"Why can't you be good for something?
Not one shirt off your back
Please don't try to find me through my dealer."
-
He always said pain was love.
"I'm doing this to make you strong. I'm doing this because I love you." He always says that. It's always the last words she hears before falling victim to his chaos.
He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. He whispers in her ear. "Aim."
"But, I don't want to hurt him-"
"Aim. You love me, don't you?"
She'd do anything to earn his love — his devotion. Trembling, she raises her arm and aims because, of course, she loves him. She'd do anything for him.
The gun is heavy in her small hands.
She doesn't know the man tied down in a chair before her. She can't even see his face. There's a bag around his head, one that's stained red. She can't see him, but she can still hear him.
He's crying about his wife and kids. He needs to go back home, he says. He needs to be there with his children on Christmas morning. They're young – too young to grow up without a father.
He promises to never step out of line — never again. He promises Hades that he'll be good. But, the unknown man's pleas go through one ear and out the other. Hades loves it when people beg for their life. He relishes in the control he has over someone's fate.
"He hurt me," Hades whispers in her ear.
"He hurt you?" The little girl reiterated. Maybe what she's doing isn't wrong then.
Maybe this is the right thing to do.
"He did," he nods eerily. "He betrayed me." Venom coats his voice that rolls and rumbles like an ocean storm. "So end him. Make me proud."
She knows this is what he does to people who hurt him, but why does she have to do this? Why does she have to be the hand that ends this man's life?
This man has a family. His kids are waiting for him to return home. But, if she resists, she knows Hades won't be happy. He'll hurt her again — just like he did the last time she told him no.
She hates letting him down.
All she's ever wanted is for him to love her. So, she doesn't ask questions. She tries to be strong.
So squeezes the trigger, even though it'll break another piece of her. She pinches her eyes shut when the gun fires. The shot is deafening, and the recoil feels like it shattered her hand. The man stops crying. He stops thrashing in his chair and begging for his life.
When she opens her eyes, he's slumped over, blood staining the bag tied around his head. Hands trembling, heart racing — breaking — she feels sick. She feels ill as darkness settles in her bones.
She had no choice.
She always thought love was a battlefield, something you had to earn: black eyes, bloody noses, and red roses.
While trying to earn his unconditional love, she loses sight of herself; she loses sight of her name – her identity. Her self-worth is burned to ash as her love is poured into the sinner while she suffers alone, self-harming, or worse — being the executioner.
But pain is love, right?
"Who are you?" He asks her, low and conniving.
Like a teddy bear fashioned from glass, she held on tightly to the idea of his love. Yet, the tighter she clung to him, the deeper he cut her. He was poison and chaos, a reaper robbing from her the light of her soul.
"N-nothing," she breaks after months of torment and agony. Finally, she's numb. "I am nothing."
-
My mind stutters when I open my eyes. I can't process anything, only how my body tingles and buzzes with the aftermath of being electrocuted with shock and fear. I feel as if I had flatlined and was brought back against my will, and now oxygen violently fills my lungs as I gasp for air.
I can't move. My limbs lockout on me, and my body stiffens. I feel as if I'm chained to my bed, and a sinking feeling settles in my bones when I realize I can't move.
I'm scared. This hasn't happened in a long time. I wish I could say it was just a nightmare that caused this paralysis, but that'd be a lie. It was a memory, something I buried deep under all the drugs and alcohol, but the numbness substances gave me has long passed since I got sober.
I've been clean for a while now. It was only a matter of time before this happened. However, that doesn't change the fact that I feel like a child every time this happens. I feel stupid.
Hades is gone. He can't hurt me anymore. But, even from the grave, it seems that man is still trying to ruin me.
Whenever I relive events, my body freezes, I wake up paralyzed, and I see things I know aren't really there. It's terrifying, and honestly? It's moments like these where I wish I could run to my father and listen to him sing to me one last time. His arms were my lifevest. His arms were my home.
It's strange. My IQ is above 167, and, by definition, I have the closest thing proven to have an eidetic memory. Yet, remembering my father becomes harder and harder each year. The one thing I wish never to forget seems to be the only thing slipping from my mind the fastest.
I feel like there's something fundamentally wrong with me. There aren't many people like me. People were always enamored by me — adored me — for just being me; for being a genius, one of a kind, the child Prodigy that was theorized to be the upcoming da Vinci of our time.
But everything comes with a price. The price being my sanity.
I wish I could go back to the moment that changed everything for me, the day Hades convinced me to pull that trigger. It was that moment that set into motion my downfall. It was a moment that stripped me of my free will, crushed my dreams and aspirations, and robbed me of my innocence and happiness.
He took everything from me.
I want to take my power back and prove to myself that I could choose to move on. But, for as smart as I am, I haven't figured out how to build a time machine.
Such a pity.
I slowly move when the tension in my limbs eases. I sit on the edge of my bed, my head resting in my hands as I just breathe. Living in a constant state of panic and reliving the most traumatic moments of my life is debilitating.
I hear my bedroom door creak open and the pitter-patter of tiny feet. When I lift my head from my hands, I see Maggie. She has a bowl in her hands filled with milk and my favorite cereal. She bites her lip as she concentrates on not dropping the bowl and walks closer to me, but after one particularly ungraceful step, she spills some milk on her hand.
"Oh shoot," she curses softly to herself. It's so adorable I can't help but smile.
Her grin is precious. It's a goofy crooked smile that melts all the tension off my bones. She presents the bowl to me. "I made you breakfast!"
"Thank you, baby," I say, taking the bowl from her.
"You're welcome," she quips. When I look at my alarm, I realize it's around ten o'clock in the morning. Before I can say anything, Maggie exclaims, "You gotta get up! Up, up, up!"
"Alright, alright," I shoo her off and take a bite out of my cereal. "I'm up, bossy pants. Relax."
Maggie eyes me for a second before stepping away. "K. I'll be in the living room!"
"Okay, Mags. Thanks for breakfast."
Maggie disappears down the hall while I munch on my cereal in bed. The first person I think of is Harry; ironically, he was the last thing I thought of before going to sleep last night.
I've been thinking about him a lot lately.
I get up when I'm done eating and head for the kitchen, where I put my bowl in the sink.
It's snowing. The streets are covered in white as a winter storm rolls through the city. It brings a cozy feeling. Maggie and I could watch Christmas movies all day, sip on milk and fresh cookies, and build a pillow fort.
Having nothing to do, I pull out a flat pan, flower, chocolate chips, eggs, sugar, butter, baking soda, and vanilla extract — everything I need to make fresh cookies. However, even after mixing all the ingredients to make cookie dough and popping the batch in the oven, I can't stop thinking about Harry.
I'm getting annoyed. I've been contemplating if I should text him from the moment I woke up this morning. So, begrudgingly, I give in. I grab my phone and start texting him.
Allie
Sent - 10:17am
Knock knock
Harry
Received - 10:18am
No.
Allie
Sent - 10:18am
Bacon.
Harry
Received - 10:18am
Bacon who?
Allie
Sent - 10:19am
Baking you some cookies
Harry
Received 10:20am
Lose my number
Allie
Sent - 10:20am
Hey!!
Okay, okay. I wanted to ask what are you doing today
Harry
Received - 10:21am
I'm at the gym on 73rd street
Allie
Sent - 10:21am
How long will you be there
Harry
Received - 10:22am
All day.
Why?
Allie
Sent 10:22am
😎
Harry
Received - 10:23am
You're so fucking weird
I've never smiled so much in the morning before. I'm usually pretty grumpy when I wake up, but Harry was able to make me smile over a text message.
I sigh to myself. I'm cooking way more cookies than I should, but at least that'll keep me busy for a while.
"Allie?"
"Yeah, Mags?"
She's sitting in front of the TV with a bowl of cereal. She has a milk mustache when she turns to me. "Why is the sky blue?"
I love it when she asks me her child-like existential questions. I like it even more when I have an answer for her.
How do I explain such a phenomenon to a child? I know I should dumb it down, maybe leave out complicated detail, but that would only lead to more questions. So I answer her question in as much detail as possible.
"It's due to something called Raleigh scattering. That phenomenon refers to the scattering of electromagnetic radiation — or light."
"Like sunlight?"
I smile. "Yes, exactly. However, the sun shines white through our atmosphere, and white light consists of all colors in the rainbow." I laugh when her mouth drops open in shock. "So, when white light passes through the gasses and particles in our atmosphere, it scatters in all directions. When the light scatters, we can see color in the sky. Since blue is visible light with the lowest wavelength, there's an abundance of blue in the sky because it's easy to make."
"Woah," she blinks a few times, and I try my best to keep my giggles to myself. She's so fucking adorable.
I pop the cookies in the oven and turn to her. "Wanna see Harry later?"
She instantly perks up. "Hazza?"
That nickname is so precious. I hope Harry adores it as much as I do. "Yup."
She nearly flips off the couch. "Yeah!! I wanna see Hazza!"
"Okay. Go get ready then, okay?"
When I finished baking the cookies, I didn't expect to feel so stressed at the idea of visiting Harry today. I had just gotten out of the shower, and usually, I'd skip makeup and throw on baggy black clothes. Something is telling me I shouldn't do that today.
I look at my face in the mirror, eyeing my redness and uneven skin tone — something I could easily cover with makeup.
I feel anxious and giddy when I start applying my makeup. I feel light and airy, trying to best to look perfect.
My phone rings when he texts me again, and his name pops up on my screen. My cheeks hurt from how hard I smiled.
Harry
Received - 10:35am
How's the little human?
Allie
Sent - 10:35am
...good.
Harry
Received - 10:36am
?
Allie
Sent - 10:36am
I think she likes you more than she likes me
Harry
Received - 10:36am
Unsurprising. I'm amazing
Yesterday I went to hug someone really sexy
First of all, what? That last message came out of nowhere, and I laughed until I realized — he wanted to hug someone?
Allie
Sent - 10:38am
Excuse me?
Harry
Received - 10:39am
Yeah, and my face smashed right into the mirror
Oh.
Ooooooh.
He just told me a joke. He's not going around and hugging a woman that he thinks is super sexy.
I groan. Why does it even matter if he did hug some super sexy woman? That's so childish of me — to waste time thinking of who he's touching.
Allie
Sent - 10:41am
That just gave me a headache
Who knew you were so narcissistic
Harry
Received - 10:41am
I am the drama
My hand slaps over my mouth as I laugh. When did he become so funny?
It's hard, but I put my phone off to the side because I'll never finish my makeup at this rate. If he keeps distracting me, I won't be able to focus. I need to hurry because I want to bring the cookies to him while they're fresh.
When I finish doing my makeup, I style my hair that I pull back into a neat half up, half down hairstyle held back by a brown clip.
As it turns out, doing my makeup and hair wasn't the only stress-inducing task I'd faced this morning.
What the fuck do I wear?
Am I thinking too hard about this? I've never cared about my appearance — never this much.
"Shit," I run my hand down my face when I look in my closet.
When I find something decent to wear, my room is a shit show. I hadn't realized I was throwing clothes everywhere in search of something eye-catching. But it can't be too eye-catching! Then it'll look like I'm trying too hard.
...
Yeahhh. I'm thinking too far into this.
"Maggie!" I storm out of my room with the fifth outfit I've tried on so far. I knock on her door and only walk into her room once she says I can come in. "Do I look okay? Is this outfit cute?" I gesture to myself; a long-sleeved white knitted turtle's neck dress, a black belt with gold accessories, and black leggings.
She blinks a few times and looks me up and down. There's a small smirk on her face. "Are you getting dressed up for Hazza?"
"What? No! Don't be a smart ass, Mags."
Maggie's jaw drops. "You gotta put money in the swear jar-"
"Fuck the swear jar!" Maggie laughs, but this isn't a laughing matter. "Just- do I look okay?" I throw my hands up before they fall back down to my sides.
"You look beautiful!" She exclaims. "Are you gonna wear those heels that I like?"
"The black pumps?"
"Yeah!" Maggie grins. "Those ones!"
I had gotten new black pumps for work a few weeks ago, and Maggie took it upon herself to walk around the apartment wearing them despite how big they were on her. She was laughing like a maniac even after all the times she lost her balance and fell.
I didn't know it then, but that moment became such a good memory — one I'll always have. I smile softly, looking down at Maggie. "Alright, I'll put those shoes on."
"Can you uh," she suddenly looks a little nervous. "Can you do my hair the way it was for picture day?"
I tilt my head, surprised that she even wants me to do her hair. "The French braids into pigtails?" Maggie hums with a shy smile.
It seems we both want to look well put together today for Harry.
Wait- no! I'm not doing this for Harry.
...
I swear.
When I finish Maggie's hair, the grin on her face is heart-melting. "Thank you!"
I kiss her cheek. The two French braids look so cute on her, and this style suits her short hair.
I decided to take the train with Maggie. I hadn't planned on taking the train, but we hopped on when I saw the routes and arrival times. This train should take up right to where we need to be on 73rd street.
Unsurprisingly, the train was crowded, but a kind man gave up his seat for Maggie and me. She's sitting in my lap now, playing some game on her phone. Before, her phone was only ever on her for emergencies, but recently I let her buy a few educational games that keep her distracted.
After about a ten-minute train ride, Maggie and I get off at our stop. I'm balancing a tray of cookies in one hand, and the other holds on to Maggie, keeping her close. She skips alongside me, singing some tune from a cartoon she watched this morning.
"I think this is the place," I tell Maggie when we stop in front of the building. I've never been here before.
"C'mon!" She jumps up and down and runs off. "I wanna see Hazza!"
"Maggie!" I called her, but it was already too late. She hurries into the gym in pursuit of Harry while I'm still stuck on the sidewalk, trying not to drop a batch of cookies.
What a little shit.
"Fuck me," I curse under my breath before attempting to open the door. After a few seconds of struggling, I grab the door handle and pull the door open for me to walk through.
This gym isn't the gym I was expecting to see. It's a boxing gym. Blue mats litter the floor, punching bags, skipping rope, hand wraps, protective headgear, and boxing gloves.
My eyes go wide. Maggie. I don't see her. "Maggie!" I nearly drop my cookies when I realize she's nowhere to be seen. I don't care that everyone in the room stops throwing punches and doing their workouts to watch me run around looking for a little girl.
I hate it when she's out of my sight.
My eyes widen, and my vision blurs. I shiver, and my skin litters goosebumps, my body heats and drips with sweat, and my heart pounds so hard it feels like it's going to blow a hole through my chest.
Where's Maggie?
Just when I'm about to scream my lungs out, my eyes scan over a little girl. I do a double-take from how frantic I was, but I'm not seeing things. It really is Maggie. She's standing outside a boxing ring, watching two men go blow for blow. They are wearing protective gear, and it seems like a light round – fundamental work – but Maggie seems fascinated.
I run over to where she is, panting as I slowly ease from the brink of an anxiety attack. I put the cookies down on the seat of a stool placed outside the ring and kneel beside her. "Maggie- you can't just run off like that!"
"I'm sorry," she mumbles, playing with her fingers. "I won't do it again, but I found Hazza."
I follow the direction she's pointing to and see a man. Clad in a black T-shirt, white sneakers, and black boxing shorts, he's leaning over the elastic rope to the boxing ring, staring down at us. The man moves to take his protective headgear off, unleashing his wild brown hair.
"H-Harry?"
He grins when he sees Maggie. "Hi, darlin'." Harry waves to Maggie with his boxing gloves on.
She gets a little nervous and shy as she leans into me. "Hi, Hazza."
"Your hair looks fantastic."
Blushing, Maggie nods. "Thank you. I like yours too."
Harry smiles at the six-year-old with a softness I've never seen from him before. After a moment, he finally looks at me. "What are you doing here?"
I point to where I placed the cookies. "I wasn't lying about the cookies, you know."
"Wait, really?" Harry blinks, surely surprised. He steps out of the ring, bending over and ducking under the rope before jumping to the floor.
"I want some!" As it turns out, the man Harry had been training with was Niall.
Harry rolls his eyes and flips off the blonde that jumps out of the ring to the floor. "Fuck off, Niall, they're for me." He plops a cookie in his mouth before looking at me, his eyes scanning me up and down.
Suddenly, there's a crease in his brows. "Where are you going after this?" Harry asks abruptly.
I shake my head. "Uh, nowhere... Why?"
His smirk slowly grows. It's that crooked downwards smirk that always makes my breath hitch. "So you're all dolled up for me then? I'm flattered."
My brain stutters as I process what he said. I don't even get a chance to respond as a young boy, maybe around ten or so, approaches Harry nervously. "Can you help me with my cross hook and uppercut? I think I'm doing them wrong."
"Of course," Harry tells the boy. "I'll be over in a second."
The kid nods, smiling this time. "Thank you!" The boy runs off with a pep in his step back to a group of other kids around his age. They're all smiles as they start whispering to each other.
"Give me ten minutes, yeah? I'm gonna go help that little guy." Hary brushes past me, leaving me utterly speechless.
Does he teach these kids?
I don't have much time to ponder on that question as my thoughts get interrupted.
"Never thought I'd see you here." I turn around when I hear a familiar voice and see Louis approaching me. He's drinking out a mug with a slight smile on his face. "Hello, Allie."
Maggie falls shy and hides behind my leg. "Hey, Louis. It's good to see you," I greet him pleasantly. I look down at Maggie, nudging her forward to introduce herself, but she resists. She's not budging.
Louis kneels to Maggie's height. "Ah, you must be Maggie. My name is Louis, and I'm one of Harry's friends."
"You're friends with Hazza?" This seems to pique her interest.
"Yup. I've known him for sixteen years."
"Woah," Maggie says softly.
Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it-
"You're old," Maggie giggles. "Sixteen is like, a lot of years."
Niall suddenly laughs, catching both Louis and I's attention. "Well, isn't she a little shit?"
I throw a cookie at him but much to my displeasure, he catches it and walks off. Yes, Maggie is a little shit, but he needs to shut the hell up and mind his business.
Chuckling, Louis stands and offers Maggie his fist. Her eyes light up at the proposal of a fist bump. She seems much more at ease and less nervous after their little exchange.
Another boy, maybe around fifteen or so, approaches Louis with a protective demeanor. He has dark, tan skin and brown eyes. He's sweaty, so his hair sticks to his forehead, and his face creases with his scowl. Most notably, he has a diagonal scar going across his face. It gives the young boy more of a rugged look. He doesn't seem to be the eldest boy here, but his presence is big and bold. And once he approaches me, so do the others. Some just look curious, and some look furious.
"Is this her?" The boy with the scar asks.
"Yeah," one girl added, crossing his arms. "Are you the reason why Harry hasn't been around lately?"
I look to Louis. "I'm not gonna lie. I'm so fucking confused right now."
Louis sighs. "Alright, alright, ease up, James," Louis tells the boy with the scar. "No need to get upset with her."
"So it is her," James tuts.
He doesn't seem to like me very much.
A few of the younger kids rush past James and run toward me. I stumble back, scared I might get trampled. "Woah-"
"Hi!" A little girl waves. "I'm Eve! And this is my brother Michael," the girl gestures to the brunette boy beside her. "He's nonverbal, but he wants you to know he's happy to meet you."
Michael smiles a bit shyly and waves to me. I wave back before signing to him — a pleasure to meet you, Michael.
Michaels's eyes light up, and Eve gasps. "You know sign language!?"
I chuckle at the girl's enthusiasm and nod. "Yes, I do."
Eve leans close and whispers in Michaels's ear not very inconspicuously. "She's so cool."
Looking at the children, I gesture to the tray of cookies I brought. "I brought cookies for those of you who want them." I guess it's good that I made a crap ton of cookies this morning as most of the kids shove past each other to grab a cookie or two.
"I'm Derek!" A blonde boy exclaims next, a mouth full of cookies.
"I'm Judy!"
Troy, Emily Jacob, Miles — the list of names goes on far too fast for me to keep up. "Hey, everyone." I smile even though I'm slightly overwhelmed by the onslaught of children introducing themselves to me all at once. "I'm Allie, and this," I gesture to the little girl clinging to my legs. "Is Maggie my baby sister."
Maggie tugs at my dress. "C-Can I go play with them?"
I look at the group of kids, unsure, but Eve's bright eyes assure me that she'll watch out for Maggie. It's hard saying yes, especially after my little freak out earlier, but I do. This might be a good opportunity for her to make friends.
With my reassurance, Maggie runs off with Eve and Michael.
"Alright, alright, bug off the lot of you." Louis waves the group of children off, lingering around us. "Go bother Harold or something."
There's a harmonious dejected sigh as they reluctantly walk away and return to training. However, James stays longer than the rest. He eyes Louis and me before finally stomping away, looking irked.
"Don't mind them. Some of the kids are just protective over Harry."
"Who are they?" I wonder out loud.
"Well, they all vary in age. Most of the kids here, however, are between ten and nineteen. Harry takes troubled kids off the street. Keeps them on the straight and narrow and gives them an outlet to take out all of their frustration."
"Most of them are or have been in the system. Mothers are addicts, prostitutes, or sometimes both. Fathers are on the run or in prison. Some are orphans; some are starving and homeless. The list goes on."
"And Harry takes care of them?" I ask, utterly amazed.
Louis smiles. "Yes. He does what he can."
There are no words. Not really. Louis explains everything so casually, but this place is a safe haven—a diamond in the rough. Do you know what I would have given to have something like this growing up? At one point, I was one of these kids — homeless, abandoned, angry.
When I look over at Harry, he's helping that boy perfect the motion of a propper cross hook and uppercut. Harry had padded gloves on, and the boy threw unhurried, calculated punches at Harry's hands, going through the motion slowly until he perfected the technique. Progressively, they went faster and faster until they were on a roll, and all of the children started yelling and cheering for the boy, even Harry, who looked so proud.
The young ones don't give any warning. They attach themselves to Harry's legs and try jumping on his back. Harry lets himself fall to the floor, faking defeat. Everyone starts laughing, even the older kids that sit back and cheer on the little ones who are trying to beat up Harry.
The sight is indescribable.
Passion. It brings out everything good thing in this damned world. That's why I try to live my life filled with gentleness and love. Everyone who has done something great was passionate about it; they were obsessed with it and driven by it. Passion drives people to do extraordinary things. Passion is what drove me to get two doctorates at such a young age.
Passion is good, and I see it in Harry's eyes. The feeling that washes over me is warm and captivating: wonder, delight, adoration. I've never admired another man as much as I have Harry.
I respect him.
I adore him.
"Come with me," Louis urges. When I turn to look at him, he's smiling. He caught me looking at Harry, and I feel my cheeks heat up. "I wanna show you something." Without a word, I follow Louis.
As it turns out, there's a hall of champions. Some kids have made it big and won major fights after going through the program here. Some even went pro. Newspaper articles, trophies, and photographs extend down this long hallway, starting from the most recent to the oldest.
"Woah." I touch the glass case to a newspaper article from about ten years ago that catches my eye. "is this-"
"Yup." Louis smiles, looking at the photo. "That's Harry."
"He looks so young," I coo with a grin.
"He was about fifteen there. He won the lightweight championship every year until he turned twenty-one when he finally called it quits. He was-" Louis chuckles, thinking back to the days. "He was amazing."
"Why did he stop?"
Louis hesitates. "Do you see this man right there?" Louis points to the man in the corner of the ring. It's Harry's trainer, I presume. However, itas hard to get a good look of the man. These newspapers are old "That's Marcello. He's like a father to Harry."
"Where is he now?"
"Italy," Louis clicks his tongue before giving me a teasing look. "Harry quit because what we do? It's a family business."
My mind reels with questions I never get the opportunity to ask as Harry falls into my field of vision. He looks good. Really, really good. He seems lighter, happier, and softer than he ever has.
"He likes to act like he's a badass, but he's a softy."Louis looks frightened when those words slip out of his mouth. "Don't tell him I said that."
"I won't. I promise." I laugh.
"I didn't expect you actually to show up," Harry announces to me. The light aura surrounding him dims and flickers when he looks at me. It makes me falter. "Thanks for bringing the cookies. The kids loved them."
"T-This place is amazing," I gush to Harry, but he's fallen stoic. I hope I'm not the reason for his change in demeanor. "I didn't know you owned this place."
Harry ignores me and looks at Louis. "I need a moment with. Allie."
Well, that doesn't sound good.
Louis blinks a few times before nodding. "Y-yeah, sure. I'll be over with the kids in the main room," he explains stiffly before quickly walking away.
Now, it's just Harry and me.
"So, I assume Louis told you about what we do here."
"He did," I nod. "Harry, what you're doing for these kids is amazing."
"Listen," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and my smile fades. This conversation doesn't seem to be going in a good direction. "I need to tell you something." He gestures down the hallway. "Let's go to my office."
Harry turns to walk down the hall, and I don't get much time to stop and admire the trophies, ribbons, or newspaper articles from former champions. Instead, I'm rushing to keep up with Harry and follow him to his office.
"Is everything okay?" I ask him as I close his office door behind me.
Harry sits on the edge of his desk, gaze adverted to the floor. I stay quiet and let him collect his thoughts.
Meanwhile, my eyes scan his office. It doesn't look nearly as sophisticated as his office in the club or his house in upstate New York. Yet, this office feels more real and authentic to him. There's a bookcase stuffed with we'll loved books. I spot even more books stacked on his desk. One of those books contains a bookmark and, upon further examination, I realized that book is Moby-Dick. It's then that I notice that every book in his office is a literary classic—the Epic of Gilgamesh, Beowulf, Iliad, Jane Eyre, and Pride and Prejudice.
My breath hitches, and my cheeks heat. I never got around to reading Pride and Prejudice. I usually read books or poems studied by scholars, but I do know that book is a romance novel However, that book seems to be the only one left untouched on his desk; it looks brand new.
Next to his pile of books on his desk, I see reading glasses. I smile when I picture Harry lying in bed with his reading glasses on, reading a book like Pride and Prejudice. It's an adorable thought that makes me feel warm.
Who knew Harry was such a bookworm?
There's a single picture frame in his office sitting on the corner of his desk. Mindlessly, I sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk and scoot close. I grab the picture frame with a small smile because I love seeing the different sides of Harry.
The photograph I see isn't at all what I expected. It's old and worn, and I see two women and a little Harry.
Oh my gosh, he was so cute as a little kid.
I can't get over his cheesy little smile and crazy hair.
The two women are smiling just as wide as Harry. The younger woman has her arm thrown around Harry's shoulder, and his arm wraps around her waist in a side hug. The other woman looks young but definitely older than Harry and that other girl. She stands behind the two kids, her hands resting on their shoulders, hugging them close as they all pose for the picture.
It's a family portrait. I mean, it has to be. They all look so similar. They have the same eye shape, hair, nose, and cheekbones.
There's so much love in this photo, and it makes me smile. However, I don't get to admire it for too long because something catches my eye. On the eldest woman's right hand, the one resting on Harry's shoulder, is what seems to be a large emerald ring.
Overall, the picture is beautiful, but I think it was burned. The corner of the photo is ashen and frayed as if it were caught in a fire and saved last second.
"Is this your family?" I ask and look up at him.
"Yes," he replies and takes the picture frame from my hands and places it back on his desk.
I fix my posture and sit up straight. "O-okay. What did you want to talk to me about?"
"I'm going to Germany soon," he explains in a raspy voice. "The Bode museum auction is coming up."
Oh.
"I don't want you to come with me."
"What?" I shake my head. "No. No way. I'm going with you."
"Allie-"
"Is this the ring?" I pick up the photo frame and point to the ring on what must be his mother's hand. "Is this the ring you're looking for?"
"Allie, I'm not fighting with you over this!" He snaps. "You're not coming!"
I push myself up from the chair. "Well, I'm not asking!"
"I don't want you involved in my business any longer," he intervenes sharply.
I throw my hands up. "Well, it's kind of too late for that!"
Aggravated, he sighs. "Why do you have to do this? Why do you have to fight me on everything?!"
"Why don't you want me to go with you?" I saunter towards him. He says nothing. Instead, his nose flared, and his jaw clenched. "Why!? You didn't care what happened to me a month ago, so what's changed, huh?"
He laughs sardonically, but he doesn't respond. He looks away from me—frustrated and at wit's end.
The ring is his mother's. That's why it's irreplaceable. For him to go to great extents for a piece of jewelry speaks volumes of the sentimental value it holds for him.
Suddenly, something clicks.
"She's dead. Isn't she?"
Again, he doesn't respond.
"You think you know it all, don't you?" He seethes. "You think you for me figured out, huh?"
"No," I shake my head. "I don't know everything, Harry."
He brushes me off. "You're a fucking joke," he laments, and I try my best to hide how much his comment hurts me. "My mother is fucking dead, and yeah, that's her ring."
He doesn't tell me the truth because he wanted to. He tells me the truth out of spite.
"I'm so sorry, Harry."
"Don't," he shakes his head. "Please just- don't say that."
I don't like it when Harry's in pain.
"Hey," I murmur. "Remember our promise?" I cup his cheek, mg thumb caressing his soft skin. He looks down. "We promised to hate the world together. So, don't shut me out."
"Why do you even care?" He's not angry. He never was. He's upset and hurt and struggling to express the onslaught of emotions he must be feeling.
I don't answer his question. Instead, I ask him a question that has nothing to do with the ring or his family.
"Have you ever heard of solipsism?"
"No," Harry shakes his head. He sits on the edge of his desk again and crosses his arms. "But I'm sure you'll tell me."
I smile to myself. "It's the belief that you are real, yet everything around you is created by your mind because we are unsure that anything other than our mind exists."
"Do you believe that?" Harry queries.
"No." I shrug my shoulders. "You're too real for this to be some type of twisted fairy tail I imagined."
This is the Harry I saw earlier. He may look emotionally tired, but he seems so gentle right now. He seems so thoughtful, so considerate, and sweet.
Lately, he takes much longer to reply to my questions whenever he engages in light-hearted conversations with me. At first, it annoyed me, but now it makes my belly flutter. He thinks so heavily about my endless questions to provide me with adequate, appropriate, and thoughtful responses. He's considerate of my feelings.
He's doing it right now. He's thinking about something. He's always been so hard for me to read, but as the weeks pass, I'm starting to pick up on certain things.
Whenever he's deep in thought, there's a distant look in his eyes, his eyebrows furrow, or sometimes he gnaws on the inside of his cheek. When stressed, he tends to snap; his knee will bob, he'll make a mess of his hair, and sometimes he paces back and forth with a dark, threatening scowl. When he's happy, he tries to hide it; the way his dimples crease and his eyes brighten and wrinkle at the edges when he grins; his light-hearted laugh, soft eyes, and tender touch.
There are layers to Harry, each one beautiful for different reasons. However, I've never seen him look quite like this before. Right now, I'm seeing another part of Harry, and I can tell it's something good.
He looks at me as if there's something in me worth looking at — as if there's a part of me worthy enough to be admired. I don't understand it.
He's quiet for a moment before he looks away from me. He's not looking at me as he speaks, but I can see the evidence of a smile — a smile he tries hiding as his dimples cease. "If everything around me is just my imagination, then you are by far the greatest thing I've come up with."
My whole body warms. We're constantly exchanging glances, soft caresses, jokes, and warmth — nothing more. Harry did say that what happens between us means nothing, yet he goes ahead and tells me things that no other man ever has.
He looks at me in ways that make me weak in the knees. He tells me things that lead me to believe I'm not nothing to him, and with the way he smiles, I know I'm not just a body he uses as a distraction from the pain. Our late-night conversations, lame knock-knock jokes, lingering touches, soft smiles, and childish bickering mean something to him. I mean something to him, and the feeling that washes over me is irreplaceable.
I don't ever want to stop feeling this way.
I can't help it. I lean forward and kiss his cheek. His dimple becomes more prominent, and he even shakes his head to himself as if he's in disbelief. However, his lovely smile never fades.
Speechless. I made Harry speechless.
When I kiss the corner of his lips, he laughs, but still, he refuses to look at me. Grinning, I ask, "are you blushing, Harry?"
"No," he laughs inwardly and runs his hand down his face. "You're just-"
I step closer to him. "I'm just what?"
"Weird." Finally, he looks at me. "Annoying. Insufferable. It's a very long list. Shall I go on?"
My lips part as I digest his words. He laughs at my expression, but I can't help but pout. I want to crawl in a hole.
I move to walk away. "Yeahhhh, I'm gonna leave-"
"No, no!" Harry wheezes out a laugh and jogs after me. He grabs my wrist and gently pulls me back to him. I resisted him initially, and yes, I know he was joking, but I like messing with him.
He laughs some more as I playfully resist him. Finally, he grabs me by my waist and pulls me so close, my chest pressing against his.
"I was joking, I was joking!" he laments. "Well, not really. You are weird, but-"
"You're not making this any better for yourself!" I scold him with a scowl, but he only laughs some more.
"Adorable," he breathes out before I get the chance to interrupt him again. "That's what I wanted to say."
There he goes again, looking at me as if I'm worth something.
"And you're delusional," I respond, but his soft smile only brightens. "I'm not adorable."
"Sure you aren't," he agrees sarcastically, and I smack his chest.
He's smiling down at me so softly that it's hard for me to look up at him. He's making me nervous again; a good nervous. No one has ever looked at me like this before.
"What's on your mind, Styles?" I ask softly, playing with the fabric of his shirt.
He hums pleasantly. "A kiss. I just really want to kiss you right now." I bite my lip, but it's impossible to resist my smile. "So kiss me." He demands cheekily. "...Please?"
How could I say no when he asks so nicely?
I stand on my tiptoes and slot my lips between his. He kisses me with more eagerness than I expected. The feeling that washes over me is hot and tingly. To feel him clinging to me and pulling my body as close as he possibly could to his -- my heart palpitates so strongly that I almost stopped breathing.
What's gotten into him?
He pulls away, just barely. He murmurs against my lips, "are you sure you want to help?"
I nod and peck his pink lips. Then, my hands cup both his cheeks, and I look directly into his eyes.
My resolve is higher than ever, and a fire burns deep in my belly. "Let's get your mother's ring back, Harry."