I stayed up that night, laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The others had left two hours ago, chuffed that Jamie was back in London and that she'd be staying here at least for another month, as Danielle told us. Danielle also told us that Jamie was trying to be a professional dancer. If that didn't work out, she'd go back to school.
I was also glad that she was back here, that she was fine. Yet, I found it difficult to accept that she had no memory of us. Of me.
I grabbed my phone that I'd placed beside me and browsed through my photo album, stopping at the first one of Jamie. She was sitting beside Josh, a drumstick in each hand. Her eyes were on the drums, full of intense concentration. When she was focused, her face would scrunch up and her lip would turn white on chewing on it so much. I smiled a little as I reminisced, remembering how quickly she'd learned how to play What Makes You Beautiful-a week. Josh was a great mentor but he was a bit too touchy-feely with Jamie. That was when the relationship between Jamie and I were still developing so I had no right to be jealous. Didn't mean I wasn't.
I scrolled through more photos with Jamie in them, lingering at one of us 'snogging' on the Eiffel Tower, just after I'd given her the promise ring. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She isn't one to cry-or at least she tried to hide it. But she looked unbelievably happy. So did I.
I cleared my throat and breathed deeply, finding my videos instead and stopping on the one I watched every night. I played it so many times I could tell you what happens to the second.
I shifted to lie on my right side, one arm tucked under my head.
Then, I played the video clip.
We were on my bed, the one I'm on right now. She was wearing my hoodie and her own sweatpants from H&M-her favourite one, she said, because it was first thing she'd bought with me that wasn't food.
We were cuddling in bed, falling asleep to our late night conversations, nothing serious. She was dozing off, mumbling in her sleep. We'd watched RocknRolla since Tom Hardy and Gerard Butler were amongst some of her favourite actors.
"Tom Hardy is a convincing gay," she joked, snuggling deeper into my side. Her head was on my shoulder, her arm around my chest.
I smiled. "Yeah, I'd know."
She propped up her head with her hand, staring at me lazily, her eyelids drooping.
"You're not gay, are you?" She frowned, looking genuinely concerned.
"Not to my knowledge."
"Good. Because it'd be terribly inconvenient to be in love with you if you were," she remarked dismissively.
I suppressed a grin. "What?"
"I know what you said."
She looked up at me sleepily, puzzled.
"Are you in love with me, Jamie?"
"Well, yeah. Is that...okay?" she quizzed hesítantly.
I chuckled and kIssed her forehead. It's the first time she's admitted it since we started dating.
"Yeah. I love you too, princess."