play they could analyze and change as much as they wanted.
“Always,” was all she could say before burying her face in her hands.
Harry stepped closer. Louis could feel her, like one would feel the sun on their skin on a hot summer day. Harry held her by the wrists, uncovering her face. Louis looked up to find Harry’s eyes in their most sincere form.
Sometimes Louis felt like Harry was always doing a performance. Like she was showing off to an invisible audience, like she felt she had something to prove, and those times, she wished Harry would stop, would drop the mask she had so carefully built around her face. Louis wished Harry could show herself to her, just like she was doing now.
Her eyes were no longer glossy, her mouth not stuck in the shape of a perfect smile. Louis could actually see her, and she loved her even more now.
Harry’s hands found their rightful place holding Louis’ cheeks, getting closer and closer and closer. Until the space between them was nonexistent.
Harry kissed her carefully, hesitantly, like she couldn’t believe it was happening. Louis couldn’t believe this was happening. Her tongue hesitantly grazed Harry’s lips, asking for permission. It was a kiss like she never had before, full of love and tears and a bit of snot.
This was right.
All those other kisses she had had before Harry, they were nothing compared to this.
Harry separated slowly, making Louis follow her mouth before opening her eyes. They smiled at each other, arguments forgotten.
“Guess we’re kind of stupid, huh?” Harry said, laughing in a way Louis hadn’t seen in years. Her heart fluttered.
“Very stupid,” Louis agreed, also laughing. “Do you think we should tell him?”
“Nah,” she answered. “I’d already told him I was leaving.”
Louis held out her hands toward Harry, who stepped in for a hug. They hugged for minutes, hours, days, Louis didn’t know, only thing she knew, she was home again. In her battered old apartment, wearing stained pajamas, letting two cups of coffee go cold, that was home.
They would deal with the rest later.