About (Harry Styles)

21.

Brave?

Brilliant?

Beautiful?

Is he serious? Does he seriously think someone would actually fall for that load of what I can only refer to as crap?

With everything I've read about him, everything I've heard about him, him being nothing more but a mere womanizer, he's only reinforcing those speculations.

That maybe he wasn't the kind of womanizing prick the media portrayed him to be. Was I in denial this whole time?

I thought he was a celebrity of humble character, with manners of those of a gentleman. And he almost had me fooled with the stunt he pulled, 'saving' me from Chris.

"Do you say that to every girl you meet?" I ask him flatly.

He looks bewildered at the sudden turn of events. Or maybe he's pretending to be confused.

Rising to my feet, I look down to glare at him, expecting him to be there, only to find him mimicking my move.

Damn. Now he's the one looking down at me as if I'm the inferior one.

"You think I said those words to seduce you?"

I scoff loudly, our eyes fixated with two different expressions. His confusion. Mine indignant. "I've heard words like that before, and I refuse to be fooled again. Especially by someone like you."

"Elaine," he says my name with prudence. "I wasn't --"

"And a few days ago, with the 'Would it be okay if I did?' Making you nervous? And, and worrying about me? Liking me? Making me fall for you was all a part of this strategy of yours then?"

My tone is unrelenting as I recall his sugar coated statements that's been circulating in my head for the past few days. I am stunned by own words as I theorize that he's been toying with me since then. Maybe even before then. He mentioned something about a strategy before.

"You've got the wrong idea," he vigilantly tells me. "I don't like you."

His words burn my pride. Being blunt is something I usually do, but hearing it out so candidly from another, it's awfully desensitizing.

"What I mean is I don't like you in that kind of way, at least," he adds, obviously to how speechless, and hurt I must look. "I worry for everyone in general. And you only make me nervous because you're a girl. Girls in general make me nervous. And liking you ..." He pauses, collecting his thoughts, knowing what he says next is crucial. He and I both know he's walking on thin ice. "You wanna know something?"

"If I say no, will you keep quiet?" I huff.

"Probably not," he replies with a smile. When he notices my unamused reaction, he clears his throat thoroughly and thinks of something to say to quell my challenging attitude. "Remember when I asked you why you didn't ask me for a picture when we first met."

Having no motivation to confirm, I cross my arms, signaling my impatience. Where is he going with this?

"Then you asked me whether I was offended or not?" He continues even though I left his question unanswered. "I wasn't offended. In actuality, I really appreciated it. The first time we met, you didn't scream in my face. You didn't run up to me and tell me 'you loved me'. You didn't ask for one picture. You didn't ask for anything. You .. You treated me like a normal person, not like a celebrity or some tourist attraction that you so desperately needed to take a picture with. I like that about you."

The moment he stops rambling, he's almost out of breath, his perturbing lips quietly gasping for breaths of air.  The profound silence grows as I'm letting his words sink in.