Cannes | H.S

Golden

"And how do you expect to be a success at the box office?"

"With a good story line and brilliant acting. Sex isn't needed to sell tickets."

"You have your opinion Ms. James and I have mine. We're certainly not going to agree today, so let's call it a night. Shall we?"

Opening the door to my apartment, I say farewell to the unwanted cold as I cast my boots and coat to the side. Immediately, I'm welcomed in by a joyful and ambitious Sugar. She barks and pleas to be lifted, kissing and licking my face as I pet her little face. "Hey there sweetheart, how was your day? Hmm? Taking good care of our main squeeze?" She barks in agreement, causing me to smile. I step into the living room, dumbfounded once I find a tired and rather pale looking Harry laid out carelessly on the sofa. He's dressed in lounge attire, barely opening his eyes as he meets my concerned ones. I notice a bag of practically melted ice on his ankle and a thin line of sweat forming on the surface of his forehead. "Harry, what's wrong? Baby, are you okay?"

He groans quietly, forcing to find a smile in the midst of such a storm. "You've never called me baby before," he mumbles.

"Stop teasing. What happened here? Are you hurt?"

"Hmm. It's not a big deal." He attempts to stand, turning in his seat, wincing and cursing like a true sailor the minute his foot touches the carpet. "Fuck, I take it back. It hurts. It really hurts."

"Sit, still. What did you do?"

"It's nothing."

"Harry Styles, you're keeping something from me. If someone hurt you..."

"No, nobody hurt me. Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"Layla, darling, please. If I tell you, you can't be alarmed. You can't make a fuss about it."

"I won't make a fuss about it. Just tell me, please."

"Not until you stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're one second short of morphing into a ninja." His little attempt to make me feel better and forget is needed, yet it doesn't stop the anger that runs through my mind. Somebody hurt him. He struggles to find the words, hoping to spare me all the gory details, yet I know how considerate and kind he truly is, wishing to protect me in the process. "I just wanted to go out for a walk before it rained, that's all."

"And?"

"I went on a busy street at a busy time. There was too many people and I stumbled into a crowd of paps."

"You didn't call any bodyguards to go with you?"

"I didn't think I needed them. It was such a short walk."

"Harry..."

"I know, I know. It was a stupid idea. I didn't think it would get so out of hand. I was waiting for a taxi and it started to rain...I slipped and twisted my ankle." When I proceed to stand, he reaches for me, pleading for me to remain, fearing I may resort to what my heart desires. "I'm okay though little darling, see? I'm right here."

"Why did you go in the first place?"

His eyes trail over to the beautiful vase of flowers I didn't even realize existed on the round coffee table that rests next to the near couch. For the arrangement of freshly bloomed and delicately selected flowers are remarkable. They're rare and a real treat. I only once complimented their beauty, not realizing the lengths this man would go to make it a reality. A wide sort of colors are present in the sort of marigold flowers that stand proudly together. They seem like a tranquil cup of autumn as vibrant orange, red, and hints of pink are noticed. I want to be angry with him. I should be angry with him. He risked his safety and health for an act of generous kindness. His love for me cost him pain and for that, I'll forever be at fault. He fears what may be racing through my head as he sets a hand on my own, whispering words of comfort.