My final few days at work had flown by far quicker than I'd expected. A mixture of buzzing anticipation and excitement, but also overwhelming, indescribable fear and uncertainty.
On Monday morning, I'd gone into the firm with shaking hands. My supervisor had already sent me an email the night before, requesting that I went straight to her office, and I knew I was to be disciplined for my failure to meet my deadline on Saturday. Part of me wished I had the nerve to bite back - to say that, actually, I wasn't contracted to be working on a Saturday, and really, I didn't owe them overtime into my very minimal days off. But I didn't - instead, I'd anxiously made my way inside at her request, my lip nervously tugged between my teeth, like a student being called to the principal's office in high school.
This wasn't my first time in her office, but it was under circumstances such as these. Upon taking my seat, I'd glanced around at the pristine white of the walls; the darkened wood of the decor, all of it so seamlessly blended together. The walls were adorned with very little - in fact, sparing the law books and articles of political theory upon mounted shelves, there wasn't a single thing that was personal in this room. Each surface was bare, sparing her desk, which was full of stacks of papers and files - there was nothing in here to distinguish, remotely, the type of person she was outside of work. I feared becoming that.
"So," the silence was broken by my supervisor, her face stony and unexpressive as she leaned back in her polished leather chair, "I'm sure I don't have to tell you why I called you in here."
I sighed, defeated, shaking my head in an attempt to show her my understanding of my mistake, "I'm really sorry, Theresa. It was an honest mistake, but it truly won't happen again."
As she began to respond - clearly unaccepting of my apology - all I could think about was what I needed to do in this meeting. It was in this meeting that I would need to request the time off, until September. I wasn't giving much notice at all - in fact, I was giving around a mere seventy-two hours' notice to what would be my last day. But circumstances certainly hadn't allowed me to follow the protocol they would've expected - all I could do was hope, by some miracle, that my wish would be granted.
I hadn't exactly considered what my plan of action would be if I was told 'no' - a very, very feasible outcome. After I'd decided on Saturday that I wouldn't be a hindrance to myself; that I would, indeed, seize this opportunity - tentatively, and sheepishly, but seizing it, all the same - I hadn't quite considered that it could, against my own will, slip through my fingers due to something quite as tedious as my current job. But it was a realistic potential hindrance. The firm could very well decline my request - they had the grounds to do so, and they could, therefore, put a very quick end to this fantasy of mine. And then where would that leave me?
But, equally, what if they said 'yes'? Quite simply, I'd be going to America, branching as far as humanly possible out of my rather pathetic comfort zone, and I'd be working, finally, as a photographer. It would be a fresh start; an escape... it would be everything I'd been yearning for, as much as I'd tried to suppress it. With one simple confirmation from the firm, I'd be out of excuses, as much as I might yearn to conjure up some more as to why I hadn't earned this, I didn't deserve this; as to how it could all go so, incredibly wrong - that simple confirmation would mean that I'd be getting on that plane on Friday, and chasing exactly what I'd always wanted to - and that was a terrifying prospect.
My supervisor was speaking - but I'd have been lying to say that it wasn't almost entirely on deaf ears. I could see her mouth moving, but the words weren't landing anywhere near me. Again, it was a moment like this where I would've liked to stand up for myself - to argue back, and tell her to shove it. But, I needed this job when I got back. They had the upper hand - I needed to play in accordance with their rules.
"I'm going to need you to get started on some more reports - you'll find them in your inbox, as I sent them there around seven o'clock this morning. Some of us understand the requirement to work outside of office hours, for the sake of the firm," she said, her voice laced with condescension, and I bit my lip, figuring it best to nod along with her words. "You can go, Isabella, unless you feel we have any more to discuss," she said, finally, but I remained seated in my chair. She had already turned back to the paperwork on her desk, but I was fumbling with my hands, desperate to muster the words I needed to. You need them more than they need you, Izzy. Don't be stupid. Just keep your mouth shut, and do as they ask.
"Actually," I almost didn't recognise the sound of my own voice as it broke through the tense silence of the room, pushing the intrusive, berating thoughts from my mind. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about."
Theresa peered up at me through her glasses, but didn't lift her head. She pursed her lips before fixing her eyes back on the paperwork on her desk. She didn't even respect me enough to look at me. None of them did. Her voice was monotonous, as if I was a boring disruption to her morning that she was growing very quickly tired of, "Make it quick."
My mouth was dry - it was like I'd suddenly forgotten how to speak. A thousand thoughts were racing through my head, somehow stacking themselves up on top of the thousand others that had been racing through there over the past forty-eight hours; what could go wrong, all the reasons I shouldn't ask for what I wanted - all the reasons why I didn't deserve it. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a brief moment, mustering the strength to ask.
"Theresa, I need some time off. Ten weeks, to be exact."
Finally, she looked up from her paperwork, her eyes looking me up and down in disapproval, her eyebrows raised. "Don't we all?" She dismissed me with a condescending laugh.
I humoured her, forcing a disappointingly obvious performative laugh from my lips, before taking another deep breath in order to psych myself up to properly make my request. "I'm serious, Theresa. I've been presented with an opportunity to work in another field over the summer, and I'd really appreciate the support from the firm to do so. I don't expect a sustained salary, or anything like that - I would just like to be able to take the leave, and return to my role at the end of September."
She was gazing up at me like I was insane, her lips parted in shock at the blatancy and nerve of my request. And maybe I was insane; a little. I knew it was a longshot to request such a favourable term for myself, but I knew I had to ask - I'd never have forgiven myself if I didn't. As the room fell silent, I could already hear her dismissing me from my position - laughing in my face and telling me exactly how low she thought of me for making such a stupidly daring request. But she leant back in her chair, setting her pen down, and narrowing her eyes across the table at me.
"You know," she spoke, finally. "You've got a lot of nerve asking me that. We don't usually grant that sort of thing to our student employees - hell, it's rare we'd grant it to a senior partner. You can't be oblivious to that fact."
I swallowed thickly. "No, I'm not."
"So why ask?" she dared me to continue, and I could feel my palms sweating a little at her question.
"Well, I-uh.." I trailed off, shaking my head in an attempt to regather myself. It was then, I realised, pleading with her regarding my photography hopes and dreams likely wouldn't cut it, understandably, from a business standpoint. I needed to think - what was in this for her?
"Theresa, you may have noticed I've been a little off my game, lately. Saturday was an incredibly poor misstep from me - one that shouldn't become a habit. I really, really value my place here, and I understand how lucky I am to have this opportunity. But, I feel like taking a step back will allow me to come back in September with a renewed outlook - a fresh approach to helping better the company in whatever way possible - it will allow me to come back as a far better potential lawyer than I am now," I spoke firmly, holding her eye as I did so. I continued, "I wouldn't ask if I truly didn't think this would be both beneficial for me, and the company - I'm happy to pick up whatever extra hours are needed when I come back, and I understand I'll have to pull my weight in order to make up for the lost time. But, this time off will be an opportunity for me to redraw my priorities, and figure out how I can improve in my role going forward."
Her arms were folded as I spoke, and as I finished and we were enveloped by silence again, I realised I had more or less just taken a huge bargain with my future career. This would be the moment where she either sent me on my way - or.. who was I kidding? She would almost definitely send me on my way.
After continued silence, I was relieved when she finally spoke. "I think, Isabella.." she paused, leaning forward in her chair, "That is the most I've ever seen you thinking like a lawyer."
My stomach finally untwisted from its knot in a motion of relief, and I exhaled. I could've punched the air in elation. A lifetime of being told I didn't have what it took to think that way - here I was, bargaining, dare I say successfully, for something that I wanted - for me. I could feel a grin threatening to break out onto my face, but I feared pre-empting her response too much.
"You've laid out the situation, you've weighed up your options. You've made your case as to why you think your option is the best one, and you've made clear the benefits. And I can see them," she nodded, but her icy expression didn't shift as she leaned back in her seat again. My breath was hitched in my throat, and I dragged my hand over my arm a couple of times in a gentle attempt to soothe myself, and to encourage myself to remain firm in my seat.
"Look," she breathed, "ten weeks does seem excessive," she spoke, each word so collected, so confident. I did envy that about her - the way in which she didn't doubt a single word that fell from her lips. "I can grant you eight, and we can re-evaluate at that point. September is a busy time for the firm, so it's possible we'll need you back by then. But, equally, it may well be the case that we grant you the extra fortnight at that eight-week evaluation."
"Really?!" I blurted out before I could stop myself, and I found myself squeezing my own hands together, shocked that she had complied without a real fight. "Theresa, thank you-"
"You don't need to do that." She held her hand up, returning back to the typical state I expected of her, shifting away from the glimpses of understanding that had begun to peek through her demeanour. "I'm assuming you want the break to begin in the next couple of weeks?"
I bit my lip, "Actually, my last day would need to be Thursday."
"This Thursday?" she asked me, cocking an eyebrow. Perhaps this would be the moment that I was let go - I knew I wasn't out of the woods just yet, but I'd come this far; I couldn't settle now.
"Yes.." I said, apprehensively.
"This must be some opportunity, Isabella," her tone grew teacher-like again, lacking real sincerity, and I silently winced.
"It really is," I said honestly. The silence remained between us for what felt like ages, my leg shaking nervously in my chair.
Her eyebrow remained arched, before she shook her head, bringing her eyes back to her desk. "I'll get it approved."
I could've thrown myself at her. The buzz of excitement and relief that coarsed through my veins in that moment was indescribable. I couldn't hide the smile breaking out onto my face - in that moment, all my fear and hesitation was masked by the sudden peace I felt within myself - this was one less barrier in my way. Now, despite my resolution to do this for myself - the only thing that could possibly stop me.. was me.
I stood up, prepared to leave the room before she could change her mind. "You won't regret this, Theresa."
"I hope not."
I'd left that room in a state of shock. That, somehow, had been much easier than expected. The rest of the day, and the two other days to follow, were absolutely jam-packed with work - more than I'd ever encountered in my time there. It was almost like they were doing it on purpose, but I didn't mind; it didn't bother me like it typically would, equipped with the knowledge that I only had a short time left there before my prolonged absence - I didn't truly have the grounds to complain, after all, with what they were granting me.
By the time Thursday rolled around, I felt sick to my stomach. It was all beginning to hit me at once. Today was the day I would be meeting with Ally, to finalise details and to organise the formalities surrounding the fact that I would be travelling abroad for ten weeks. Not only that, but she would be my new boss for this time period, I presumed, and that was another bridge to cross.
Ally, through Grace, had kindly arranged our meeting to take place after work had finished, on Thursday evening - I was to meet her at her office building at 6 o'clock that evening, and I'd have been lying to say my body wasn't riddled with nerves at the idea of doing so. But even so, I didn't have the opportunity to dwell on my fears of our meeting. I had a separate obstacle to tackle first.
It was just after five when I pushed open the door to Johnny's. It was empty, as I'd expected it to be. As the familiar bell sounded upon the door, I felt a small pang of warmth in my chest, as my mind couldn't help but race at the fact I wouldn't be back here for a while.
Saying goodbye to Johnny was something I'd been avoiding. I hadn't yet told him about the fact I was even leaving. I knew he would be happier for me than anybody, but I didn't want to face leaving him behind. I'd grown the sort of attachment to Johnny that I detested, but I was sure he'd certainly earned. Three years of being my shoulder to cry on, of being the most fatherly figure I could've ever wished for. He was the parent I'd always yearned for - in fact, he was that, and more. I was dreading having to let go; to leave him behind, even though I knew it was only temporary. Selfishly, I hadn't wanted to let go just yet.
"Johnny?" I called, and on cue, the door stationed between the shelves of liquor flew open, revealing the familiar face I'd come to adore so much.
"Oh, I hoped it was you, Izzy," he smiled warmly, and before I could respond, I felt my legs carrying me over to him, and I couldn't stop myself from enveloping him in a tight hug. I'd felt him let out a surprised hum, but he accepted it all the same, squeezing me tightly and rubbing his hand softly over my back. "What's all this, eh?"
Johnny meant so, incredibly much to me. The little hair that remained on his head, the white wisps of his beard, his warm, friendly blue eyes. I knew it would only be a matter of months before I saw him again, but I would miss him an indescribable amount, I knew that for sure.
"Johnny, you're going to be so happy when I tell you," I finally drew my arms back from around him, taking a seat on a bar stool and dragging him into the one next to me. I could've laughed - only a few nights ago had I sat on these bar stools with Harry; if only I'd that the spontaneity of hooking up with him would go on to be the least crazy part of my week.
"Tell me what?" he beamed across at me, setting down the dish towel that had been, as always, flung across his shoulder.
"So," I began, reaching across to grab his hands in mine. "Last weekend, I decided I would apply for that photography class."
Johnny's face lit up with a wide, genuine grin, "Oh, that's brilliant, Izzy! What excellent news!"
I couldn't stifle the smile breaking out on my face at his excitement at that, knowing I was about to tell him something even better. "But, I didn't end up applying, Johnny, because Grace got me a job offer instead," I paused with a grin, taking in the confusion on his features. "I've been offered a job to spend the Summer in America, working as a photographer."
I watched Johnny's expression turn into one of bewilderment, his eyes widening, his lips parting in shock. "You what?!"
I nodded, squeezing his hand, still unable to quite fathom the words that were leaving my mouth, "A photographer on a music tour... ten weeks across the states."
"Izzy, oh my goodness!" he broke out into an elated chuckle, pulling himself from his stool to wrap his arms around me again, "oh, that is so brilliant, Izzy, my darling. I'm so happy for you." He hugged me so tightly that it sent a jolt of warmth to my heart. Johnny was the closest thing to family I'd truly ever had. Grace was my best friend in the entire world, but Johnny had taken me in and accepted me like I was his own daughter. I'd never believed in any kind of fatherly bond until Johnny - he truly had showed me what it meant to have an unconditional father figure; something I'd so starkly lacked until he'd come into my life. I felt my chest tightening as I buried my face into his shoulder - he'd never truly be able to understand what he'd done for me. Grace had made this possible in providing me with this opportunity, but Johnny had definitely aided in equipping me with the tools to take it. Endless, countless nights sat at his bar, confiding in him - he'd often whip up a sandwich for me from his own groceries in the back of the pub whenever I'd spend the evening there, working late. Or he'd sit across from me, reminding me of all he knew and believed that I was capable of, even when he knew I wasn't ready or willing to hear it. Johnny was more than I could ever deserved.
As we finally broke our hug, I could see Johnny's eyes filling with tears - something I couldn't quite have prepared myself for, nor could I have began to expect. I was so, deeply overwhelmed with appreciation for this man.
"Look, nobody deserves this more than you, you hear me?" he said to me, sniffling a little in a way that made my heart flutter warmly. "I want you to run with this. Make this yours, Izzy. Don't let that head of yours get in the way," he told me, bringing his hand to rest it upon my hair, and I nodded, bringing my hand over his own. He was right - he knew what I would be doing to myself. Criticising, nit-picking, talking myself out of it. I couldn't do that this time.
"I'm gonna miss you so much, Johnny," I laughed through a quiet exhale, and he shook his head.
"Tell you what," he grinned, wiping his eyes quickly, "when do you leave?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," I told him, watching his eyes widen for a second, before he shook his head, smiling.
"Of course, Izzy. The big ol' photography world waits for no one," he joked, stroking my hair. "Look, come back in the morning. I'll open up early - just pop in, and that way we can say goodbye properly, then. No more tears tonight."
I nodded, figuring I had better not leave the bar, overly emotional, before I went to meet with Ally. "I'll be back in the morning."
Johnny pulled me into one final hug, squeezing me tightly again, carefully asserting a sentence he knew would do so much for me. "Izzy, I'm so proud of you."
When I arrived at the address Ally had sent me, I had to pause outside to collect myself, yet again. The building was incredibly vast - it was in central London; the same incredibly wealthy area I'd been in the week before, when I'd ended up at Harry's for the evening. This was yet another reminder that I was incredibly out of my depth, here.
I feared that upon entering this building, I would stick out like a sore thumb. Perhaps it would be obvious to them all that I was, quite literally, running before I could walk. I didn't have any professional experience - I just liked photography, and could do an all right job at it. But that was where anything that could possibly set me apart began and ended. What was to stop me from walking in there and making a fool of myself, and completely blowing it all now? I'd come so far - I'd overcome every obstacle in my path thus far; everything that could stop me from doing this. Now, all I had to do was make it official - but it didn't mean it couldn't disappear at the drop of a hat.
But it wasn't too late to turn back. Every single individual cell of my body was screaming at me to turn back - to go home, and go back to what I knew. I could hear their words circling in my mind - that I wasn't worth a thing; that I'd never be able to make anything of myself; that I was too pathetic, too spineless to ever amount to anythig of real value. My head wouldn't cease to tell me that I didn't deserve this; I wasn't worth this, or anything. I was far too out of my depth, and that this was a line I shouldn't cross.
And I almost did turn back. After crossing every single hurdle, I almost went straight back home, crawled into bed and shut down. I was ready to let the opportunity slip straight away from me, and to return back to the depressing comfort of familiarity - I knew I needed change, but ultimately, I would still be me, when I looked in the mirror. I wouldn't heal just by doing this - life wouldn't suddenly be better. I refused to believe it would work like that.
"Hey... can I help you at all?"
A soft voice broke through my thoughts, and I looked up, startled. I had just begun to latch onto my bag a little tighter, in preparation to turn around, leave, and not look back. But now, a young woman was standing in front of me, her kind eyes watching me cautiously. She was dressed smartly, her hair smooth and well-kept, her makeup incredibly clean-looking. The lanyard hanging around her neck told me that she worked for the very company I was about to become a part of for the next ten weeks.
There was no turning back now.
"Are you Isabella Blake?"
I nodded, "Yeah. I am."
"Oh, I figured it was you," her smile widened. "Come inside," she cocked her head towards the door, turning her body and beginning to walk when she saw I was preparing to follow her. "You were stood outside just staring at the building for so long that I figured you were either due for a meeting or plotting a break-in."
My face flushed a deep shade of crimson in embarrassment at her acknowledgement of my hovering by the building, doubting and second-guessing.
"I'm Natalie, by the way. I'm the receptionist here," she glanced back at me, her smile never wavering as she lead me inside. The building was even more impressive on the inside, brightly lit with ceilings higher than I could've ever anticipated. "You're here to see Ally, right? I'll take you right through."
I swallowed. This is it. It's happening.
Natalie led me through a lengthy corridor, her heels tapping against the marble floor. I suddenly felt horrendously underdressed, despite being in my business attire from work - Natalie just appeared so put-together, so effortlessly stylish. I wondered if everybody here would be like that. As we passed through the corridor, there were large images of artists mounted upon the walls - I only managed to catch a glimpse at a couple of them, big faces who I couldn't name, but certainly recognised, accompanied by award plaques and achievements. This was clearly a strongly established company. It still hadn't quite sunk in that they wanted me to be a part of it.
"Aaand.. here!" Natalie stopped suddenly, turning back to face me, her smile still as warm and dazzling as before. "It was nice to meet you, Isabella! I hope I'll see more of you at some point."
It was now my turn to smile, genuinely, at her. I wished I could say more to her, as she did, truly, seem to be very lovely. But my main focus had been not tripping over my own feet, and not throwing up with nerves on their polished marble - one step at a time.
"You too, Natalie, thank you," I returned, as she now took a step back and gestured to the door in front of me - a sleek, black, intimidating door that I already feared tainting simply with my knocking upon it.
But Natalie nodded, before heading back off in the direction we'd come from, and I exhaled. I could feel the sneaky hesitations and reservations in my mind beginning to surface, before Johnny's words began to echo in my head. 'I want you to run with this. Make this yours, Izzy. Don't let that head of yours get in the way.'
I took one final deep breath before raising my hand to knock firmly on the door. Only a mere second passed before I received permission to enter, and I forced myself to do so.
"Isabella Blake!" An excited exclamation sounded from inside of the room as I stepped inside, and a young woman stood up from her desk. She couldn't have been over thirty - her hair a deep shade of red and her lips painted a similar colour. She stepped around the desk, moving towards me as I closed the door behind me. "Oh, it's amazing to finally meet you. Grace has told me so much about you." She surprised me by engulfing me in a tight hug, instantly easing much of the tension I was feeling, causing my body to have stiffened. I got the sense, immediately, that Ally was just one of those people - one of those people who radiated warmth, who you just felt safe with. I'd expected to walk in and be faced with intimidation; the superiority of a music executive who knew their worth, and their position. But instead, she was treating me as her equal, right off the bat.
"You as well, Ally. Thank you so, so much for this opportunity. I can't even begin to tell you what it means to me," I told her, honestly, as she released me from her grip and gestured for me to take a seat. She brushed off my gratitude with a playful wave of her hand, returning to her own seat.
"Look, Izzy, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't stressful circumstances that had brought about this opportunity for you. Our photographer bailed on us last week," she said, "but you have a real talent. Grace had told me about you before, and when she showed me some of your photos - I knew you'd be a perfect fit for us." Her words filled me with a great comfort, because it seemed she really meant them. I could sense her genuineness, and that encouraged me.
"Now.. onto the boring stuff," she chuckled, laying down a small wad of papers in front of me, neatly stapled together. "I have a contract for you to sign - I hear you're a lawyer-in-training, so I'm sure you'll manage to dissect it, thoroughly," she said with a kind grin upon her face. I wasn't sure how much Grace had told her, but the playful glint in her eye told me that she knew I wasn't a fond lawyer.
She continued, "Take a few minutes to look it over - we haven't got tons of time, but if you've got anything to dispute, obviously we can address that. It's a paid position - paid travel and accommodation, two out of three meals a day are covered.. well, you can read. I'll let you do that."
I nodded, smiling at the humour and brightness in her tone. I ran my fingers over the page, scanning it in the way I'd been taught to. I figured now was as good a time as any to put my - limited, and unfinished - law degree to use.
I was only just reaching the second page when Ally's phone began to ring, which she swiftly answered. I glanced up momentarily, before returning my focus to the pages in front of me.
"Hello? Yes - I'm still in my office," she spoke into the phone, casually shuffling through some papers of her own. "Mhm - why didn't he just text me himself? Just tell him to come straight up."
I didn't pay her words much mind, as I ran my eyes over another page of terms and conditions - a point regarding my salary caught my eye. It was much higher than I had anticipated from a temporary position that I was deeply unqualified for. I wondered whether I should dispute that, before I moved on, scanning over my perks; my paid accommodation and travel, as mentioned by Ally, and more.
I turned onto the third page, now, my eyes landing on the subtitle, printed in bold. My eyebrows furrowed, as I began to read. 'ARTIST CONFIDENTIALITY'.
It was then I was reminded I still wasn't aware of the artist that I would be photographing. I opened my mouth to speak to Ally and pose the question, before a gentle knock sounded at the door of her office, cutting me off. She called out for them to enter, and so I, instead, brought my eyes back to the page, reading on.
'...upon agreement by the individual party...' My eyes continued scanning, and it was only when I reached the bottom that my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach.
'...Harry Styles, Live On Tour..'
I looked up in shock, just as the door drew shut behind me. I didn't dare to turn around - I was frozen in place, and I could already sense what was to follow.
Ally looked up warmly, "Ah, there you are Harry - it's nice of you to join us."
My eyes remained fixated in front of me, my eyebrows furrowed. I could sense him behind me - that was the very reason I didn't dare turn around. He had yet to move from his position by the door, and I was silently praying it would remain that way. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Harry, meet Isabella Blake, our new photographer," Ally spoke out into the silent air, unsure of just how much her words truly weighed in that moment. I bit my lip back into my mouth, closing my eyes for a second in search of my composure. "Isabella Blake, meet Harry Styles."
It was then, finally, that I allowed my head to turn. I twisted in my chair, at last, to lay my eyes on him. Unfortunately, he hadn't lost his looks in the past week. This time, he was clad in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants, much like he had been by the time I'd left his house on Friday, causing my mind to veer off in recollection of that very evening. But I was brought back only a second later by the way his eyes were already burning into me, setting my body ablaze just as they had before, despite the previous look of lust I'd become accustomed to being replaced with one of pure shock. His lips were parted, his eyes wide, as if he was searching for the right words to say, as he, too, had the same realisation that I did.
I hadn't expected to see him again - ever. Not once did it dare to enter my head that Harry and I's paths may cross again - and if it had, certainly not so soon, and certainly, not like this.
The room felt as if it were spinning, and began to wish the ground could just open up and swallow me - somehow, that would feel much better than sitting in this chair, out of place, hot with embarrassment under the piercing eyes of the man I'd met at Johnny's only a week prior. I'd only spent mere moments back in his presence, but I could immediately recall the feel of his hands on my bare skin; the way his fingers had pushed into my hair and tugged on it; how his lips had pressed against my own; how his tongue had pushed into my mouth and his teeth had grazed over my lip as he'd tugged it at the break of our kisses. I could recall the way his skin had felt beneath my lips, and how I'd watched his eyes darken, glazing over as he watched me; as he touched me; as he pushed me over the edge. All of it came flooding back to my mind, as he now stood here, in front of me.
After what felt like hours of silence, he finally broke it, refusing to tear his eyes from me, but daring to speak into the space between us, tentatively.
"Oh, fuck."