Hidden Secrets (Harry Styles)

Chapter 22

“I don’t know Harry…” I don’t know if I’m ready for another one.

“It wasn’t really a question,” Harry states reaching over towards the bottle and I lift it away from him.

“It wasn’t really getting answered anyways,” I fire back. His eyes squint into slits as he studies me and my eyes automatically find his as I hold his gaze. He slowly inches towards me, until we are practically chest to chest, our eyes never breaking contact. His hand reaches up and my breath hitches and my eyes habitually shut as he gently caresses my cheek. The feeling of his warm breath sends shivers racing down my back. I lean in towards him, yearning to have his lips on mine.

“Well I guess we will discuss that over a drink,” Harry’s voice unexpectedly rings out. My eyes snap open just as the vodka is snatched out of my grasp.

 

..

Hours later Harry and I are still going strong and are just at the point of passing out. We talked about tattoos and he showed me every single one of his. I always thought tattoos told a story, because you’d always be reminded of that moment in your life. Everyone changes, and it’s important to have something from that point in your life, and that’s really what tattoos represent for me. I describe to him the ones I wanted, and he laughed at some of the stupid possibilities that I expressed.

“Why don’t you get lyrics or something?”

“I don’t know, what if you don’t like that artist and band a month later? Then what?” I stared at him.

“Well, what are some ideas that you are certain you’d like?” He looked at me expectantly like he wanted me to elaborate on my ideas, so I decided to just let my mind run wild.

“Two slashes would be fun, or a small pair of converse. I would love a quote or something right here,” I carelessly point to the inside upper side of my right arm. “Or here,” I continue, motioning to the outside of my left hand. “I know that some of my ideas are stupid and I could possibly regret but… I wish I could be like you!” I stand up on the couch we were lying on and jumped with excitement, the drinks were really getting to me. Harry and I had almost drank the whole bottle.

“Why would you ever want to be like me?” Harry laughed, but I could see some sadness in his eyes, almost like pain.

“You’re so carefree, and happy! And look at your life, you could buy so much vodka with that kind of money.” I joke, and he gives a sad smile.

“It’s not everything it seems, Em.” He places a gentle kiss on my forehead and then stands up. He begins to walk away but I run after him. I wrap my cold hands around his body and begin to run my fingers along his tattoos, resting my hand on the heart tattoo we both share. He returns the hug, and his fingers trail along my side where my lonely heart lies.

“This will forever be my favourite tattoo, Harry Styles.” We stood there together, just holding each other. Even though I was brutally intoxicated being in his embrace and feeling his long slender fingers wrapped around me, provided me with the same overwhelming sense of safety as it did sober. I loved burying my face against his broad shoulders. He reluctantly pulls away from me, and I already miss his touch. He stares at me awkwardly, “What?” He smiles to himself, then says in the deep British accent I’ve grown to love, “Nothing, you’re just beautiful.” Whether it be the alcohol or hearing Harry’s compliment a dopey grin spreads across my face,

“I should probably get going then, it’s late.” He moves his fingers along my waist and begins to tug at the hem of his shirt that I’m still wearing. He pulls it off my body leaving me exposed. His fingers linger on my side where my heart tattoo lies.

I shake my head, not wanting him to go, “No,” I say childishly. He gives me a confused look and I quickly think to recover, “You’re drunk, you can’t leave,” I explain.

“Is that a threat?” He says confidently, moving closer to me.

“No, you just can’t drive home, you’ll get yourself killed.” He’s got me backed against the wall with no escape. I avoid his gaze as he moves his face inches from me.

“But you’ve only got one bed…”

I sneak under his arm and he spins around, dumbstruck. “Well you ain’t bunking with me. You can sleep on the couch,” I say laughing.

“To hell with the couch.” He says with a devilish look on his face. He moves slowly towards me again, and my eyes widen as his speed picks up. He lifts me up by the waist and slugs me over his shoulder like a rag doll. He begins to carelessly spin me around and I let out a loud scream and playfully pound on his back, not caring if I wake the neighbours. I can’t help but be reminded of the way he lifted me up the day we played soccer. My screams turn to laughter as I remember the way we went against each other like it was a death match. He’s still spinning me around when we hear a knock at the door. “Who the hell is here at 4 o’clock in the damn morning?” Harry questions, “I swear if this is some guy we are done here,” he exclaims. We both laugh as he runs to the door with me still drapped on his shoulder. My back is faced opposite the door and I can’t see who it is that is disturbing us so late. Harry’s laughter dies down as he stares at the mysterious person standing outside my apartment. “Who the hell,” Harry trails off, I feel his cold fingers setting me down on the ground. I spin around, pissed at the person who interrupted my time with Harry, although when my eyes meet the stranger mouth falls to the floor.

“Claire?”

a/n

this chapter wasnt supposed to go like this but it turned out well i htink