#blurb creator

I wish I were Kendall. You found yourself thinking about that a lot. The stupid phrase echoing in your head constantly, almost taunting you. Well, you like to tell yourself that your mind is taunting you, but it doesn't change the fact that you can still hear those sickly, begrudging words ringing through your head.

The phrase has slithered into your mind at the current moment, like always. This time it is somehow worse than all the other countless times it has. This time is different because you’re actually staring at the woman you envy so much. 

It stirs up something inside of you, something that’s entirely out of character, actually. You’re not one to be jealous of anyone, not really. It causes this situation to sting even more if possible, that fiery burn bubbling in your chest is hurting enough to almost be concerning. You idly drum your fingers along the wood of the bar counter, your legs swinging back and forth and occasionally bumping back into the barstool that you’re perched on.

Kendall is sitting on a man’s lap, but not just any man. Your man– at least you’d like to imagine such a thing. Harry’s got both of his hands settled on her hips, looking down at her like she’s an angel that’s fallen from heaven. Her silky dark brown locks of hair flow down her back, the sleek strands reflecting in the light. Her caramel skin is somehow radiant in the dim lighting of the bar. Then there’s her body, her wonderful fucking body, and with every look over her you can see why Harry likes her so much. 

You avert your gaze from the two, instead letting it focus on the bracelets on your wrist. You curtly pick up your beverage, a glass of water, because no alcoholic beverage can loosen you up when you’re in this state. The cold glass meets your lips and you take a sip, lipstick staining the edge of the glass. You set the glass back down, wiping the condensation that wet your hands onto your dress. You can’t help but let your vision wander over to Harry and Kendall again, though it’s not like it’s hard given that they are directly to the side of you. 

You see Harry lips twitch into a smirk as he looks down at her, and suddenly your stomach hurts like hell. That singular action brings back so many memories, but it also feels like it might bring up your dinner from earlier too. It’s the one thing that makes you feel like your heart might explode, although many of his other features make you feel almost the same. 

It’s the same memory that plays in your head all the time, almost like a broken record. It was about two years ago when the band had decided to go on a ski trip in Switzerland. You all had dressed warm, but after being out in the snow for hours on end, it still felt like every inch of you was burning with frostbite. Harry insisted on walking you back to the cabin, a gesture that makes you smile just thinking about it. When you two finally made it back inside, he helped you remove your winter clothes, since you quite frankly didn’t have the greatest range of motion with the amount of layers you had on. 

As Harry was taking off your scarf, your eyes met. His eyes were boring into yours, and you swear that you could see every single fleck of color in his eyes. There were pine trees and jade in them, but also home. Your vision had then flickered down to his lips, which was by far the biggest mistake you could’ve ever made. You saw Harry’s berry pink lips looking as plush as ever, knowing even in that moment that you’d never get a taste of them. Then you saw his head of brown curls, then his long nose, then his eyelashes, then the dimples that creased into his cheeks when he noticed you examining his face– and fuck you were falling hard.

You snap out of your daze, the record player in your head momentarily scratching to a pause. With the scene laid out in front of you however, you wish that you could still be reminiscing the bittersweet memories in your mind. 

Kendall is mouthing at Harry’s neck, and he doesn't even try to stop it. Well, anyone would be crazy to tell a girl like her to stop. It feels like your intestines are knotting inside your abdomen, which makes you cross your arms over your stomach to try to ease the feeling. You see the way Harry’s hands knead into the flesh of her hips over her silk dress, and it honestly makes you squirm. Your stomach is suddenly your worst enemy and the burning in your chest has worsened- it feels like your whole body is aching. Your eyes begin to sting and your muscles tense up as you will yourself to remain stoic.

Your eyes narrow on the girl in Harry’s lap. It’s a mechanism you use to convince yourself that seeing them together doesn’t hurt you, that it only makes you bitter. Though you know that’s a complete lie. The sight makes you clamp your jaw shut tightly, wavering breaths going in and out of your now runny nose. 

You see Harry lean forward, lips right by Kendall’s ear. He purrs something dirty in her ear, you can already tell. She seductively slides off of his lap, thin fingers grabbing the collar of his dress shirt before sauntering off with him in her clutch. 

You remember the countless times you’ve stayed up all night thinking about Harry. You remember how every night, no doubt, you manage to cry into the pillows of whatever hotel you’re staying at. You remember how you also bring up a hand to cup your face on especially rough nights, imagining that it’s Harry’s calloused fingers wiping away your tears. God, you feel pathetic.

The current predicament makes your eyes twitch. It makes everything in you twitch, actually. You feel a tear run down the side of your face and down your chin, and then it drips down onto your dress. In one swift movement, you hop down from the barstool. In another few seconds, you grab your purse. You then decide to make a beeline for the door, keeping your head down as you do so. 

The noise of the bar is too much. The clinking of glasses, the chatter of couples, everything just seems to ignite a bigger flame in you. Your feet carry you towards the exit faster, arms already outstretched to push open the door. The cool metal is a stark contrast to the reeling heat of blood that’s rushing through your fingers, a signal that it was most definitely a mistake to come here tonight. 

The brisk night air envelopes you as soon as you step outside, which helps ground you somewhat. It grounds you enough for you to realize that you shouldn’t yearn for something that you’ll never get. That you also shouldn’t daydream about something that doesn’t exist. 

But the air isn’t cold enough to make you stop yearning and daydreaming completely.

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