the writer // harry styles au

chapter 30

Harry

Honestly, seeing Alexis with Will just fucks me off, deep down to my core. He gets to wrap his stupid arms around her perfect body, feeling the press of her against his chest, the warmth of her filling him, the scent of her overtaking his senses. It fucks me off that Will turned up at my house looking for me with suspicions. Alexis must be a shitty liar. But I wouldn't know; I haven't been around her enough to be able to differentiate between her lies and truths. I would like to be, though.

The eye contact I share with Alexis is killing me. Her bright blue eyes, so free of worry only minutes before I showed up now clouded with confusion. Her fringe is messily parted in the middle, pushed to the two sides of her forehead in hope of being able to see that little bit more. Since first meeting her, her fringe has gotten longer, always covering her eyes and having to be pushed aside. I like the messy hair - always have, always will.

Will lets go of Alexis, turning around to look at me along with her. Alexis is staring at me - just straight out staring. She obviously doesn't care about him seeing her stare; she's not trying to hide the shock on her face.

Will speaks up. "Lex. I ran into your friend Harry, thought he might want to come up." There's no hesitation in his voice, nothing that would tip Alexis off to think he's up to something - which he is.

He had arrived outside my house, walking, mumbling, freaking out. He wasn't a violet man - thank god - so he didn't put a fist straight into my face, kick me in the balls, or push me against a wall only to threaten me. He was devious, though. I wouldn't deny that the plan he proposed to me was brilliant, and favour of myself and him.

"I want her to see you," he said. I'd invited him in only by common courtesy, and now was beginning to regret it because he's a really nice guy.

Shit, I'd thought. I'd been apart of cheating on this... well, descendant of God. He was nice, well mannered, everything a polite man should be. If his gene pool went all the way back to be in relation to that pair of sandals that Christians claim to be 'Proof of God', I'd believe that shit right away. This being said, his devious behaviour may not have been inherited by his godly ancestors and maybe Satan.

"Just hear me out, okay?" he said, taking a sip of the beer I'd offered him. "It's not to scare her, not to make her hate you. I love her, just know that. Maybe as much as you do."

I had to stop him. I shook my hand, waving for him to halt his plan for a moment. I'd forgotten to ask one of the most important questions. "How'd you figure it out?"

He shrugged. "Few tip offs, really. A) you came to her flat the night I first took her on a date, B) you were in the paper on the night we got engaged and I showed it to her, remembering your face from night you turned up, and she basically froze. She looked glossy eyed and like her mouth had totally dried up. Not a normal reaction for just seeing a friend in a paper. I knew she went and saw you that night. She came back smelling exactly like this house. Lastly, and quite obviously, you were at my mum's funeral."

That was my turn to freeze, go glossy eyed and let all the saliva from my mouth evaporate. He saw me at the funeral - not a good thing.

He laughed on the couch facing me. He shook his head, looking down at the coffee table. "We're her type," he said.

I had to laugh with him. We didn't seem to differ that much. He wasn't afraid to tell someone he loved a girl, wasn't an overly manly guy, and was quite nice - similar to myself.

"You think?" I asked.

He shook his head yes. "You're a writer, yeah?" I shook my head yes. "I'm an investor - partner with another guy called Finn. Quite successful, like yourself, and I take care of the art investments. Finn works with the science and mechanics of it all. I'm not into that sort of stuff, probably like you."

I laughed - I had to. She seriously had a type.

He placed him beer down on the coffee table. He rubbed his hands together and clasped them in his lap. He looked full on business now, ready to fight for what he loved. I guess I felt that way to.

"I love her," he said.

"So do I," I agreed. The naïvety in my voice sounded so pathetic. I just told Alexis' fiancée that I love her. Stupid.

"So, help me, and maybe it'll help you. I don't want to be stuck in marriage where all I worry about the loose strings she didn't tie with a guy she loved." Loved. "So, I just want her to see you. I want to see how she reacts, what she does. I want to see if she stays near me like she did all those months that she didn't have contact with you. I want her to act like the fiancée I feel like I know."

I felt for the man. I knew - maybe - that Alexis loved me. She told me. Then again, she's probably told him too. I had to agree, because maybe she'd let her love flow out and into me because she knows that Will knows and doesn't want to hide it anymore. Maybe she'd walk straight into my arms. I did this for Will, so he had closure no matter what or who she chose.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll do it."

***

Alexis did what Will wanted her to do. She clung to him, she treated me like I was a close friend, not a lover, not like how she was treating me only days ago. She clung to him, but not how she clung to me. All I remember is the way she held onto my suit in her hands, clinging; the way she'd said, "I'm going to miss loving you so much," was like while she smoothed her hands across my chest she'd decided to rip out my heart.

I couldn't stand it any longer. Looking at her I knew - I just knew - she didn't want him. There was this longing in her eyes that yearned for me. Her love for me would never fade away with time as mine won't for her. She's going to remember the days when she had the choice between something right and something amazing. I'm the amazing, Will's the right. Sometimes people just want everything to be right, but, deep down, they want amazing; they want amazing, spectacular, ever-consuming life. I'd give that to her - I'd give anything to her. She wants the life with Will, I'll give her it. I'll leave her, as much as it wrenches at my heart, and I'll walk away and try fill the hole she's left in my heart with somebody else love (like that will ever happen).

And I wonder to myself that if she did come running to my door, knocking, begging for me, saying she wants my love and that she wants to give me her love, would I let her in? Would I kiss her, love her, and never let her go? I don't know. I really, really don't.

So, as I walk out her front door, I look back over my shoulder. I see Will, head turned to kiss her on her temple, and for those short few seconds where he can't see my face, I mouth the words 'I Love You' and let the sad, pressed smile appear on my face before I turn background and walk straight out of a room that was holding my breath captive. I can feel myself breathe; I feel a freeness in the outside air. Although, this freeness isn't just from leaving the confines of a flat, it's from leaving a relationship that was eating away at me, taking each breath, consuming my energy. And suddenly I don't feel so trapped.

(A/N: Helloooo! So I was on my iPad flicking through the chapters of this fic and they're not that long on the iPad/Tablet. On the phone they seem so much longer! Anyway, I apologise for the short chapters. Pleaseeeee vote! Also, commenting is seriously the nicest thing ever! So maybe chuck me a comment? Loveeeeee xx)