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Chapter 97 - Harry

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                                                                   97. 

                                                             ●•Harry•●

It was by no means as spacious as my flat; indeed, it was far from it. But maybe it had something to do with the fact that it was simply a dorm. Possibly.

And it’s not like I was complaining, because, actually, it was comfortable. Just a single bed in the corner with a desk against the wall across it, a small fridge next to the door, the window showing a really nice sight of the campus (even though I had only bothered to take a look during the night, so there wasn’t particularly much to be seen).

My classes were all during the morning, which obviously meant having to wake up earlier than what I wished, and although I was used to it in the UK, the time zone difference was still bugging my system. In the afternoon, I watched extra classes not for the grade, but for the specialization, since in less than six months ahead I’d be lecturing rather than simply studying. And by the evening, I tried to socialize as much as possible with some of the teachers more than I tried to do it with my classmates.

As far as it went, I ended up spending most of my day out of the dorm, eighty percent of the time learning something new and trying to adapt as much as I could. It was exhausting, yes, and each time I hit the bed it didn’t take me more than two literal minutes to fall asleep, waking up in what felt only minutes later (those were hours, but whatever) with a body heavy and a brain that seemed about to explode. However, that routine was strictly necessary, if I wanted to become an amazing teacher (and I did); and also if I intended on ignoring that small squeeze inside my chest.

And if by small I meant a black hole eating me from inside out, no one else had to know.

The whole situation was still painfully terrible, and I wasn’t sure whether I was completely furious with Scarlett for even bothering going to the airport to simply let go as if it wasn’t the worst of the things that could have happened to us, or if I was glad she had done that for the exact opposite reason, which maybe meant that was the best, and that she was right. Maybe if she had asked me to stay (and it really wouldn’t’ve taken much for her to convince me to not go) she would have stopped me from pursuing my dreams, and later we would end up arguing about that, too. Just one more topic to what seemed to become constant fights.

And despite the knowledge of that, still my thoughts were dwelling on what would have happened if we had managed to step over all our differences and started something new, ours. But then, she had said herself she was letting me go because she had things to do and people to take care of. And if there was something I had trouble accepting was the fact that after everything, she hadn’t chosen me. Maybe it had something to do with my ego, I don’t know.

It hurt nonetheless.

Both that and the fact that the only two certainties I had in life were: one; death. And two: until certainty one came around, I would never see Scarlett’s face again.

“I really don’t know what is wrong with you, H. Why don’t you ever try to get along with people your age?” Gem mumbled just before she raised her glass to her lips, sipping it carefully and glancing quickly to the sides as if to make sure people weren’t paying attention to what she was saying. Then she leaned forward, tilting her head to the side trying to get me to look at her, and whispered “They’re so old.”