I just needed to relax. It already happened and there's nothing I can do now. All I can do is just move on with my life.
Through every squirt of soap I dropped on the top of my head, the more and more I realized. I need a distraction. I need something that can just wash away everything. Every ounce of regret, every pinch of pain, all of it. Harry was right. Sadly. I just wanted to disappear. I still do.
After my shower, I walk back into the kitchen with a towel scrubbing my damp head. I yawn just as I enter the kitchen, my yawn immediately freezing as I turn to look at the front door.
"George? What are you doing here?" I rush to the door, unknowingly dropping my towel.
"I-I just came to check on you. Who is this?" He asks and stares straight at Harry who's leaning his arm against the door frame with a smirk.
"No one. You should go okay? I promise I'll talk to you later." I try to reason with him, but he looks too concerned. I stand a little closer to him than Harry.
"It's been two days Noelle. I know you're hurting, okay? I get it, but come with me. We can spend the day together instead of being holed up in here." His light brown curls move as he nods his head. He seems a bit intimidated by Harry.
I'm pretty sure George thinks Harry's my one night stand.
I sigh, not sure how to say this any nicer. "I know. I'm sorry I didn't call you these past few days, but I don't want to go with you. I really appreciate it but I already have plans with Harlow."
Harry continues bouncing his eyes back and forth between us, watching the whole conversation play out. He does all of this with that damn grin on his face.
"I don't know what kind of trouble this guy has gotten you into, but as your friend who cares about you, we're leaving." George starts reaching for my wrist, tugging me slightly towards him so my feet fall out of the apartment.
I can feel Harry's presence growing closer to my back, but I focus mainly on releasing George's grip on my hand. It wasn't as hard to get rid of as the man yesterday, but it still took a little effort. I force off his hand and my eyes go wide to the thought of George trying to drag me somewhere when I'm unwilling.
"George stop! What are you doing?" I hold my wrist and rub over the once held area. It's not red or anything, but it still hurt.
"I don't know who you are man, but you stay the hell away from her you understand me?" He ignores me, walking closer to Harry.
He doesn't stand a chance though, Harry is like 6 feet and George looks about 5'9. And then I'm even tinier.
This isn't going to end well if one of them decides to throw a punch.
"She doesn't like you anymore buddy. It's not her it's you. Move on." Harry finally speaks for the first time in the entire conversation. I twirl to face Harry, watching his facial expressions take this whole thing as a joke.
George glares at him from behind me, and Harry lets his lips pull upwards from each corner.
I thread my fingers in my hair and look at both of them like they have the audacity. I won't sit here and be thrown around back and forth any longer.
"Excuse me? I think I'll decide who I want to stay with." I finally step in.
Harry's smirk fades and George's jaw unclenches as soon as I finish my sentence. I tuck a strand of hair in front of my face behind my ear, walking myself back inside. Harry stops leaning against the doorframe when I make my way back inside fully. George stares at the two of us like he's in absolute disbelief.
But that was the whole point why I made it home later than usual that night. George and I were arguing over just that. Boundaries. He doesn't understand when I actually need him and when I want to be alone. Or when I talk about something personal, he makes rude comments about how maybe it was just my fault and I'm blaming it on everyone else around me. For god's sake, I can't do this anymore. We broke up that night for this reason mainly. I intend to keep it that way.
I shut the door with George still standing there, but I don't really care. I can't deal with this right now. The core of my head is fucking pounding with every little detail I could've changed that night. I can't I can't think about this anymore right now. The police might as well be on their way here to question me anyways.
"Noelle." Harry's voice echos in my head, bringing me back into reality. "Did you not hear what I just said?"
"No." I reply blankly.
"Fuck's sake. Pay attention. I said why didn't you go with him?" He stares at me while we both stand in front of the front door.
"You said it yourself. I don't like him anymore." I look up at his shadowing body.
He sighs lightly as he tries to come up with a response. My mind is still in another place during all of this. It's still thinking back to that night.
After a moment, he still doesn't say anything, and walks past me. I turn to watch what he's doing. He pulls out his phone that has stayed buzzing for this long. Whoever was blowing up his phone for the past hour and half, is finally going to get a response.
He brings his phone to his ear and starts with an annoyed tone. "What the hell do you want?"
I stare at him as his voice beams throughout the room. It almost echos considering how small the apartment is.
"Yes I have," He pauses for a moment then continues. "I told you I would get back to you when I need you."
He continues conversing with whoever is on the other side of the phone with a stern, yet somewhat professional tone. I straighten a few wrinkles on the bottom of my t-shirt before listening to his call again.
"Okay bye. Don't call me unless I call you." He orders and then shoves his phone down his jeans pocket.
He rotates from his position against the wall to face me, who is still standing in the center of the living room.
Who was he talking to? They were clearly someone important, but Harry's close enough to them to practically yell at them.
Really hope it's not his 'girlfriend.'
"God, you really have a staring problem." He tells me, just as I notice I'm actually staring.
I blink a few times to break my gaze towards him, then running my fingers through my still damp hair for what feels like the 10th time. I've noticed I do that when I'm unsure what else to do.
Before I can process my words, I spill, "Are you staying for breakfast?"
"Do you even know how to cook?" He raises his eyebrows as his walks a little closer into the living room.
"A little." I watch him scoff after my words. He nods, turning to seat himself on the couch.
That was a complete lie. The only thing I can properly cook without flipping the world upside down are cookies. But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want to eat cookies for breakfast, so I can just whip up two omelettes.
Shouldn't be that hard.
Right?
---
So... I've burned 6 omelettes.
This is so much fucking harder than they make it seem on Master Chef. My mom always made me my meals most of the time if I was home. But now she's gone and to be honest, this feels more stressful than her death itself.
I crack my egg into a bowl as Harry emerges from the bathroom. I stick my tongue out unknowingly, aiming to not fail this time.
"Why the hell have you been making breakfast for half an hour?" His voice speaks a little huskier than normal. My eyes stay glued to the bowl, not wanting to ruin my focus.
"Hang on I'm almost done." I reassure him that breakfast isn't completely fucked, because for a second, I believe it myself.
I move the yolk around in the bowl before spinning around so my back faces Harry. I can feel his figure watch me over the counter, but I'm too determined right now to worry about him. I pour the thick yellow substance into pan that's placed on the stove in front of me. It flows onto the pan quickly and it creates little bubbles on top.
Okay this isn't so bad, I think it's working. I just have to make sure I don't let it burn before flipping it over to the other side. God this is so stressful.
I let a breath out my mouth as I flip my body to face Harry again. I don't expect any expression on his face, but instead he sits there staring at me like I'm messing all of it up.
"What?" I genuinely ask. It looks fine to me.
"What are you doing?" He holds the neck of his shirt in his hand, so his words slightly mumble.
"Making you an omelette." I state like it's the obvious. Does it not look it?
He doesn't say anything for a moment, leaning a little over the counter to check on the yolk bubbling inside the pan. He raises his eyebrows and eyes me.
"That's not how you make an omelette love." He almost laughs. Laughs. I almost made him laugh.
My eyebrows furrow, as if he's telling me something that doesn't sound even remotely correct. I look over my shoulder to watch my egg, and realize it's time for the next step.
I quickly say speak before turning back to my egg. "Yeah it is, watch."
I scan the counter to look for my next ingredient, spotting the pepper right where I left it the last time I attempted this. I hold it in one of my hands, using the other to spin the lid open. Right as I hover the pepper bottle's hole above the pan, but Harry hurriedly speaks to stop me.
"Shit stop! That's not how you do it." He marches to where I'm confused and standing with the pepper bottle in my hand.
He doesn't hesitate to take the pepper out of my hand and smack it on the counter. His force was harsh, but he doesn't really seem to care. He turns back around to the other counter to open the egg carton. He picks up two eggs and hands them to me. As if I know what I'm doing.
"Do what I tell you." He utters and before I get to react, he continues. "Crack the eggs and beat them."
"Beat them?" I immediately question. What the hell does that mean? Does he quite literally mean beat or? Fuck baking. And Harry.
He doesn't answer my question, he simply turns back to the stove to clean up my previous attempt.
I'm assuming it means stir because he won't respond to me. Baking uses too many fancy words. It probably just means stir. Right? I think. Hopefully.
How does he know how to cook anyway? Does he cook a lot or something for himself at home? I should've just gave him cereal or toast instead if trying to learn a life skill in less than an hour.
I crack the first egg, an immediate crunch noise filling the air. The yolk drops into the bowl for what feels like the hundredth time. It falls in the same sticky way as it did the past 7 times. Then the second plummets the same way. I'm not gonna believe this won't mess up just yet. I blink a few times, still not fully understanding what beat means.
I slightly shake my head, turning to grab the half dirty whisk sitting next to me. I've used it for all my other attempts. I soak the whisk in the thick mixture, lightly stirring it until I hear Harry's voice behind me again.
"Not like that." He corrects my actions yet again.
I furrow my eyebrows when I feel his body enlarging on mine. His chest lines up with the creases of my back, and his breath fans against my shoulder. The soft curls on the top of his head brush against the middle section of my damp hair. The lower half of his body almost grinds on my lower back for a moment before he repositions himself. His presence is so close and comforting, but I know he's not intending anything of what I'm feeling right now.
His hot breath crashes down on my shoulder again, then he softly speaks. "Like this."
Fingers wrap around my hand, and guide it to a paced, almost circular motion. The whisk dances to his desires, a foamy substance forming immediately inside the bowl. He continues moving my hand faster and faster, but his grip around my hand is very gentle.
His other arm barricades me with the bowl. My focus immediately drops when his lower half is pressed against me. I let out a quiet gasp, not expecting such a bold move. To my surprise, he stays there. He keeps his body gently against mine. I don't even know if he's doing this on purpose, but it's not helping this omelette cook any faster.
I keep my mouth closed and wait for his next action, but instead his lips draw down to my ear. His fast breath travels down my neck and his lower half still stays put. He places a light kiss on the helix of my ear. His lips feel so soft and plump.
The feeling underneath suddenly stops, and my eyes open in protest, but Harry whispers something into my ear.
"I'll start prepping the butter." He smiles against my skin before moving completely away from me and back to the stove.
I clear my throat quietly, knitting my fingers into the core of my hair and flopping it to the side like Harry's. What has gotten into me? Why did I let him do that? I need to get my fucking act together.
I can still feel the proudness on his face from 3 feet away. God. I need to remember how much I don't like him.
It just got a lot more difficult.
p.s, yes i searched up how to make an omelette.