Pride {l.s.}

29- Quit You

Harry and I retreat back to my place. Liam and Zayn promise to tuck Niall into bed. I figure they're probably staying with each other too tonight, and they don't question it when we tell them to drop Harry and I off together. They're probably so used to us wanting to be together, but this is different. I don't know what is going on between us. Everything about this makes me remember everything I've been taught. I shouldn't want this, but I know that we need to talk this through.

The two of us take up most of the bed. The Fray is playing in the background from the small radio in the corner. My head is laying on Harry's chest. He runs his hands through my hair. Two cowboy boots and two cowboy hats are lying on the floor next to each other.

"What have we done, Harry?" I mumble, but I know that he can hear it.

"You have a girlfriend, but that doesn't make me want to kiss you any less. This is probably an evil question, but who would you pick, Eleanor or me?"

I don't have to think for a moment before I answer. "I would pick you, Harry. I would always pick you."

Harry sits up. My head moves down to his lap, but I still don't sit up. He looks down at me with wide eyes.

"Wait what? Like what about romantically?" Harry asks. His eyebrows are scrunched together like they usually are when he's confused.

I groan in frustration. "I would still pick you, Harry, and I hate myself for it. I shouldn't want you. I was taught not to want you. I should never have wanted you, but here we are in this bed together and I still want you. I wish I knew how to quit you."

It goes silent for a moment. I close my eyes. I almost wish this could all go away. I wish Harry never came into my life, but he brought me so much. He brought me so much color and happiness.

"What do you mean you were taught not to want me? Lou, what does that mean?" Harry abruptly asks. His voice isn't calm. He's not confused. I can tell he has an idea as to what it means, but he needs confirmation.

It's my turn to sit up now. I move away from Harry. I sit at the foot of the bed with my back to the wall. My legs go over Harry's. I can feel Harry's eyes on my, but I don't look towards him. I know what he's thinking, but they always told me never to talk about it. Harry is breaking down everything I was taught.

"Louis, talk to me. You're really scaring me."

I look up when I hear the mattress creaking. Harry is right next to me now. We sit side by side. He gently takes my hand into his. I can hear how loud my heartbeat is, but knowing that he's holding my hand makes it all the more better.

With my hand in his, I find the courage to tell him everything. I need to tell someone. I can't keep it all in anymore, and he deserves to know why I'm always so bipolar with him when it comes to talking about us. I flirt with him, and then I'm yelling at him. He needs to know.

"I've never told this story to anyone," I begin nervously. "I came out to my parents when I was in eighth grade."

Harry's hand tightens around mine. "How did they take it?"

"I still remember the vase my dad threw at my head. I ducked in time, but I still felt bad because it was my mother's favorite. I remember the screaming. I just had to tell them. I couldn't keep it inside me anymore. My mom used to always ask me if I was dating a girl. Every time she asked, I just wanted to tell her the truth. So it came out one day, and the next day I was talking to a priest."