The Maid For Styles

Chapter 66

A/N: There's a second authors note at the end. I've started to this whole two notes thing a bit. Oh well, not even sorry :)

Shiiit, it's been a long time. This I am sorry for!

Chloe's POV

My morning was anything but the way girls on TV rise at the break of dawn, with sunlight hitting their glowing skin as they stretch and smile through a yawn, ready to welcome the new day.

Instead, I woke up with a loud grunt and sleep buried deep in the corners of my beateyes. I pulled the covers over my head, hoping that the sunlight that peeped through the crack in my curtains would somehow disappear, and then, maybe, I wouldn't have to face the events of the promising shitty day.

When the air inside the small space between my blanket and I started to heat up, almost suffocating me when I couldn't replenish my lungs with the fresh air they needed, I threw the blanket down my body and stared at the ceiling. Stalling myself from the shower I knew I needed to have, I counted from one to hundred and back then from one hundred to one.

The counting was simple, it was the fighting the thought of Harry that was difficult, but somehow, he managed to wiggle his way into my head and consume my mind. I closed my eyes tightly, hoping to rid my brain of him, but he didn't budge. He'd made himself at home up there and there was no way in hell that he would be leaving soon, I was sure of that.

Along with the unwelcomed thought of Harry, came the thought of the night earlier. My brain ticked over as I reminisced about the events of the evening, breathing deeply as a new sense of dismay established a contemporary dwelling in my chest. I admitted to myself that I was quite selfish when I'd yelled at Harry in his drunk state, because he'd put himself in danger for me. His anger could be overwhelming and I knew that was the reason the verbal conflict had suddenly become physical, but I prided Harry in his courage to stick up for me, I just worried about the outcome that was yet to appear. However, I had a problem with the fuckhead behind the camera and his words, because they'd evaded my dreams and had stuck with me over the whole course of the night. That was what I was going to have to discuss with Harry, along with apologising for my complete bitching session.

Begrudgingly, I pulled my torso up from the comfortable mattress and threw the blankets off me. My feet hit the floor and I groaned slightly, the urge to get up nowhere to be found, although I knew I needed to-need and want were two words that held completely different meanings. I hauled my feet along the floor, making my way towards my bathroom.

I tried to make my shower as long as possible, but along with the dismay that was slowly drowning me, guilt welcomed itself without any hesitation and I found myself aspiring for the inevitable chat with Harry. Cursing silently to myself, I turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around me. I dried off in seconds and chucked on Harry's shirt I'd slept in, along with some underwear and a pair of shorts, before I trudged downstairs to grab a glass of water and a couple Advil for Harry's predicted hangover.

I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to approach Harry. Half of me wanted to get straight to the point, but then the opposing half (possibly the rational side) decided it was just easier to see if he could actually remember anything, because that was probably a good starting point.

I sucked in a sharp breath and opened Harry's door quietly, peeking my head in to suss the room out. Harry was still tangled between the sheets, his limbs spread out over the bed as if he was searching for that missing something. I bit my lip and walked in, closing the door behind me. My legs carried me towards his bed, before allowing my body to sit itself on the side of his mattress, where his back rested against mine. The cup of water and two Advil were placed on the bed side table, before I brought my hand to his hair and slowly ran my fingers through his slightly sweaty locks.