Cannes | H.S

Petals

Layla

I stand in front of the mirror, looking hazily at the woman who remains in front of the glass. She appears to be a stranger now, filled with small white lies that have heavily consumed her for quite some time. The guilt is drowning me, pulling me underground, hoping to swallow myself whole. We've done a decent job hiding the horrible situation from the media as the two of us are the only souls who truthfully know what happened back in Hawaii. But he doesn't know the entire truth. He deserves to know it all. It's the least you can do if you actually love him. My rational mind is maddening as I toss the brush to the side, not caring to comb my damp hair as I keep the towel wrapped tightly around me. However, as the door is slowly opened, Harry appears, eyes trailing over me with concern.

He approaches me quietly, wrapping both arms around my waist from behind, kissing the back of my shoulder timidly. He smells of apples and peanut butter, hints of his cheeky breakfast made evident. His touch is far too kind, far too observant as I force myself to put on a show of calmness for both our sakes. He doesn't need to know right now. The big show is tomorrow. He needs to remain focused. You can't ruin this for him too.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks.

I'm hesitant, choosing my words carefully before they're spoken out loud. "It's nothing, just work. Grace wants me to pick some new projects for this year. She thinks I'm being lazy."

It's not a complete lie; this part of my current frustration is true. Grace has been blowing up my phone with constant emails and calls, fearing something may be wrong as I've dodged and declined every opportunity being handed or thrown my way. The very idea of being in front of the camera makes me want to burst into a fit of tears as my self confidence has drifted off and declined to absolutely nothing. I'm broken. What's the point?

Harry being Harry, doesn't believe me entirely, reading me like a detailed page out of a novel, but I'm too great of an actress to be an open book. He spins me around carefully, taking my hand in his own, exhaling a deep breath filled with worry.

"I need to tell you something," he says. My heart skips a beat at such a statement as I see the look of fear in his evergreen eyes. I sense and feel his sweaty palm in my own. He chews on the corners of his lips, remorseful as he speaks. "Violet reached out to me this morning."

He's never really spoken openly about his ex girlfriend as he's truly tried to keep her in the distant past. Unfortunately, she didn't wish to stay there, wanting to ruin our wonderful world filled with summertime happiness. She spread many rumors and false accusations, stating Harry cheated on her when he inevitably met me in Cannes and then wanting her back in the present. She even shared a video of them two from a long time ago, showing the world the result of one too many glasses of tequila. I trust Harry entirely; he's never given me any reason to think otherwise even though I lack his good character. So, I don't press on the matter, knowing there's nothing to fear.

"She wanted to apologize. She released a statement to the media saying she made everything up. She wanted you to know that she's very sorry for ever hurting you."

When his voice cracks, I know that he thinks this is it. This is the part where I run, just like everyone else. Instead, I decide to delicately trace his cheek with my thumb, gaining his undivided attention. "She hurt me by hurting you. Are you okay?"

He pauses temporarily, gathering his thoughts, saying the expected and unexpected at the same time. "No, not really." When I attempt to speak, he stops me, confirming what I've always feared. He knows. "What are you keeping from me Layla? And please, please don't lie to me. Don't try to protect me, not anymore."

I take a step back from him, shivering in plain view as all my worst possible fears come crashing down in an unknown instant. "Harry, you don't understand."