❝This is wrong Harry,❞ I pant as he rips off my top, exposing my bra. I soon give into him as his arms lock on my waist, lifting me onto the kitchen counter.
❝Be quiet baby, we dont want to wake Louis up.❞
//
Absolutely no translations or resposts...
I still can recall how she bumped into me, causing me to stare at her hazel eyes. I was hooked from the second I met her. And now she really is mine.
She slides her hand down from my shoulders to my stomach. She holds the sides of my body, our bodies pressed against each other.
"Get home fast," she commands, then walking away slowly.
"So beautiful," I whisper to myself as I watch her, in awe.
I feel uneasy, being far from her. When is this producer arriving?
Being apart from her just feels... Wrong.
•
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•
Claire's point of view
"Paul, can you turn the radio off?" I request, leaning my head against the window. Those paparazzi's really take it out of me. Just a few seconds of those relentless shoutings makes me shudder.
"Sure thing Miss," he complies, pressing the off button.
"Paul, please call me Claire," I say for the hundredth time. Paul is the driver Harry hired. He was the one to drive us from the airport when we first we landed.
"I'm sorry Mi- Claire..." he apologizes, and I mumble an "It's okay". He's a sweetheart. We drive through the city, the tall buildings passing by us. I take a deep breath, and close my eyes, resting until we arrive. I thank Paul for the drive, and get up to the apartment. I don't see our doorman, which is kind of odd.
I wait in the elevator, and the doors finally slide open to reveal the ever lasting view of the city skyline. I walk into the bedroom, and zip off my dress. I put it on a coat hanger, and hang it in the closet. I put my hair down, and wipe my makeup off. I sit down in the living room, on the stool in front of the easel, continuing. He bought me all of this equipment right after the interview with ABC, where I revealed that painting was one of my hobbies. It seems to far away.
Louis has sort of come around, and he realizes he can't control me anymore. Michael and I are great, we talk almost everyday.
The only one who won't return my calls, is Niall. But I don't blame him.
The band broke up. It seems crazy that the last album would actually be their last. But I figure its all for the best. But the gnawing knowledge that I am partly to blant for it, is something I have to ignore every day not to be consumed by the guilt.
Liza and Louis have been together for three months, and they seem to be happy. I have skyped them a few times. Liam is soon to be a father, and I'm very happy for him, even though I have never met his girlfriend.
Niall released a single. "This Town". I got flashbacks to the time he played it for me in this living room when I first heard it. I know its about me, that was pretty clear. But if that's true, why won't he even talk to me?
The case with Zayn is still ongoing, they haven't caught him, but I know they will. I have to believe that.
The brush runs across the canvas, already filled with strokes with dark colors. I can't quite figure out what I'm painting. It just comes to me, like my subconscious is showing it's images. But I can tell, it will turn out great.
I decide that I'm too tired to be even holding my arm up, so I walk to the kitchen and eat some leftovers from the dinner Harry made last night.
I call him, anxious for him to get home. Ever since that one night in LA, I have never been able to sleep alone.
"You home soon?" I nag, making him laugh.
"Yeah, that producer didn't show up," he explains.
"Love you, I'll be home in 20," he says, and I exhale, relieved. He hangs up after saying bye, and I walk around the apartment for a while. It seems... weird. Stuff is laying around where they shouldn't be. But I figure I'm just tired.
I walk to the bathroom, and find my toothbrush. I take the pink one, smiling when I see the blue one. We have matching toothbrushes.
I brush my teeth, listening to music from my playlist.
My old life seems to distant. Four months ago, I was in my home in London. Living with my parents, absolutely miserable. And then I met him, and he showed to be all I needed, and more.
Sometimes I worry, thinking about how utterly and blindly in love I am with him.
And he loves me too. He really does, which I feel undeserved of sometimes. I know he put me through a lot, but I also put him through a lot. And still he never gave up on us. And now here we are, sharing a flat in New York. I have never been this happy with my life.
I wash my face, water dripping down my chin. I stare in the mirror as it dries. I walk out, and change my underwear. I get to the bed, under the covers. But I panic when I hear the silence. I can't bear it. I push the covers off, sitting up. I stare at the skyline, just waiting...
I feel my heart beat slow down steadily and I take a deep breath of relief when I hear his footsteps from the hallway. I walk to the door to hug him once he enters. Huh, that was much faster than 20 minutes.
•
Harry's point of view
She's not picking up on her cell. But maybe she fell asleep. No, that can't be it. She hasn't been able to sleep alone since Za-. I stop myself from even thinking of his name.
Just as promised, I come home after 20 minutes. I frown when I see the doorman isn't there. I get in the elevator and wait as it takes me to the top floor.
Ah, I can't wait to see her, to touch her. Especially tonight, when I had to restrain myself in public.
The doors slide open and I walk idly into the living room, surprised to not hear a single sound from her. She usually walks up to me, kisses and hugs me.
But then I notice the flipped table and the displaced furniture. Glasses are knocked over the counters, the lights are switched off. My whole crumbles with panic, my stomach twisting into a thousand knots. My eyes widen when I think of why she didn't pick up before.
No...
"Claire!" I shout, panic shooting through my head. I feel my heartbeat accelerate as I run into in every single room, but I can't find her. I am too panicked and flustered to think straight.
"No no no!" I desperately chant, furious worry beating through my whole body.
No, this can't be real. Please.
I run into the living room again, chanting her name in strangled screams. I crumble to the floor, tears in my eyes, overwhelmed by the fear and the sudden realization.
"Claire," I whisper in fear, a tear falling to the wooden floor.
