Dirty Dishes (A Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 17: Who Are You When I'm Not Looking

(Who Are You When I'm Not Looking is by Blake Shelton)

Harry's POV:

            After I was done transferring all my stuff, or at least the stuff I could let her see out of my room and into hers I started cleaning. I took the rest to the room Dave and Steve had reserved for emergencies visits from them, and for the makeup artist to hang around in case my identity was ever compromised. However they took it as an opportunity to bug my stuff with hidden cameras for the night. I didn’t like the idea right away, but they reminded me that they get a view of everything from my glasses and it wouldn’t be any more invasive then my presence, only at better angles. They said that if I didn’t want the world to see us then I shouldn’t give them anything to see. For some reason that has never been an easy task for me.

            I called Ms. Gats to let her know my room was ready, and she made another comment about me working as slow as I talk. That woman will not rest until I am kicked out of this building for life. She told me to leave the room immediately, and hung up. I considered trying to find another place to waste some time, but my mind kept wandering back to Erin’s room. I could say I wanted to surprise her, or get a feel for the place, but I really just wanted to see what this perfect girl was hiding.

            I didn’t have much time to snoop she’d be off in a half hour, but every second was more then she had originally allowed, so I guess I should be grateful. I looked around at her handmade art decorations on the wall, trying to look natural and not reveal to the cameras my true intentions. They were interesting. She had decorative lanterns made out of Dixie cups and Christmas lights, some interesting flowerlike designs made out of construction paper, some collages, a Duck Dynasty poster, and a canvas hanging on the wall with melted crayons pouring over the quote, “Skittles Don’t Leave No Juice!” It made me laugh, I didn’t know what it was from but it was in cursive so I was expecting something deep, but was surprised to see what I assume was a joke instead. How could a girl spend so much time on making such detailed art, and still manage to be lighthearted enough to use it to goof around. I never met anyone quite as unpredictable as her.

            I saw her laptop sitting on the desk, but it was password protected along with her cellphone. Technology was useless to me in her case. I looked around at the pictures sitting right next to it trying to come up with my next hot spot. There was one with her and her mom, who she introduced me to a while ago. They both had one arm wrapped around each other trying to smile and hold back the tears in their eyes. They were standing in front of the sign to her university. It must have been the day she left for college. It had an odd way of making me sad but happy when I looked at it. I wondered what affect it had on her? Then there was another with Allen in sunglasses, and hammer-time pants. I don’t want to know; I don’t even care. And finally some with her and a small groups of friends from college, work, and I think high school. It looked like she was never surrounded by too many people, or at least not that she cared to show off.

            At the end of this line of memories I noticed a hard cover sketchbook. It was covered in pigs and quotes, and was held shut by a shinny pink ribbon that was tied in a perfect bow. How much could she cram in there? What could she cram in there? “Don’t do it,” I told my hands, but they don’t hear so well. With one light tug I undid the knot and the book flapped open. The page was a picture of a wedding dress that she had cut out of a magazine, but the most intriguing thing about it was the fact that she pasted the head of one of her friends on it. I flipped back a page and it just had a name with a bunch of artistic doodles around it, as I continued flipping the next pages were filled with flowers, hairstyles, bridesmaid dresses, venues, and last but not least the cake. Each page looked like a scrapbook capturing the vibe that each person must give off. I continued flipping excited to see who she created weddings for. Of course there were a couple more friends, some employees I’ve seen her talk to, and some that she never seems to interact with. She even gave Allen a wedding. I bet he’d hate that. I laughed to find a section for Ms. Gats. I guess she doesn’t discriminate against people she’s not too fond of. Next I found one that I wasn’t expecting. It was her mom, and it was really sweet. It was a new picture of her face on the main wedding dress, but Erin drew a mirror on the page that was reflecting an older picture of her mother’s younger face on a dress she had drawn herself. After I finished flipping through hers I got to the grand finale: Erin’s dream wedding. I was in the act of flipping the page when the door clicked open.

            I slammed the book shut. Shoot, I lost track of time. Acting on my adrenaline I quickly tied it up as nice as I could in a panic, placed it back in its spot, and stood up quickly before she even looked in my direction. Then I faced her trying to act casual.

            She was humming a song as she closed the door behind her. Then she saw me, “Oh hey Robert, you’re here already,” she said forcing excitement but I could tell she was a little suspicious as she dropped her duffle bag by the door.

            “Yeah I finished early, so Ms. Gats kicked me out. You don’t mind that I waited here do you?”

            “It depends,” she smiled and raised an eyebrow, “What did you see?”

            “What do you mean what did I see?” She couldn’t possibly know.

            “I mean you’re not watching TV, so what have you been looking at?”

            “I’ve just been sitting her. You know trying to figure out how this night is going to work out,” I lied hoping she’d buy it.

            “Oh, now I get it. You’re judging me because of one of my decorations,” she accused jokingly. “Okay which one is it?”

            I figured that was not a half bad cop out, “It’s the crayon one. I don’t get it, what’s the quote from?”

            “The Fucking Best Song Ever,” she said genuinely excited this time.

            “Yeah, what song is that?”

            “No, that IS the name of the song,” she corrected, “It’s like, Skittles don’t leave no juice and rolypoly produce that’s why they call me whoa dude and slow slow you roll dude…” I shook my head trying to hold back a smile at the sight of her trying to mimic the melody of the song. “Well it’s not Mozart. It’s just I like the song, ok. It’s makes me smile.”

            “So that’s why it is forever framed on your wall?”

            “Hey, it’s a conversation piece. Kind of like your tattoos. You have your reasons I have mine.” She just had to bring up the tattoos. I nodded defeated. My mockery was squashed by her logic. “Speaking of tattoos, what’s this one about,” she asked pointing to my neck.

            “I just thought it looked cool,” I tried to brush off the question, because I didn’t want to talk about Robert’s tattoos. I wanted to talk about my tattoos. I hated lying to her.

            “Come on, I don’t believe you’d get something with no meaning,” she continued.

            I knew it would hurt her if I, or Robert, didn’t open up to her. That’s when I realized I didn’t have to completely lie. I came up with reasons for each fake tattoo before I arrived at the Gats, but maybe I could get away with a partial truth. “Aright I’ll explain them, but only one at a time okay?” She smiled and nodded eagerly. “I just felt like when I was younger I just tried to fit in and please everyone. Like a caterpillar, you know? How they all kind of look the same.” She nodded and I could tell she really was getting it. She was a great listener. “But then somewhere along the line I realized that the only way to make myself truly happy is to be me and do the stuff that I feel I was meant to. I may make mistakes and I might hurt my chances of being successful, but that’s how you learn and I can be proud of that. I got the tattoo once I took the first step to deciding my own destiny. Plus they’re just pretty aren’t they?” I grinned trying to lighten the mood with a joke at the end.

            She smiled, “Now that wasn’t so hard. Was it?”

            I gave her a fake almost crying face. “Why do you have to make me feel my feeling? I’m tough gosh darn it.”

            “But you're a Pillsbury Dough Boy on the inside,” she said poking me in the stomach. I tried to laugh like the little guy, but it’s hard with a low voice. “That was really bad,” she commented.

            “I bet you can’t do any better,” I challenged lunging to tickle her.

            “No, get away from me” she yelled running away as I chased her around the room.