"I'm so good at telling lies
That came from my mother's side
Told a million to survive
Scattered 'cross my family line
God, I have my father's eyes
But my sister's when I cry
I can run, but I can't hide
From my family line."
-
There's something so beautiful about being wrapped up in Harry's arms.
In his embrace, my mind is quiet. There is no comprehension of time or space; the world fades and becomes nothing but a blur.
All I feel is Harry.
There are no nightmares, no bad memories, no panic. No dark storm clouds are hanging above my head, and no indescribable guilt is weighing heavily on my chest. No, my mind is at ease: solace, relief, repose – this is a feeling I thought only drugs could make me feel.
I don't know when he wrapped himself around me, and I don't really care. I just can't remember the last time I felt this safe before.
It's like my past never even existed while I sleep in his arms.
He shifts his weight on the bed, slowly peeling away from me. However, his lips graced my hairline before he could pull away completely. He murmurs, something I'm far too sleepy to fully comprehend.
"il mio dolce angelo."
I know he must think I'm asleep, so I make sure to hide my smile on the pillow for his sake. To witness such an indifferent, angry, violent, and hard-headed man act so gentle with me — fuck. I don't know how to act.
I thought he was getting up to go to the bathroom, so I had no trouble falling asleep again. I was hanging on to consciousness by a thread anyway. My eyes only open when his bedside falls cold, and I realize I've been alone for far too long. So, I push myself to sit up straight and rub my eyes before looking around the room.
"Haz?" Luckily for me, he isn't too far.
He's sitting on a sofa in the corner of our room by a window overlooking the city. A nightstand is situated beside the couch he sits on. On top of the nightstand is a lamp emitting a gentle honey-hued glow. He's wearing glasses that cutely frame his face while writing in a notebook.
He's so fucking cute.
I groan and make grabby hands at him. His bewildered smile could light up a dead heart. "Come back to bed," I beg him. I'm so cold with him gone.
"I can't right now." He looks back down and continues writing with his fine-point pen.
"What are you writing?" I ask through a yawn, pushing myself up out of bed before making my way over to him. I drag the blanket along with me, draping it over my shoulders.
He shrugs. "Nothin' interesting."
"I beg to differ. What is that, your diary or something?"
He snorts. "Somethin' like that." He closes his notebook and puts it off to the side on top of the nightstand. "You should go back to bed, Als. It's late."
"Will you come with me?" He's quiet for far too long, and that's when my sleepy smile falters. "What is it, Harry?"
His chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. "I have to leave."
He's leaving? Now? It's like two in the morning. "W-Where are you going?"
"I have to meet up with an old friend," He says, getting to his feet. Now more aware of what's going on, I see he's already dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt, and sneakers. He's been ready to leave for quite some time, it seems.
I cross my arms over my chest and take a step back. I can't fucking believe he planned on leaving me in the middle of the night without saying anything.
His tight expression melts to something much more remorseful. "Allie..." he whispers my name when I step back from him.
Does he know how much it hurts to hear him admit wanting to leave me in the middle of the night without saying a single word?
Harry clears his throat and grabs his keys, looking away from me. "Stay here. I'll be back in the morning. Security is outside, and they'll watch over you while I'm gone."
Y'know what? I'm not even hurt. I'm fucking pissed. "Where the hell are you going?"
"I'd rather not tell you," he says defensively with a dingy scowl.
What happened to the sweet Harry that had just been spooning me, kissing my forehead, and whispering sweet nothings into my ear? Because I don't see him. Not right now.
I stomp away from him, grumpily putting socks on before reaching for my dirty converse. "I'm coming with you."
I'm over this conversation. I'm leaving him no wiggle room for debate. I'm putting my foot down, and I don't care how upset he gets.
"Allie, you can't come with me!"
"And why not?" I snap, my hair smacking me in the face from how violently I whip around to face him.
He runs his hand down his face. "...here we go."
"I'm coming with you," I reiterate, seething through my teeth and slowly sauntering towards him.
His nose flared, and his jaw clenched. "We're not fighting about this. You're not coming with me."
"I'll follow you," I threaten.
His scowl deepens. "Not funny."
"What's not funny is you leaving at two in the morning by yourself. Did you plan to do this earlier and leave without me?"
"Yes, I did," he says matter of factly before sighing and grabbing his gun off the table beside his side of the bed. While tucking the weapon in the back of his jeans, he says, "It's nothing dangerous. Family matters."
I cross my arms and shift my weight on my feet. "Well, leave your gun here if it's not dangerous."
"..."
"..."
"You think you're such a smartass, don't you?"
I don't say anything, only offering a pointed look.
He throws his hands up in the air. Good. I finally got him where I wanted. "I never fucking win with you! You're the most stubborn, irritating, and insufferable woman I've ever met!"
I'll take that as a compliment.
He storms away, heading towards the front door, murmuring profanities under his breath. However, the second his hand wraps around the doorknob, he freezes, suddenly paralyzed. His body stiffens before loosening as he fights an internal battle with himself. I can tell he wants to snap and yell at me, but he doesn't. Instead, looking beyond annoyed, he looks over his shoulder, scowling slightly. "... are you coming or what?"
huh?
"I can come?"
"Well, I'd rather you not try and follow me. So yeah, you're coming with me, psycho." His eyes roll skyward.
"Gee, thanks, Thomas."
He sighs, shutting the door behind us when we step out into the hotel hallway. "Shuddup."
The hotel is dead. Not a single person is in sight at this time of night, which isn't surprising. "Where are we going?" Much to my dismay, he doesn't respond. I have a feeling he won't outright tell me anyways...
I only started lagging behind him when we stepped outside to the parking lot. Even at night, Berlin is too beautiful to describe with words, but I didn't have time to stop. I don't doubt Harry would leave me here to be honest. So, I stay close, shoulder to shoulder with the grumpy man. "And why'd you decide to wait and do family business until two in the morning?"
"Listen, don't start bombarding me with questions right now" he snips as we walk out to the hotel's parking lot and head toward his rental car. "Just get in the car." Despite how frustrated and irritable he sounds, he opens the passenger side door for me like he always does. I hesitate, speechless, before slowly getting in.
Yeah, he can be a real dick sometimes, but he's still a gentleman. I'm still not used to his small acts of kindness, but secretly, I adored them.
After Harry closes the door behind me, he walks around the front of the car and gets in himself. Once the engine roars to life, he peels from the hotel parking lot and starts driving down the dark roads.
Rays of the colorful city lights wash over him as we drive. From yellow, blue, red, and purple hues—it didn't matter what color scattered across his skin; it wouldn't change how lovely he looked right now.
I often admire Harry. That isn't something I can deny. However, no one feature makes him handsome, though his eyes come pretty close. People often speak of eye color as if that were of the utmost importance. Yet, his eyes would be beautiful in any shade. From them comes an intensity that always stops me in my tracks — that always leaves my heart racing; that always leaves me breathless and wanting more.
I'm only twenty-three years old. My story isn't a simple one, so trust is not something gave. Yet, despite the darkness and pain that clings to me like my shadow, he is the only one my soul feels safe with. I was with Mason for years, and he never once made me feel a fraction of what Harry has made me feel in just a few months. It's crazy and overwhelming, yet it can be so exhilarating.
"Stop starin' at me like that. It's weird."
"Sorry," I snicker sheepishly. "You're just so pretty, Haz." In his blush was a genuine sweetness I had been craving. It reminded me of flowers blossoming for the first time after a long winter — specifically champagne roses.
Harry laughs as the car rolls to a stop on a stone bridge cloaked in darkness. He parks the vehicle and unbuckles the safety belt. "No one has ever called me pretty before."
Hmph. They must be blind.
He leaves the car running in accessory mode and reaches over and turns the radio on far too casually for someone who claims to hate music. He turns the volume up slowly, and now music softly plays and fills the space between us. I soften when I hear the lovely German melodies.
"You've been listening to music a lot lately."
"Yeah," Harry nods and leans back in his seat. He closes his eyes peacefully. "I guess I have."
"What's changed?"
His eyes are still closed when he crosses his arms, getting comfortable in his seat. Despite that, I see him smirk, his two dimples creasing and giving him that cute, wolfish look that always makes my stomach flip. "You."
Me?
I would never have thought I'd live to see someone slowly start to fall back in love with something they once so profoundly despised. The feelings that wash over me are so overwhelmingly good that I think I might combust.
Bright headlights abruptly blind both me and Harry. We both flinch at the sudden light, and black dots scatter across my vision. Squinting, I raise one of my hands to block some of the bright light. "Who is that?"
He doesn't answer my question. He sits up straighter and unbuckles his seatbelt. "Stay here." He opens the driver's side door and steps out, leaving me in the car all alone.
The bridge light suddenly dies, and now I can finally see what's happening. It was a black SUV that had blinded me moments ago. From the front seats of the SUV, two men around six feet or so in black suits and earpieces stepped out. One of them opened the back door, and a middle-aged man shuffled out, walking with a limp and ambling around with the help of a cane.
What the fuck was happening?
With my anxiety quickly spiking, I start looking and feeling around the best hiding spots I know of in cars. I feel around under the seats and dig around in the center console. When I opened the glove compartment, I found exactly what I was looking for — a pistol. I take the gun and check the clip. Good, it's loaded. I snap the clip back in place and turn the safety off before stepping out of the car, concealing the gun in my sweatpants pocket.
"Fuck this," I grumble, approaching Harry, who's standing only a few yards away from his rental car.
The muscles in his jaw flex as he grinds his teeth. "I told you to stay in the fuckin' car," he seethes with potent venom, trying to keep his voice down as the three men start approaching us.
"Well, too bad," I hiss just as harshly. "Listen, I know you always want to do everything alone, but you aren't alone anymore. So just, shut up."
I feel his gaze burning into my temple. When I look, I see Harry staring at me with his lips slightly parted and his eyes heavy-lidded, his anger slowly dissipating. "You're fucking crazy," he reverberates.
I look away and scoff. He always likes to get the last fucking word.
Can he blame me for being worried? We're on an abandoned bridge with three sketchy men in suits coming toward us. Harry knows how paranoid I get, for christ's sake.
On a more serious note, though, I don't know what I'd do if I just sat around and watched Harry get hurt. So yeah, I stole Harry's extra gun, and now I'm standing by his side, unwavering.
The man with the cane is scowling darkly. Even with a limp, he seems menacing. He holds his head high and mighty as if he had the power of a God. The two men behind him glare at Harry and me, their hands on their guns strapped to their waists. My hand tightens around the pistol in my pocket.
When I catch something out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on a metal support beam to bridge above us. Quickly and without seeming too obvious about it, I scan the perimeter. My body trembles as goosebumps dazzle across my skin. We're surrounded; they have guns on us from every angle, under cover of the night. I don't know how many there are, but they're all ready to shoot, only awaiting orders.
My heart races, and my body buzzes and dampens with sweat. I've been in standoffs like this before, and I've lost people every time. Harry must know we are on the low ground. We don't stand a chance out in the open like this. He's so calm; he doesn't even seem phased, and I don't know why.
Unexpectedly, the tension from our little stand-off melts away when Harry and the older man suddenly smile at each other. They looked like they had murder on their minds a moment ago, but now they're hugging each other, laughing and smiling in such an affectionate way I can't help but feel as if I'm intruding.
"It's been so long," despite the middle-aged man's smile, his words are shattered and fragile. "So, so long," he repeats while hugging Harry and rubbing his back affectionately. "I missed you, son."
When Harry smiles, his dimples crease. He pats the man's back. "I've missed you too, Marc."
When the two men pull away, Marc smiles at Harry proudly, resting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "You cut your hair," he notes in awe. Feigning a wobbly, downturn smirk, he places a hand over his heart and stumbles back on his crane. "My boy is growing up."
"Oh, suck a dick, Marc," Harry voices sardonically, pushing his enthusiastic father away. Oddly, their dynamic is cute and endearing.
As Marc's laughing dies down, his eyes wander. Glancing over Harry's shoulder, he lights up even more when he sees me.
Uh oh.
Though Marc's eyes are jaded, they're a unique deep galaxy blue and cerulean green. His hair is a messy blonde mop, while his beard is seasoned black and gray. His skin is healthy and glowing but beginning to crease and become weather torn with his age. His fingers look stiff and gnarled from years of hard work and labor. His smile is amiable and vivacious, and his laugh is gravely yet so rich. He's dressed well, too – expensive drapes perfectly tailored to his body.
"And you've brought a girl!" Marc beams at me before trekking over with his crane urgently. "Hello, dear," he offers me his hand unexpectedly. I didn't expect Harry's dad to be so... Friendly.
However, I know not to be fooled by a man's friendly smile.
When I look over Marc's shoulder and glance at Harry, Harry gestures for me to play along. I subtly shake my head. I don't do handshakes. Even Harry can't convince me to touch a stranger's hand.
Marc's laugh is lively and raucous. "Trust me, dear," he insists. I try to hide my disgust when I think about all the germs on his hand, but it's hard. I go to refuse again, but this is Harry's father... Even though I hate handshakes, I should do it for Harry's sake.
Internally, I'm screaming. Urg, I hate this.
Hesitantly, I place my hand in Marc's, expecting this to be a traditional handshake, but it's not. Instead, Marc lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles before offering me a slight bow. Marc is a sophisticated and refined man, from what I can tell – like a fine red wine. Still, I wasn't expecting him to be such a gentleman. "Pleasure to meet you, darling."
I can feel my cheeks flush. "P-Pleasure to meet you."
"I am Marcello," he introduces himself like a true gentleman, traces of an Italian accent rolling off his tongue. "And you must be Harry's woman?" I chuckle awkwardly, expecting Harry to blow up and deny his father's assumptions, but he doesn't.
"S-something like that," I respond, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. I almost missed it, but a ghost of a smile stretches across Harry's lips.
Then something happens – something I didn't expect. Marc's happy and chaotic energy dwindles before suddenly faltering as he scans my face. I shift uncomfortably, thrown off by the sudden change in demeanor. I take my hand back from his and step back, creating space between us. I thought that maybe I imagined his aura darkening and his face hardening, but I know I'm not.
Then, we both fake smile.
"I'm Allie. It's nice to meet you."
Marc's expression is patronizing. "The pleasure is all mine. Truly."
"Marc," Harry intervenes, stepping forward. "We need to talk."
Marcello tuts and waves Harry off. "It's always business with you, son."
"It's important," Harry stresses. Harry looks at me and nods in the car's direction, gesturing for me to leave. "I won't be long," he tries assuring me.
I nod slowly. "I-It was nice meeting you, Marc." I waved goodbye to the man.
He offers me a blank stare. "Until next time, Rosaline."
"Allie," suddenly, Marcello and I both turn to face a very agitated Harry. Unwavering, his eyes, dark and vexed, are deadset on his father. "Her name is Allie."
Harry gestured for me to leave again, and without hesitating, I started retreating toward the car. I assume Marc only knows my real name because Harry must have told him at some point, so I try not to get too paranoid about it. Still, the way he said my name was...
Disturbing.
Now, I'm sitting alone in the car, with music playing softly and heat blowing out of the vents. I wish I could hear what they're discussing. The conversation seems intense, and the remnants of any happiness on Harry's face have entirely disappeared.
The only thing I think they would be discussing is Harry's mother. We're here for her ring, after all. Still, would a conversation involving his deceased mother cause this much anger and distress between Harry and his father? They had just been so happy to see each other, and now it seemed like they were engaging in a battle of wills.
When Harry abruptly storms away, a look of worry etches into the wrinkles on Marc's face. I know that look all too well. It's the same look I make when worrying about Maggie's wellbeing.
Harry looks livid. Nonetheless, I think I know Harry well enough now to say his anger is often just a front. A barrier to protect himself and disguise his hurt.
So what the hell happened? What did they talk about?
"Harry?" He says nothing when he gets in the car. He's silent, and I hate it when he shuts me out. I hate it when he shuts down and suffers in silence. "Harry," I call his name again, softer this time.
I want to ask him if he's okay, but I know a question like that is pointless. Obviously, he isn't okay. With his tense and high-strung energy, I know asking him to tell me what happened isn't a good idea either. His breathing is shaky and uneven. His nose is flared, and his body is tense.
I always thought Harry was so destructive and, at times, emotionless, but that's not the case. Harry feels everything. He feels so intensely that it overwhelms him until he's pushed too far and to his breaking point. That breaking point is what triggers his anger.
Whenever he's trapped, like a scared animal backed up into a corner, he lashes out.
Deadly.
Cutthroat.
"Just drive," I voice. "Just drive and clear your head, baby." We don't have to talk. We don't have to listen to music. We can sit in absolute silence, and I'll be okay with that if that's what he wants. Regardless of what he wants, I just want to be with him right now.
Still, I hate seeing him like this.
What the fuck did his father say to him?
Surprisingly, he never moves to turn the music off. He just drives with a tight grip on the wheel, and his forehead wrinkled with a volatile expression.
Taking the risk, I lean forward slowly and start flipping through the stations until-
I shriek. "Holy shit! Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to yell!" I explain in a hurry. "I just- gosh, I love this song!"
I do like the song that's playing, but I was overselling it, trying to get Harry's engagement. He's stone-cold, though, his gaze locked on the dark road.
I blow a raspberry. He isn't entertaining my antics right now.
No matter.
I'll find a way to make him smile.
I crank the volume up so loudly that I think the speakers might blow, but I could care less. This is the perfect road trip song. It's impossible not to sing along.
"Tonight, I'm gonna have myself a real good time. I feel alive." I nudge Harry a few times, hoping to gain his attention. "And the world, I'll turn it inside out. I'm floating around in ecstasyyyy."
"Allie," Harry sighs out my name while I hit my high note. "What the fuck, bro..."
"So, don't stop me now. Don't stop me- c'mon, Haz! Take it away!"
"Are you fuckin mental?"
I stopped everything I was doing. I cross my arms and make the most distasteful look I can muster, which isn't that great, considering my chest keeps contracting as I try to keep my laughter at bay.
"I thought that was obvious," I respond to him with a dumbfounded look. "Wait, this is a good part!! I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah! Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit! I'm traveling at the speed of light! I wanna make a supersonic man out of you!"
Harry rested his arm on the window panel and tried hiding his smile with his hand. "Holy shit, Als."
The corner of his eyes wrinkle, and he hunches forward, wheezing out a laugh when my voice cracks horribly. It's traumatizing how embarrassing it is, but Harry laughs, and that's all that matters to me right now.
"If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call!"
Harry's fingers tap on the driving wheel to the song's beat. "Don't stop me now," he mouths the words to the song, being a little coy.
My jaw drops. "I can't hear you, Styles- oh, wait! The good part is coming up!" I eagerly turn to face him. "Do you want air drums or air guitar?"
Harry scoffs. "Air guitar. What kind of question is that?"
"Don't stop me, don't stop me, don't stop me." I point to Harry to keep this going, and he does, switching every other verse with me.
"Hey, hey, hey!"
"Don't stop me, don't stop me."
"Ooh, ooh, ooh, I like it!"
"Don't stop me, don't stop me."
"Have a good time, good time."
Harry eagerly rolls up to a red light, and now we have a few seconds to jam out. I go crazy on my air drums and Harry shreds his air guitar.
"Don't stop me, don't stop me," Harry's head falls back. The veins of his neck bulge as he screams his heart out right on key with Freddie Mercury.
Some screams come from the mouth and lungs, but Harry's scream begins in the eyes and ignites in his soul, burning just as bright as a supernova. It's chaotic, overwhelmingly cute, and ridiculously hot.
Harry can sing.
And what's better?
He's really good at air guitar.
It's so exhilarating to see Harry so carelessly free and expressive; so happy, goofy, and filled with chaotic energy.
He's glowing.
It's three in the morning, and the world is dead with sleep. I don't know where we're going. I don't think Harry does either, and frankly, I don't care. Right now, it's just the two of us, and as long as we're together?
We'll be alright.
-
A/N
I really struggled with this chapter and rewrote it multiple times because it wasn't living up to my vision or expectations. So, please let me know what you think!! Also, if you guys have any theories I'd love to hear those in the comments 😎
FURTHERMORE, don't get too comfortable bc shitz abt to go downnnn
Other than that, how's everyone doing? Amazing I hope :)
As always, thank you all so much for supporting Tribulation. Lately, we're gotten impressive rankings along with a remarkable amount of votes and comments. I couldn't have done this without all of you.
I love you all sm
M xxx
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