Matilda | Harry Styles

TWELVE

I was achingly desperate to have the resolve to cut off all extra contact I had with him, outside of strict professionalism - but each time he looked at me, or so much as spoke in my presence, I seemed to forget exactly why I wanted this distance; it all seemed to melt away. That was the most terrifying part.

I couldn't let myself forget why I felt this way. I couldn't let myself lose sight of what I knew was best; I couldn't stop prioritising protecting myself.

Harry, himself, was often as confusing to me as my own head was. Part of me believed there was absolutely no way that he had an ounce of interest in me - why would he? And if he did, why would he have been so firm in stating that we had to put an end to whatever it was that had happened between us? Why had he attempted to stop me from taking this job in the first place, really?

I refused to believe it was anything deeper than that he truly didn't know what my intentions were, and that it had simply shocked him to see somebody he'd slept with only a week previous, turn up at his place of work. But his actions since then were what must have been truly preventing me from forgetting what had happened between us. Not only did I have my own infatuations with him; his mannerisms, his appearance - him, but the second night we'd spent together was something I just couldn't push from my head. And though it had been less than a week - I knew I was right in my original thought that Harry, and this silly little crush, would be difficult to ignore.

But, perhaps, I hadn't tried - maybe I hadn't tried hard enough. Maybe I really just needed to rip the bandage off, and stop talking to him; break our eye contact when it connected, reject his smiles and his occasional touches, and make sure that there was nothing there. I needed this job more than anything - this job extended beyond whatever connection Harry and I had, and I felt like I was spending far too much time fantasising about him.

The fact he'd shown up at my hotel room that night, of his own accord; the fact he'd gotten so irritated by me interacting with somebody else in the club, the fact he'd been so fixated on my annoyance with Stella. When he'd told me that it was merely 'complicated' when I'd asked why he had ignored me that whole day; the way he'd looked at me, his gaze filled with so much more than I could distinguish - I couldn't get any of it from my mind.

It had to be the intimacy of our first interaction that made me feel this way. The fact that upon meeting him, I'd been granted the privilege to touch him in any way that I liked, and now I couldn't - that had to be it. It had to just be the foreignness; having to get used to this new way of things. It wasn't any deeper - please - it couldn't be.

"I'm not seeing the problem here," Grace had said, yawning dramatically into her phone screen. I'd clearly woken her up when I'd called, and she rubbed her eyes occasionally, as I ranted on. I widened my eyes.

"How? This is awful," I groaned, running my hand over my face. She laughed.

"No, it isn't. Just because it's unfamiliar, it doesn't mean that it's awful," she told me, shaking her head. "Look, this could be good for you. A little summer romance," she teased, and I sighed. She didn't get it.

"It's not a summer romance," I shook my own head, "it's a list of complications that I don't need."

"Izzy, there's obviously a reason why you haven't just ignored each other yet," she said, raising an eyebrow, telling me exactly what I didn't want to hear. 'I can't stay away from you', Harry had admitted to me that morning in the hotel. My chest lurched, remembering it well. "Just let it play out. Is it such a bad idea that, just maybe, you could be happy, for once? And maybe that could have something to do with Harry?" she asked, and I bit my lip back into my mouth. Yes. It's a horrible idea.