Wednesday washed the dishes in the kitchen monotonously, staring but not really seeing anything. She'd been in this robotic state for the past few days, ever since that Christmas Eve argument. The house had been hectic over Christmas Day and Boxing Day, what with the sheer amount of people crammed in, opening presents, eating copious amounts of food and playing endless board games. But Wednesday had been too lost in her own mind to even get annoyed at the lack of space, anxiety forcing her to remain quiet and withdrawn throughout it all.

She looked up to the tiled wall as she washed the plates, her mind circling back to Harry for the hundredth time that day, even though it was barely 10 in the morning. He hadn't messaged her or called at all. Not even a Merry Christmas text. Every year on Christmas Day, she would wake to find a text from him already waiting for her, wishing her a happy day. This year, she woke with nausea in her stomach to find nothing. For someone as kind as Harry, she knew he had to still be angry for that to happen.

It wasn't like she blamed him. She'd said some horrible things to him, things she said when her anger got the best of her, as it always did. Sometimes, she swore she was her own worst enemy and it only worked to fuel the gnawing shame raging deep in her bones.

Placing the last plate onto the drying rack, she turned to grab the kitchen tea towel, drying her hands from the soapy water. She let her eyes drift towards the dining room, feeling that familiar rush of grief roll over her as she swallowed back her rising emotions. Christmas had been an extremely shitty time and missing her dad endlessly had been the cherry on top of a fucking awful cake. It was bittersweet to know that he'd have been the first one she'd have gone to with her problems, had he been there. He'd had that magic touch of always being able to put her problems into perspective and make her see that they were smaller than they were. But without him there anymore, she couldn't prevent herself from catastrophising.

The sound of her phone ringing startled her from her daydream and for a split second, she thought it might be Harry, hope lighting her insides. But when she looked down, she saw the name she'd been avoiding all week. Patrick again. Walking to where the phone sat on the kitchen counter, she pressed decline with a shaky finger. It didn't take long for a text to pop up in its place.

She didn't want to. At all. But she was also extremely aware of the fact that she'd been at home a week and not called him once, or even text him to keep him sweet, like she'd said she would. She knew she couldn't keep avoiding him forever. Eventually she would be back in London and she was sure if she didn't ring him, he'd go one step further and show up at her front door. Something she definitely did not want to happen.

As Wednesday picked up her phone with a sigh, ready to call him back in the empty kitchen, Isla laced through, bouncing on her feet and stopping once she saw Wednesday's slightly pale face.

"Are you okay? You look a little...ill," Isla observed, her face slightly scrunched as she looked at her elder cousin.

She realised she must have looked truly awful for Isla to comment on it so openly. Fantastic.

Grabbing her keys from the counter, she forced a smile down at her.

"I'm just gonna go take a walk. Need to ring my boyfr-" she caught herself, shaking her head. Her thoughts were so scrambled that she misspoke and forgot to put 'ex' at the front of it. "Need to ring my friend," she finished, not having the energy to explain their actual current status.

Isla, who seemed decidedly bored by the interaction already, simply shrugged her shoulders before trailing over to the fridge.

Wednesday walked to the hallway, slipping on her vans before quickly looking to the living room where her mum and grandparents were sat.

"Just going for a walk," she shouted, not bothering to wait for a reply before exiting out of the stuffy house.

She decided to walk the opposite way from Anne's house, unsure if Harry was still there and not prepared to risk finding out.

Fishing her phone out of her pocket when she'd turned onto a quiet road, she looked down to her contacts list with her lip between her teeth. She really did not want to do this, and she could already feel the swirl of nerves in her chest, making her hands clammy in anticipation. But she'd been the one to sleep with him again and open up a whole new world of issues for herself, so it was only right that she took some responsibility and told him the truth.

She pressed the dial button on Patrick's name, breathing out a shaky breath as she brought the phone up to her ear. It didn't even ring twice before it was sharply picked up.

"Thank god, you're finally not avoiding me anymore," Patrick said with a harsh tone down the receiver that made Wednesday close her eyes in frustration. This was not going to be an easy call.

"Sorry, it's just been a hectic week," she blustered.

It wasn't a lie; the week had totally taken it out of her. But the sharp laugh into her ear immediately told her he didn't actually believe her.

"Right. Too busy for a 2-minute call?"

"I'm sorry I just-" she began, placing a hand up to her head as she stalled, trying to find the right words. "I've just been really confused, about everything."

"What and you think I haven't?"

"No, I know. And I'm sorry. It wasn't fair for me to ignore you, I've just-"

"Been too busy?" he finished the sentence with a cold tone, making her sigh.

"Something like that," she said, an awkward silence lingering between them as she slowly continued to walk.

"I just don't understand what's going on Weds," he said after a few moments, his tone slightly softer as he sighed down the phone. "One minute, you're back in my bed and all over me. The next, you're acting as if I don't exist again."

"I know," she replied apologetically, finding no other words to say. At this point she was annoying herself with her repetitive bullshit answers.

"Do you even want to get back together?" he asked desperately now, and she sucked in a breath at the outright question.

No. Not at all.

"I...I don't know," she replied with her eyes pinched shut, her lips shut into a tight line.

"You don't know?" he repeated, the cold tone returning. "Either you want to get back together or you don't Wednesday."

She swallowed nervously as she heard him use her full name as opposed to Weds or baby. Fuck. That meant he was getting angry.

"No," she blurted out, finding some strength to say what she meant, albeit maybe not in the clearest way.

"No," he repeated tersely. "What does that mean?"

She forced out a calm breathe she hoped he couldn't hear.

"No, I don't want to get back together."

The line went silent for a minute, so silent that Wednesday had to look at her phone to make sure she was still on the call with him.

And then, out of nowhere, Patrick's low voice spoke out into the void.

"Does this have something to do with Harry?" he asked lowly and she stopped in her tracks, not expecting the question.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. Though she knew Harry definitely had a part to play in the craziness of the past week, he didn't have anything to do with the reasons Patrick was implying. "Why would you ask that?"

"Because last week you were all over me, screaming my name. And then ever since you went home, living a street away from him, you've ignored me and changed your mind."

Wednesday could feel the déjà vu from their conversation, having heard a million different versions of it before. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she attempted to ignore his vulgar and quite frankly untrue comments—he'd never made her scream once in their two-year relationship—and bring the conversation back to normality.

"No, it's got nothing to do with Harry," she sighed, starting to get a bit fed up now. Fed up of his voice, fed up of his paranoia. "And plus, I never said I wanted us to get back together."

"Well that wasn't the impression I took when you came around and were all over me, whispering how much you missed me."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't fair on you," Wednesday replied, trying to get back on track to why she was calling him in the first place.

"So why do it then?" he pushed, venom in his voice.

Wednesday wondered whether to send their shambles of a situation further into the bin by telling him the truth. Mustering up her courage, she decided that there was nothing she could do to salvage an amicable relationship between them now.

"I was upset and had been drinking and...just wanted some company," she quietly spoke into her phone, knowing how bad it sounded. But at least she was being honest.

"So basically, you used me for sex to make you feel better about yourself, is that it?"

"Patrick, I didn't mean for it-"

"That's embarrassing, even for you," he laughed coldly into her ear. She knew his defences were way up now after that reveal, but it still didn't stop his words from stinging.

"There's nothing I can say except I'm sorry," she replied, trying to keep her voice cool and collected, even if he definitely wasn't.

"Why me? Why not Harry then?" he pressed, and she felt her heart beat a bit faster as he mentioned him. Again. "Oh right, that's it. Because you're just his little lap dog and nothing more. Got to give it to the fella, he's a lot better at having standards than me."

Wednesday felt her stomach clench at those words. If he had said that to her a year ago, she'd have told him where to stick it, along with a swift kick to the balls too. But now, she stood in the cold Holmes Chapel air, not caring for his pathetic attempts at clawing back his pride. His (literal) small dick energy would have been laughable if it wasn't so sad to see.

Composing herself, Wednesday started to walk slowly forwards again.

"I'm sorry again, it shouldn't have happened. But I'm done with this call now, and with you."

Before she could listen to his response, she took the phone away from her ear and ended the call, breathing out in relief as she did. Kneeling over to inhale more air, she felt the rush of adrenaline hitting her for the first time, making her hands feel jittery and her heartbeat wickedly fast.

Turning around, she started to walk back. When she felt like this, anxious up to her eyeballs, there was no point even trying to dissect her thoughts or feelings. It was too raw, and she was too tired to try. But as she placed one foot in front of the other, she did feel a sense of something good. Something that felt an awful lot like relief.

She arrived back at the house 15 minutes later, walking into the hallway with a contented expression for the first time that day. It didn't last long, however.

"You've just missed Harry!" her mum called from the living room, making Wednesday take a cautious step to the living room doorway.

"What? He was here?"

"Yes, just left about 10 minutes ago, heading back to London."

Wednesday bit her lip, her eyes flashing to the tv and not bothering to take in what she saw.

"Did he say what he came around for?" she asked, trying not to sound too interested but she knew she was failing miserably.

"He said he came to say bye to us all before he went back," Jane replied, finally peeling her eyes away from the telly and looking to her only child.

Wednesday nodded back slightly disappointed, not bothering to say anything in response.

"I wish you'd stop this silly nonsense going on between you already," Jane added, shaking her head. "All over nothing."

"It's not over nothing mum," Wednesday mumbled back, but even she didn't sound convincing saying it.

She knew why the argument had started, but for the past few days she couldn't seem to think of a sane reason why it had gone on for this long. There was something within her yearning for it to be over, but it wasn't, and she knew it was the same reason she didn't accept his apologies and the same reason she hadn't said sorry either.

"Wednesday, your stubbornness will do nothing except make you miserable in the long run, mark my words. You can't keep pushing everyone else away and expect them to be the ones to come running back. The world doesn't work that way."

Wednesday swallowed back the harsh words, lowering her head as her mum turned back to the tv, not noticing the slight sniffle coming from the doorway. With a swift turn, she headed up the stairs, feeling all the relief of earlier replaced with an anger that she'd battled her whole life.

Planting the suitcase down from the corner of her mums' room onto the bed, she unzipped it with heavy, disjointed breathes, not allowing the sharp burn behind her eyes to materialise. Opening the draw with all of her items in, she began to angrily throw them back into the case, the need to go back to London as soon as she could manage overwhelming her.

Her mums' comment had struck a nerve. A nerve she'd tried hard to push down, but now it was exposed and open and she was angry. Because she'd been told nothing she didn't already know about herself. She was a stubborn person, so stubborn in fact that even when she knew she was in the wrong and wanted to apologise, she physically couldn't. It was like she had the words in her throat, but there was an imaginary force squeezing down on her throat, preventing them from coming out. And she hated the way that made her feel. She knew this—she didn't need anyone else to tell her too.

It wasn't like she couldn't say sorry or back down. She could say sorry when she meant it, when she felt true guilt, like earlier with Patrick. But when she was angry, it was a whole other story—it was like this rage that bubbled deep within her would hold her hostage in her own body, no matter whether she knew if she was in the wrong or not, or whether someone deserved her forgiveness. She couldn't back down, she couldn't give in. And it made her miserable and angry at herself all over again. A vicious cycle of self-hatred, stubbornness and anger that never seemed to end.

After 10 minutes of aggressively throwing her items into the case, she'd calmed down slightly. Slinking to the floor, she pulled her knees up and laid her head back on the bed, wishing she could just be a bit more normal.

"Having a moment, are we?" a gentle voice asked from the doorway a few minutes later.

Wednesday turned to see her nanna looking down to her with a small smile, holding her walking stick tightly by her side.

"I was just packing," Wednesday replied quietly, embarrassment at her own anger causing her cheeks to redden. How long had her nanna been stood there?

With a gentle laugh, her nanna walked slowly into the room, past Wednesday's right hand side and turning to sit at the edge of the bed, her legs next to her granddaughter's head.

"What's going on in that head of yours love? You've looked like your mind's been somewhere else all week."

Wednesday sighed, looking down to her hands that sat atop her knees, picking the skin on the side of her fingernails.

"I'm just sick of feeling like this."

"Like what?" her nanna asked with folded brows.

"Angry," she replied quietly, too scared or embarrassed to look up and over at her.

"Angry at Harry?" she clarified.

"Partly," Wednesday replied, because it was true. She still had anger at Harry for lying, even after their argument. "But also...angry at myself."

"Why angry at yourself love?"

"Because," she started, feeling her throat thicken with emotion. "I just ruin everything. I get so stubborn and annoyed and then even when I'm not that angry anymore, something in me doesn't let it go. I have to keep the grudge going, instead of just letting it go."

Her nanna didn't reply. Instead, she let her hand drift down to her granddaughter's head and began to stroke her hair sweetly, a gesture that made Wednesday unconsciously tilt into her touch and close her eyes. It reminded her of being a child again, dozing off in her nanna's lap as she hummed a lullaby to her and stroked through her long brunette hair.

"You know," her nanna began, her voice slightly croaky in her older age, but still as comforting as ever. "You remind me of myself."

Wednesday turned her face to her nanna for the first time, her brows scrunched up.

"How?"

She breathed out a laugh, looking to the opposite wall as she recalled her own memories.

"When I was a young girl, around the same age as you, I had a temper. Good god, did I have one on me. My mother would constantly tell me I was too temperamental, too emotional, but I didn't care. If people did me wrong, I cut them off and wouldn't hear any apologies or excuses from them."

Wednesday looked to her elderly grandmother's face, calm and composed with no hint of what she was describing within her. She'd never seen her angry once in her life, apart from the odd whack of the newspaper over her grandad's head. But the woman sat before her, who'd always been the voice of reason and good temperament in their family, didn't sound at all like the person she was describing from the past.

"What changed?" Wednesday asked with intrigue, sitting up and placing her head onto her nanna's knee.

"I quickly realised how lonely that type of life was, shutting people out. I started to wonder how I would feel if people did that to me every time I made a mistake. And trust me, I made enough of them. I knew it would have hurt, to be given up on and discarded because of stupid little things that could be fixed. So, I tried to be calmer, more understanding. And then I met your grandad and I realised I never wanted to lose him, especially not through my own stubbornness."

"What did you do?" Wednesday asked, her eyebrows still drawn together.

"I bettered myself. Forced myself to apologise, even when I was angry. Because life is too short to keep grudges, my love."

Her hand stroked through her granddaughter's hair and Wednesday felt her lip quiver. She made it sound so easy—why couldn't it be that easy for her? She didn't know how to fix things, or stop being how she was. At this point, it was hard wired into her DNA.

"I wish it was that easy for me to do it, so I could stop feeling like this all the time."

"Now, Wednesday, I never said it was easy. Lord, sometimes it took all of my strength to be the bigger person. But do you know what? Even on the hardest days where I had to swallow my pride, I still went to bed feeling better."

Wednesday closed her eyes as the comforting strokes soothed her agitated mind. If there was something her nanna was expert at, it was always knowing the right thing to say.

"Can I ask you something?" her nanna asked once a moment of silence had passed.