small world

chapter 49

CHARLIE

Bleu de Chanel and notes of something completely indescribable but unique to Harry clouded around my head as I stirred in my slumber, slowly but surely rising to the day as the familiar fumes seeped through my nose and into my head, drowning me in the thought of him and giving me the ultimate high. My head turned to his side of the bed, breathing in his scent while I found myself subconsciously feeling for his presence. To my inevitable displeasure and yet no surprise, the scent was just the remains of where Harry once laid. I grabbed his pillow and hugged it to my chest, burying my face and inhaling him. Though all I wanted to do was hold his body to mine, melt into his skin and to interrupt his sleep with tiny light kisses like butterflies landing on petals, this was all I had to wake up to: a bed for two occupied by one.

I sighed, rolling onto my back and staring up at the crisp white ceiling that’s blank emptiness mocked me. It was the end of May now, over a month had past since that magical night in Los Angeles, the night that ended with my own burning panic about where this lifestyle would take mine and Harry’s relationship. We both suffered through such loneliness during our time away from each other. We craved one another’s touch and feel and smell and kisses and we couldn’t keep living like this, so separate from our lifeline; he was my oxygen tank and I was still alive but barely breathing. So for a while, naturally, we immersed ourselves in each other’s company, filling all the voids and making up for all the lost time, for all the nights in lonely beds, for all the dinner for one’s that should have been for two, for all the aching that so painfully came with being apart. Day-by-day, hour-by-hour, moment-by-moment the pain went away, and everything fell beautifully back into place. My hand didn’t go long missing his as it was soon to be kissed by his palm and intertwined with his strong musical fingers that bore my name in permanent ink. Every minute spent together I could feel myself falling deeper and deeper in love, as if the minute I laid eyes on him that gloomy day in Cheshire, I dove into the sea green of his eyes, and every second since I had been sinking into love and happiness and lust and safety, and everything I’d never felt before him I was accelerating into with Harry. I was sinking back into that comfortable position, like crawling back into bed after a long day and filling the mold you’d left in the morning, but this comfort would only inevitably be rudely interrupted by my blaring alarm – the fact that my Harry, the love of my life, wasn’t just Harry, but he was Harry Styles, and something so simple as a surname made a huge aching difference.

The entire month of April was ours and it was beautiful. The only interruptions were the boys recording in the studio and working on their second album which I awaited patiently, waiting to hear the notes of myself and the love I shared with Harry throughout its lyrics, and the frequently growing fan base stopping us about for pictures; which compared to being separated by miles and hours, wasn’t so bad after all. Then one day while we were cuddled on the couch, our legs intertwined and minds in another world, the phone rang. There was something ominous about the way it rung during a silent moment in the film we’d been fixed on, like for some strange reason even before picking it up I could feel that it was a wake up call to the beautiful dream we’d been luckily living for some time. The call was expected as the dates Simon had faxed here weeks ago were pinned to the fridge, a constant reminder of upcoming departure, and I could tell by the way Harry let out a long sigh before answering it, that he had been waiting for some time for whatever news was on the other end. Sure enough, it was his call to duty, Simon himself happily congratulating him that they’d be going down under – but I really would have preferred him down under me. But it was the moments of bliss like these interrupted by reality that made me realize time with Harry was like the ocean, we could only hold a little in our hands.

It was selfish of me to want him to myself when I knew that who he was and what he did made a great deal to many people other than myself, so I knew that I needed to let him know it was okay to be excited, because at the end of the day, I was excited for him. This is everything he wanted, this is the life he dreamed of that day he took a chance in auditioning for the X Factor, and though he never expected it, this is the life that chance made for him. So even if him being gone made me miss him, I knew he’d miss me too – but I also knew this would make him happy, and at the end of the day it was his happiness that mattered more than my own comfort with him by my side.