Lips Of An Angel

I rub the skin of her arm, eyes locked on the window right by our bed. Her soft snores are the only sounds heard this late at night. I flutter my eyes closed, trying to escape where my mind is; where my mind is wondering off to. Thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking have been consuming me nearly every night. I can’t get my mind off of her. Off of somebody else. It hasn’t happened recently, the haunting flashbacks as nightmares. But it’s been years, too many, and my mind has been missing hers. 

I stare away a little longer, my mind out of it’s place. I wonder if she’s thinking about me; being haunted by me the way I’ve been haunted by her. I know she has someone else, we’ve had connections. It happened around the same time I found Jennie, and I promised myself I wouldn’t miss Y/n like I do now.

“Fuck” I mutter.

My house phone rings a lingering tune, and I’m quick to check the caller ID. I feel Jennie stir next to me, but doesn’t wake up. My eyes widen, heart skipping, palms sweating. It’s like she knew. 

I leave my bed slowly, gliding out of Jennie’s arms so that I can make my way into my office. My thumb makes circles around the answer button, reluctant, because what would it make me to speak to my ex girlfriend while my current one is in the room next door? I can’t go through something like this again.

I suck in a breath, eyes fluttering closed, preparing myself for a moment that I’ve been so out of reach with. I think for a second that I can’t do this.

“Y/n, why are you calling me so late?” I whisper, looking over my shoulder just incase Jennie has woken up. “It’s hard to talk right now.“

I hear Y/n sniffle, soft bawls and delicate whimpers shattering my heart through the line. 

“Honey, why are you crying? Is everything okay?” 

She holds her breath, all of her grieved sounds halting to an undesirable silence. Even when she’s dismal she sounds so sweet, so warm and fragile. I have always compared her to an angel. So soft, so delicate and exquisite, just so, bitter sweet. I feel her everywhere.

“Why are you whispering, Harry?” she questions.

I look over my shoulder again, watching as Jennie stirs gingerly along the mattress. Her hand glides upon the sheets, as if searching for me. When she only feels my pillow, she frowns, but falls back asleep as if nothing happened.

“I can’t be too loud. My girl’s in the next room.” I explain quietly, my fingers twisting around the chain of my necklace. 

Y/n bought it for me when we were on a road trip to Amsterdam. We were both quite poor at the time, collecting every bit of money we could. She had always told me that her dream was to visit the Anne Frank house. She has always idolized her. Being an English major and first edition book collector, she kind of had to be. So we both found jobs, and it took us nearly a year of us saving up all of our money to finally take the car down to Amsterdam.

The trip was never something I can forget. Two weeks in a broken down hotel, the floors nearly collapsing beneath our feet, the ceiling crusted with dry paint. But it was alluring. We made love every night, but the nights of aesthetic pleasure were never planned. They were all natural, all instinctive, as if it was the only way we could express our feelings was through physical connection.

“Sometimes I wish she was you.” I mumble. Y/n sniffles again, a loud cry ripping through her throat as she tries hopelessly to keep herself together.  “I guess we never really moved on.” 

She sobs. “I miss you so much, Harry.”

I flutter my eyes shut, the way she says my name forcing my body to tingle in euphoria. I haven’t heard her angelic voice in what feels like eternity. 

I try so hard to focus on what her lips look like, how they moved whenever she spoke, how they felt across my skin. I would always stare at them, always find excuses to feel them feather against mine. Her lips were made from angels, so innocent and soft.

“It’s really good to hear your voice saying my name, Y/n, you have no idea.” I whimper. “And you saying that, it makes me weak.”

My hands graze my desk, fingers digging gently under my work papers. I always kept my favorite picture of Y/n there. She was smiling, hair blowing behind her as the wind blew across her face. It was a beautiful day in Amsterdam, a day of pure euphoria. Paradise was wherever she was, but knowing we were away from everything we’ve ever known just to be alone was something even more magical.

She wore my favorite lipstick that day.

I rub her mouth through the polaroid, trying to recollect the feeling of those perfect, plump lips. 

“You have lips of an angel.” I mutter.

I can feel her smile through the phone. “You always told me that. Everyday.” Y/n sighs. her voice is so broken, so destroyed, the perfect replica of our state of mind.

She’s making it so damn hard for me. I craved her enough after we split, but now I crave her more than I could have ever imagined. Jennie isn’t half the woman Y/n is, and I want to so badly ignore my heart, and how satisfied it feels in this moment.

I wipe the tears from my eyes, pressing the heel of my hand against my forehead. 

“It’s funny that you’re calling me tonight. I’ve been dreaming about you.” 

“Harry,” she whispers, “I’ve been dreaming of you, too. You’ve been everywhere. I can’t take it, being away from you. Not anymore. I can’t.”

My lip quivers. My jaw clenches and my throat tightens, preventing myself from letting my emotions drown me; choke me. 

“What about your man, Y/n? Does he know you’re talking to me like this? Does he know you’re me mentally killing me right now?” I weep. 

“Harry,” she sobs, trying to catch her breath, “please don’t cry. He doesn’t know. Does she?" 

I swallow my vulnerability, just to stay strong for the both of us. "No, she doesn’t have a clue." 

"Okay” she mumbles. We become silent, our voices and cries dissolving into a sweet surrender. It’s comfortable, knowing that my love is breathing against the speaker, as if she is breathing on me. I can almost feel her heated breath sending my skin into a mass of chills. Her lips grazing my collar bone, lingering kisses along my tattoos. My beautiful, sweet girl. 

“I can’t say goodbye to Jennie. You know that. But you’re making this so fucking hard for me, Y/n." 

She sucks in her breath. 

"Ha-" 

"Y/n. No. Please, just, please.” I whimper. 

She’s wailing. Her throat raw and soar, her raspiness echoing in my head. I want to cry, hit my head against the wall until I surrender my own self-destructive words. 

“Harry, please.”

“Goodbye, Y/n." 

"No Harry. No. I love y-" 

I put the phone back on the receiver, my entire world turning into a destruction of silence and guilt. My hand lingers on the telephone, but I rip it away, ripping away everything we once had. My love, so far away, I can’t reach her anymore. I whisper, quietly, as if trying to reach for her one last time. 

 "Why’d you have to call me so late?”

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