About (Harry Styles)

66.

Maybe Harry's right. Maybe this is it -- our fate. The one who brought misfortune wasn't Harry, it was me. The one who tainted and ruined his life was me. We were never meant to love one another. I can no longer be selfish.  I have to grow up and stop thinking about myself and what I want and what's best for me even though, in my heart, I know Harry is the only man out there who is best for me.

"Okay," I nod defeatedly.

"Okay?" Harry's mother repeats with confusion.

"I'll go."

...

My flight isn't til noon, and I've been lying here on his bed, all alone in the dark, for the past few hours, trying hard not to regret my decision. But regret, pain, and more regret lingers around me. Wreaking me. Scrutinizing me. Haunting me as I stare over onto his side of the bed where I imagined him to be. But it's hopelessly empty.

I squeeze my eyes shut to suppress the uninvited feeling.  But it's completely useless.  I can't do anything to make it go away.

No matter where I slept, in the living room or in the guest room, I always found myself back in his room. It wasn't til I had one of those nightmares did I finally allow myself to lay here for a moment. Just a moment, I told myself repeatedly.

But I knew it was a lie. I knew that if I laid here, I wouldn't leave. I would succumb to my foolish desire to hold onto this moment. Soon, a moment became longer than a moment. Soon, one more minute became one more hour.

I prayed he was here.

I prayed he was here to wrap his arms around me.

I prayed he was here to whisper in my ear that it would be okay.

But I know praying is pointless.

My eyes open and I slowly realize that I'm no longer alone. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Harry's here, lying right beside me, his evergreen eyes staring right into mine. I blink a few times to make sure he doesn't disappear on me. And when he doesn't, I reach out to him and pull him close. He feels so real and so warm around me that I don't even remember when I started sobbing.

Maybe praying isn't pointless as I thought.

I feel him pull away from me and a breathy whimper escapes from my throat as he does. His fingers brush away the streams of tears and he smiles, one that shows the dimples on his cheeks. I've missed that smile so much.

Why are you smiling, my mind asks. Even after all of this, you can still put on a smile to cheer me up.

Whenever he smiled, I would always use my finger to poke the side of his cheek. But this time, when I do it, his face vanishes into thin air, leaving my index finger lingering in the cold air.

He wasn't there.

He wasn't real.

He was just an illusion.

When I wake, my arms are gripped tightly around his pillow, the white fabric still freshly stained with my wet tears. He's no longer here to dry my tears. He's no longer here to tease me about how unsanitary I am when I brush my teeth. He's no longer here to hold me when I have nightmares. He's no longer here.

Before I allow another wave of emotional mess to hit me, I hear my phone go off somewhere in the room. I wipe away the remaining moisture on my cheeks and move to the floor where it lay.

It's Chris.

Not that I don't want to answer him, I just don't feel like talking to anyone right now. So I let the tone go on until he gets my voicemail. I'll call him back before I board the plane.