Wrong Number [2018] Harry Styles

131. stargazing [narrated]

friday, 29th of march, 2019

"This doesn't make any sense."

Harry laughs and I turn my head to look at him. Any expression of offense leaves my face as soon as my eyes find his wide smile and shining pupils.

"It's romantic," I answer instead.

"There's nothing to see," He points out. "This sky is too polluted to even find the moon."

It's true. Even if we're further from the city the stars remain hidden due to the light pollution in Los Angeles.

We're laying down on the dusty ground, one next to the other with our bodies facing the night sky. After he picked me up at my house we came here, where we were supposed to meet once, and didn't hesitate to lay on the ground.

It would've been a perfect moment, if there actually were stars in the sky.

But it's not ruined just because we live in one of the most polluted cities in the United States.

"Let's have a deep talk," I say suddenly, placing my hands over my stomach.

"About death and trauma?" He asks with that tone that means he's questioning me.

"Why not?" I respond.

I can hear him take a breathe and then exhale the air like a bull.

"Okay," Harry says finally, "but you start."

"Well, what do you want to talk about?"

My fingers start playing with each other, kind of nervous, trying to channel my anxiety some way.

"Are you really stressed?" He whispers, as if he was scared to even ask me.

I was expecting that.

The idea of talking about deep subjects came to my mind in a quick second as an excuse to finally tell him, and I knew that if I didn't say it in the next couple of minutes I would overthink, get sad all of a sudden and ruin everything like I always do.

Maybe the best is to just let it out once and for all, without thinking too much about it.

But some part of me is starting to doubt again.

"What do you mean?" I say whispering like him.

"I said I was going to wait until you felt ready to tell me about your insecurities," He says as his hand reaches mine. "Maybe you are now."

Damn, Ariel, just say it.

"I do have anxiety." I basically spit that out like some burning object on my hands. "I inherited it from my dad." I smile and Harry frowns. "That's not actually true, because anxiety cannot only be inherited, there has to..."

"Ariel, I got it," He interrupts my raving and smiles with calm.

I bite my lips and look again at the polluted sky, knowing the more I stare at him the more I doubt.

"I used to be too confident, I guess, but it always turned out bad, so I felt pathetic for being confident." I shrug. "I guess talking about anything that has to do with me like it's the worst thing ever will prevent me from looking ridiculous for being too confident, but then it ended up making me feel like trash." I click my tongue. "I didn't see that coming."

I hear a chuckle so I turn my head again.

"Did you just spill that out like nothing?" Harry asks with an amazed expression on his face. "I've been trying to get it out of you for months."