One. || h.s.

Seventeen.

I sigh, giving up because I know that he won't stop until I tell him. When Harry wants to know something he will find out one way or another.

"She went through my things and destroyed some stuff, okay?" I say quietly, looking anywhere but at him. I back up so I can lean against the wall behind me and cross my arms over my chest.

"Jess said she was trying to help you let go of your past or something."

"If she already told you, why do you need me to?"

"She didn't tell me what she did." He says sternly, his eyes holding my intensely.

I'm still conflicted as to whether I should tell him or not. I don't know what he'll think of me being hurt over the cinders of our past. I don't want him to get the wrong idea, even if I'm not sure whether it's right or wrong. Every time I tried to get rid of the pictures myself I couldn't do it. Something was holding me back, telling me not to let go and I listened.

I open my mouth to say something, but my phone vibrates loudly on the coffee table. I gladly use it as a scapegoat and rush over to pick it up. I have a text from Zayn, and I feel my cheeks heat up instantly.

"Who's that?" Harry asks, his deep voice mixed with curiosity. He rests on his elbows over the back of the sofa, his eyes training on my phone. Obviously his old habits are not lost on him; he used to want to know everything I did, everyone I spoke to.

"Zayn," I answer, not meeting his eyes as I set the phone back on the table.

"Oh..."

"Are we done here, because he wants to go for lunch," I mumble, chewing on my bottom lip and staring at my phone on the table. I'd use any excuse to get out of this conversation.

"You're going to go out with him?" Harry's eyebrows shoot up and he stands up straight, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, why not? It'd be nice to take my mind off things for a while," I tell him while moving to my suitcase and grabbing a pair of dark jeans.

I don't know why I'm answering all his inquiries, it's not like I have to. It seems like he's more than just curious, though. He even told me on the way home from work yesterday not to go out with him. I don't see why I shouldn't, Zayn is perfectly nice and could be just what I need to clear my head and finally have a fresh start.

"You should know that he thinks this is probably a date," Harry says, his raspy voice grave and his dark eyebrows furrowed.

"That's fine," I shrug. A little date can't hurt.

I pick up my makeup bag and my jeans and walk past Harry to the washroom. I can feel his eyes on me, following me as I go, burning into my back. He's acting a bit strange and curiosity builds in me the longer I think about it. He was so insistent on knowing why I left home and why I was going out with Zayn. It's more than just curiosity, but I can't put my finger on what it is exactly.

I pull on my jeans and open my makeup bag, hastily putting on the least amount of makeup possible, but enough to look presentable. I pull my hair out of my bun and fluff it up until it looks decent and falls in faint waves.

When I leave the bathroom Harry is still in the same spot. His eyes find me as soon as I round the corner from the hallway. He watches me as I shove my makeup bag and sweat pants back in my suitcase. I couldn't be more aware of his eyes on me and I start to feel uncomfortable, my pulse quickening.

I've been trying to keep myself level headed since I arrived, but him staring me down like this is not helping in the slightest. I've done my best not to touch him or keep my eyes on him too long, afraid of what will happen if I do. He doesn't seem to be doing the same, however. He has paid no attention to what he says or how close he is to me and it makes me wonder if he ever really intended on starting over. The thought makes my stomach clench and my heart pound even more. I'm relieved when my phone goes off and a text message tells me Zayn is waiting in the lobby.