Holding On (A Harry Styles Love Story)

Recovery

 The next few months seemed impossible to get through. I knew that eventually, I would have to move on and try to live without Amy. I also knew that it would be better if I moved on sooner rather than later. But it just felt impossible. Can someone suffer from a blow like that and recover?

I tried to prove that I could.

About three days after the funeral, I started to be thankful for Amy's life, rather than resentful that it was over. After all, isn't that, ideally, what everyone should do when they lose a loved one? 

I thought of all of the times Amy and I spent together, and I decided: They were good. All of the moments I shared with Amy were good. Even the times we fought shaped us into who we were. The seventeen years that I knew Amy needed to be great memories, instead of memories that make me cry.

Granted, someday I will cry about Amy. Something will remind me of her, and it'll be hard to move on. Someday will be more difficult than others- no doubt about it. But I know that she would want me to be happy. And who am I to go against her wishes?

 Thankfully, I was excused from a week of school so I could "grieve", and after that, my school was taking a week-long fall break, so I wouldn't have to jump back into school so soon. That's fortunate, right? 

So I got back into a routine. Giving myself simple commands, like OK, Charlotte, get out of bed now.  Or, brush your teeth now, Charlotte; it's time to get dressed now. I tried to make my days as simple as possible. Eating three small meals, reading, watching TV, and going to bed. 

But, it's hard to live a simple life when your world-famous boyfriend decides to spend his two-week vacation at your house.

When the doorbell rang on a Saturday evening, I put down my bowl of popcorn, paused the TV, and forced myself to get up and trudge towards the door. Exhaust ran through my body as I walked- courtesy of my lack of sleep. My mind was rather blank, and my head was borderline thoughtless as I unlocked the door without a second thought.

But a million thoughts partied in my head when I saw a curly-haired British boy standing on my front porch with a suitcase by his side and a duffel bag in his arms.

I was so shocked that I choked on the air, and I let out a sound that was some sort of gasp or squeal or heart attack. Maybe I had a stroke.

For a split second, I couldn't decide if I was angry at him for being so stubborn and visiting me when I told him not to, or if I was, although I wouldn't admit it, thrilled that he disobeyed me.

Ok, I was thrilled.

"Harry!" I screeched, jumping into his arms and knocking his duffel to the ground.

He only laughed- a sweet, rich laugh that I missed so dearly. I laughed with him, leaning into peck his lips. My legs wrapped around his waist, and his arms held them tightly. I felt secure in his arms, and for the first time in a while, I let myself become happy. 

"Hey Charlotte," He finally said with a huge, brilliant smile. He looked up into my eyes as he held me, and I was reminded that he never fails to take my breath away. After a few moments of pure bliss in his arms, I lay my head on his shoulder. His cool breath breathed down my neck, and I knew I could stay there forever. Wrapped in his arms, feeling protected from the world.