I woke up in Harry's bed.
I hadn't expected to, or planned to - it had gotten to a point last night where we'd been talking so long that I couldn't really contemplate getting up and dragging myself back to my own room. I wasn't sure what time it was when he'd unwrapped his arms from around me and pulled himself up to get changed, offering some clothes for me to borrow. It hadn't felt like we needed to sleep yet - we'd talked for hours, and it felt like we could've talked for hours more. But we'd been wearing the same thing since before dinner, and they admittedly weren't the most comfortable to be laying there in.
He'd given me a t-shirt, from his suitcase, and a pair of black sweatpants that I'd gladly accepted, and had a strong feeling I would not be giving back. I pulled them on, instantly far more comfortable than I had been, having to bunch Harry's sweatpants around my ankles and roll the waistband with how ridiculously tall he was. He'd watched, amused, as he'd unbuttoned his own shirt and replaced it with a t-shirt similar to the one he'd given me. There was a funny thrill in watching him undress - not even for the sake of sleeping with him, or in a drunken haze; but to see him undress for something as simple as changing his clothes,
I didn't remember actually falling asleep, or if it was even a conscious decision. I'd just woken up, feeling warmer than usual, with the sensation of touch on me. I could feel his arm, immediately, thrown over my waist, and I slowly drew my head back to realise my face had been buried against his chest. My senses began to adjust, and I could smell the familiar remnants of Harry's cologne, and my stomach twisted momentarily.
I hadn't meant to spend the night. Sure, I hadn't gone out of my way to prevent it - but this wasn't something I'd ever really done. I'd shared a bed with Calvin less than a handful of times in our long relationship, and I'd hated it - the forced intimacy, the weird, overwhelming expectation to intertwine every limb with one another's even if you didn't typically do so. Even when Harry and I had been together before, I'd never woken up beside him - one of us had slipped away, each time, to prevent that very thing from happening. And my instinct now, was to panic - this was real, this was intimate - to wake up in the arms of somebody, to share that particular silence with them; the sun streaming through the curtains, the sound of birds and traffic starting to pick up outside. Being able to hear the sound of him breathing, gently, subconsciously - peacefully, was something I hadn't so much as considered the feeling of - this feeling, I couldn't even pinpoint it. Although my heart's instinct had been to drop, and worry, and fear the vulnerability of it all - when I drew back, barely a couple of centimetres from his face, still in his arms; the panic somehow alleviated.
I was so close to his face that I could see every detail. His lips, so barely parted to blow gentle breaths from them, his eyelashes brushing over the heights of his cheeks; his face free of those knowing smirks he'd so often send my way, or the little glint in his eye when he'd make a witty comment, or await a response from me in conversation. The performance, the grandeur - it was all gone.
I couldn't help but bring my hand to trace over the line of his jaw - my touch barely there, and not really intending to wake him, but the slight shift of his arm over my waist told me that I had. His grip tightened on me for less than a second, before he loosened it again, his eyes flickering in the slightest. They didn't even really open, but I kept my hand upon the side of his face, watching a small smile ghost over his lips without any other real movement from him. His arm then wound further around me to pull me back toward him, closing the very short distance between us.
If there was a peak, this felt like it could be it. I laughed as his body gently collided with my own, his arms tightening around me as I nudged my nose against his jaw, unable to stop myself from pressing my lips to his skin, there. His eyes still didn't open, but the smile on his face seemed to only grow as I kissed him, across the line of his jaw; his chin; the corner of his mouth, a funny satisfaction overtaking me at his reaction.
"God," his voice rasped all of a sudden, his arms still holding me to him, "can we do this every morning?" I felt almost undeserving of being there; like I was so, so lucky to know him like this, and to be trusted by him like he'd trusted me last night.
He buried his face into my neck, his hand then moving to start to trace over my outer thigh, his fingertips beginning to toy with the hem of his shirt on my body before his hand slipped underneath the fabric to draw over my skin. My lips immediately parted at his touch on me, goosebumps arising on my skin, practically following the line of his fingertips as his touch moved dangerously close to my breasts, before his phone suddenly started to ring from the table beside the bed. He didn't react, only pushing his leg between both of mine and edging his face toward my own - until the phone stopped ringing, and then rang again.
He then sighed, and rolled back a little, before huffing out an exhale as he properly opened his eyes, murmuring, "Sorry, it might be important."
I nodded, as if I wasn't practically breathless from the touch he'd initiated, watching him lean away. He kept his arm around me, leaning over to where his phone lay on the bedside table, clearly having been discarded there last night. He groaned, then, as I assumed he was reading his screen as the phone persisted in ringing.
"Fuck, I was supposed to go to the gym with Pauli this morning before we leave," he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.
"What time is it?" I asked him, as his eyes closed to groan in frustration again, tilting his chin back.
"It's half past nine," he sighed, pressing his lips together. The ringing continued as he eyed the screen. "I was supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago," he told me, his hand still seeming to trace subconsciously over my back as he brought the phone to his ear with a frustrated sigh, clearing his throat once before he spoke. "Hey, mate, I'm sorry - yeah. I overslept. I'm sorry - just start without me. Give me ten minutes." I doubted Pauli would've been particularly annoyed, but I figured it had just thrown Harry to wake up later than intended.
He set the phone down on the table, letting his eyes close again for a moment. He sighed, then, shuffling his position to bury his face back into my neck, causing a shiver to travel along the length of my spine.
"I should've said I wasn't going," he murmured against my skin, letting out a gentle exhale as I moved my hand to let my fingertips rest at the nape of his neck. "I'm supposed to be writing with him and Mitch, later, too.." he trailed off.
"No, go," I returned, as much as I yearned for him to stay here with me, in this very position. I worried, slightly, that if he would begin to shirk his plans with his other friends because of me, I'd become an annoyance to them all in disrupting the way things had always been, with them. "I need to go and pack, actually," I said, my fingers pushing into the hair at the back of his head, as I remembered we were due to travel today for another show tonight.
We stayed there for another minute, and I wondered if he was on the verge of falling asleep again, nestled into my neck and holding me to him, before I felt him move, drawing his head back from me. His hair was dishevelled, but somehow it still looked so perfect on him, as he pressed his head back against the pillow as if searching for a will to get up.
"I think you're probably down to five minutes, now," I pointed out.
He'd managed to pull himself together pretty quickly after peeling his body away from my own, suddenly finding some urgency as he hurried to the bathroom to brush his teeth and get himself into a better state. When he finally emerged, you'd have thought he'd been up for hours - his skin looking refreshed, clad in workout clothes rather than the sweatpants he'd slept in, his hair pulled into place.
I didn't even have to think before he'd reached the bed again, and I'd opened my arms for him to lean over me, where I lay. He sighed again, against my neck, his lips pressing a couple of gentle kisses against my skin.
"Have fun," I told him, feeling butterflies in the pit of my stomach as he clung onto me.
"Mm," he only hummed, leaning back to brush my hair behind my ear and meet my eye, properly now. I watched as his eyes fell over my face, as if sneaking some kind of final glance before he had to leave, his gaze tracing from my eyes, to my lips, as I caught a smile twitching onto his own. He leaned in, then, to kiss me properly for a moment, drawing back for only a second before he kissed me another time.
I sunk back into the pillow as he drew away from me, reaching for a tote bag of his that had been left on one of the tables in the room and pulling it over his shoulder. I watched him leave, unable to fight the smile from my face as I exhaled, blissfully, hearing the door click shut.
I didn't remember the last time I'd slept so well. I didn't remember the last time my chest or my shoulders had felt so light - and it was him. It was all him.
I'd laid there for a few more minutes before I'd dragged myself up, to go back to my room. Still clad in his shirt, and his sweatpants, I could still feel every sensation of his touch on me; the scent of him, the warmth it brought, and the flutter it brought to the pit of my stomach.
And then I opened the door, and saw my phone lying on my bed, where I'd left it. And it hit me again - everything that I had waiting for me outside of that tranquil little bubble Harry and I had formed. I brought my lip between my teeth, sighing as I picked it up. I had a text from Grace, from hours ago, requesting that I let her know I was okay - I obliged, telling her I'd just woken up and that all was fine. And then I looked at the text just above her previous one to me - attaching the phone number that had relentlessly tormented me all evening.
It would just be five AM back in England. Every day of my life, my mother had woken up at seven o'clock - without fail. It didn't matter what had happened, where she was, where she'd been, or what time she'd gotten to sleep; seven o'clock, every single morning.
I had two hours to sit, and contemplate. I needed to pack - yes - that could've sufficed as a brief distraction, but I kept most of my things in order, so it wouldn't take long. I tried to set my attention on that, starting to fold up some stray clothes that I'd scattered around the room, and packing some of my things away. I reluctantly pulled Harry's clothes from my body, deciding I should shower and pull myself together some more before we'd be leaving for our flight, early this afternoon.
I showered, trying to take just about as much time as I could manage - scrubbing, cleaning every inch of my body far more intensely than I ever had, that pit of anxiety in the depth of my stomach only seeming to intensify as the minutes passed. I washed my hair, digging my fingertips into my scalp a little too harshly. I put on some makeup, taking about twice as long as I usually did, owing the delay to my shaking hands that I couldn't seem to steady, no matter how hard I tried.
And then, it was seven o'clock. Rather, it was two minutes past, which meant I knew, without a doubt, she'd be up. She'd be at the stage of filling the old kettle up, always filling it to the brim even when there was only one person drinking the tea. She'd be awake now.
I clicked on my texts with Grace, feeling like I could be sick at any moment. My chest felt tight; my heart was thumping in the worst way possible - so far removed from the morning I'd had.
I stared at the number. I don't have to do this - I could just turn my phone back off, and ignore it; I could pretend none of this had even happened. I could text the other girls, and see if they wanted to get coffee - I could take my mind off it; all of it.
But then, I'd clicked on it.
It began to ring, my hand shaking as I brought the phone to my ear. I felt like I was going to throw up, quite simply - my mouth was completely dry, and my breathing was so shaky that I feared I'd already lost complete control.
It rang once, and then another time. Maybe she won't answer. Maybe this isn't actually her number.
"Hello?"
Her voice. My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach, and I could've sworn I felt my blood run cold. I was frozen - I couldn't do anything, or say anything. I couldn't even move. I felt glued to my seat on the bed, my palms beginning to sweat even though I was as cold as ice. I could've passed out.
It wasn't too late to hang up - it wasn't at all too late to hang up, block the number, and have her dismiss it as an innocent mistake; a misplaced call from a wrong number. Yes - that was what I'd do. I'd hang up, and hope that she hadn't picked up on anything-
"Isabella?" she said, suddenly, and my entire body tensed like I'd never felt it. I could see her - in my head, she was there, leaning against the old kitchen counter, her eyes narrowing at my sustained silence, not an ounce of patience in her demeanour. "Is that you, sweetheart?
Sweetheart. I almost drew back to check if this was her actual number, because never in my life had I heard a term of endearment fall from her lips - never. Not to me, not to anybody. But I knew her voice - that, I couldn't be mistaken about. I knew her voice; I'd heard it at just about every volume, in every tone, laced with every ounce of malice she could muster. That was my mother - undoubtedly.
"Yes," was all I said, my voice barely even recognisable as I squeezed my eyes shut, as if somehow it would make this all go away.
"Oh, Isabella. You don't know how good it is to hear from you," she said, and each word that carried from her mouth felt like an equal twist in my gut. I felt like I couldn't breathe. "You, and Roseanna - oh, I've been trying forever to reach you both." I blinked, feeling my chest tighten. A lie. She hadn't tried to reach me at all, until now.
Roseanna. That was a name I hadn't heard in four years, either. Rosie, my sister - she'd gotten out before I had. She was two years older than me, and had gotten into a relationship when she was seventeen - and eventually, when she'd mustered up the courage, and the money - she'd gone, with him. I'd never heard from her again - and as much as I'd spent years longing to, I sort of understood why I hadn't. I was still there; I was still at home, with our mother - we'd been through every ounce of torment together, and I was certain that contact with me would only bring her back to it. And so, I'd let her go, too. The only person who really knew what it had been like - she couldn't even bring herself to face me, either.
I didn't say anything - but I supposed I didn't need to, because my mother continued, regardless. "How is studying going? How's your degree?" That felt like a trap.
"Fine," was all I could muster.
She changed the subject so quickly, that it felt like she'd only asked the first question to tick some sort of box. "Isabella, I have such a brilliant story - you won't even believe it," she said, and I felt my stomach turn at the casualness with which she spoke. "Oh, I was reading my magazine - the one I read, you remember?"
My voice was shaky, "I remember." I pressed my lips together.
"Oh, so I was reading it - sort of mindlessly, you know?" she said, and I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing. She was telling me about her magazine - her trivial, stupid gossip magazine that she'd never missed an issue of, my whole life. After all this time, this was what she had to discuss with me. "And it was all about this brilliant award show, happening over in America. You know I'm not the best with that sort of thing - all these young celebrities, I wish I could keep up," and then she laughed. This weird, unsettling sort of chuckle that I wasn't sure I'd ever heard from her - it sounded so unnatural coming from her, that it caused my eyebrows to furrow. "And there were so many photos, of this one guy... he'd taken just about every award home with him..." she trailed off, as if catching her breath, letting her words sink in. And, finally, they did. No. "Harry Styles, I think it was." No, no, no.
Just hearing her say his name made me feel sick. She was referencing my weekend in LA - one of the greatest weekends I could ever recall having. If she'd come to give me an apology, I wondered what the delay was - I think a part of me was still somehow convinced that an apology was, indeed, her intention; that this was just a roundabout sort of way to getting to the part where she fixed things - but each word she spoke seemed to draw us further and further away from that possibility.
"And, Isabella, it was just the craziest thing - because in corner of one of those pictures," she paused, a short chuckle leaving her lips again, but her tone was anything but humorous. It was cold - I could hear it, even now - even when she tried to disguise it. She finished, "I could've sworn that I saw you."
There was silence between us, for a moment.
"And I thought... it couldn't be you, because my daughter is in London, studying to be a lawyer," she said, her tone firm. "What would you be doing in America?"
"I'm working," I replied, trying to keep my tone even. There was no point in denying it.
"And what about Law?" Of course.
"It's all waiting for me, when I get back," I told her, somehow still fearing her lack of approval, despite knowing it was inevitable. "I have a job there, too, alongside my degree."
"Oh, so this is a Summer thing?" she asked, her interest almost sounding genuine. "You're working with celebrities, now? With this Harry Styles?"
I bit my lip. I didn't want to tell her any details, for fear she may abuse them. "Yes. I'm doing photography, for his tour," I said, keeping things as brief as I could.
"Oh, wow..." she trailed off. She was silent for a mere second, before she finally asked her question. "Are they paying you well?"
I swallowed, my heart practically trying to fight its way out of my chest. I'd never give her the real answer to that. "I'm managing."
"Oh, don't be silly, Isabella," she said, forcing her tone to lift at the end of her sentence, as if suddenly realising how forceful she'd sounded. I could practically hear the grit of her teeth through the phone. "They must be paying you well. I looked this 'Harry' up - he's worth millions-" she stopped, and that was when it hit me. Oh my god. How stupid could I have been? How foolish, how idiotic?
How could I have believed for one singular second that she'd have changed - as if four years of isolation from her children would make her realise that she was wrong; that she'd destroyed me, just as much as he had. How could I have thought she was capable of accountability, of sincerity? She wanted money - that was all.
"Mum, I don't-"
"Isabella," her voice cut across my own immediately, as if she could already sense my response. And I could hear it, there - the anger. That sickly sweet tone that she'd attempted to force - that falsified use of pet names to try and gain my favour. She was as angry, as broken, as evil as she had been when I'd left her behind. My whole body was shaking - my mouth was scarily dry - my body didn't even feel like mine. I felt sick, I felt dizzy - everything was intensifying. "Isabella, listen to me. I'm all on my own now. You - you and your sister abandoned me. After everything I did for you, and I can't run this house on the money your father left-"
"Mum," I cut her off, almost shocked by the firmness of my own voice. She fell silent, waiting for me to continue. For a moment, I felt just how I had when Grace told me she'd reached out. Sick, and weak, and powerless - like the child she'd relentlessly bullied for so many years. I had nothing, I had nobody. But then, I realised - I could hear her breathing at the end of the line; short, gasps, barely scratching the surface - she was older, now - weaker. She'd winded herself just by growing enraged at me. She couldn't get me anymore - she didn't have it in her. She couldn't throw that stupid gossip magazine at me; she couldn't kick me repeatedly whilst I lay on the floor; she couldn't hurl insults until her voice grew hoarse. She had nothing - she had nobody.
I cleared my throat, in a desperate attempt to keep my tone even. I swallowed thickly, trying to steady my own breathing. She has nothing.
"I want you to delete this number," I said, slowly, unable to really believe that the words were mine as they left my mouth. "I can't help you. I'm sorry."
"Isabella," her voice came back without hesitation, her teeth gritted. I could see her expression in my head, and it didn't fail to send a chill along the length of my spine. I knew, deep down, I'd always fear her. "I'm going to give you one more chance."
"I'm not taking it," I said, firmly. "I hope you figure things out."
"Isabella-"
The line went dead, as I cut it off. I breathed out a deep, shaky exhale that I hadn't even realised I'd been holding, bringing my hand over my mouth in a silent gasp as I set the phone down beside me. I stared into the open space ahead of me for a moment, before I felt it. My body felt like it was about to give up on me - I couldn't breathe. I felt a sob beginning to arise in my throat, like I was on the verge of screaming.
Of course, she wasn't going to apologise - even in trying to be sycophantic, she hadn't been able to do it. She hadn't even been able to converse with me - even artificially - to try and sweeten me up in anticipation of asking me for money. She couldn't even bring herself to pretend she cared.
She'd lasted a minute, at most, before she'd gotten into what she really wanted from me. There was no making things right; no fixing it; no healing. She couldn't have cared less. She needed something from me - I could've even thought, for a moment there, that I had the upper hand. She needed something from me, and she couldn't just take it anymore. For the first time in my life, I'd told her no, and stood my ground. But somehow, I didn't feel like much of a winner.
I'd wanted her to value me so, so badly. Love had been out of the question practically from the age I'd been able to think for myself - but I wanted to mean something to her, I wanted to matter. And I'd been stupid to think that was even an option.
I wasn't sure when the last time I'd cried was. I wasn't sure I even knew how to do it anymore. There had come a point where I'd realised it did nothing for me. As a child, I'd sobbed - I would bawl, I would shake, and it was debilitating. There'd come a point, eventually, where I'd just grown sort of numb to crying. I didn't even cry in private, in fear that if I ever started again, I wouldn't be able to stop. If I finally let myself go; if I finally gave in, I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull myself back from it; I feared I'd never relocate my composure. But here I was, on the verge of doing exactly what I'd feared.
I cleared my throat, fiercely shaking my head. Don't. I bit my lip so hard I could've drawn blood, practically at war with myself to stop any tears from falling. I needed to go downstairs - I needed to leave for the next show soon.
I stood up, grabbing my bags and pulling them to the door. I took one final glance at my bathroom to make sure my bewilderment hadn't caused me to leave anything behind, and I stopped. I eyed the bouquet of tulips in the sink, where I'd refilled the water and propped them back up after I'd brushed my teeth this morning. I sighed, not wanting to leave them behind, but knowing it wasn't feasible to bring them with me.
The moment I'd pulled the door to my room shut behind me, a familiar arm suddenly snaked around my waist, causing me to flinch much harder than I ever would've intended. Harry. I was desperate to appear calm, but I was undeniably reeling from the phone call I'd just had. I was met with a pair of puzzled green eyes, as Harry retracted his touch from me, his smile turning to a frown as he caught how unsteady my breathing was. "Hey, are you okay?"
I blinked, "Yes, sorry. You just scared me," I said, forcing a smile onto my lips. I'd have been lying to say I didn't feel immediately at ease in Harry's presence, but it didn't stop the racing of my mind from what had just happened. Harry's eyebrows remained furrowed for a second, and I brought my palm upwards to rest it upon his cheek. He'd showered and changed, and his own bags were waiting, behind him. I changed the subject, quickly, "How was the gym? Was Pauli okay?"
"Yeah, yeah - he wasn't really bothered," he told me, his hands moving to rest upon my hips. His hands drew slow circles over me, and I could feel my anxiety starting to settle itself, again. He pursed his lips. "Iz, you feel all tense," he said, a soft frown tugging on his features.
"You just scared me, Harry, honestly," I said, forcing a soft laugh, desperate for him to believe me. I hated lying to him - I hated it so, so much, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything different. I needed to process this, myself. I needed to deal with this on my own, just as I always had. I was aching to change the subject not only for the sake of avoiding the current topic, but also because I'd much rather have heard about him, anyway. "Did you get a chance to go and write?"
Harry hesitated, and then nodded, "Only for a little while."
"Good?"
"So good," Harry returned, appearing to forget what he'd been asking about a second ago, as he seemed to recall his writing session, a smile beginning to tug on his lips. "I'm feeling really good about it," he paused, as my hand shifted slightly to rest upon his jaw. His own hand rose to tuck some hair behind my shoulder that I hadn't quite realised had fallen in front of my face. "Are you hungry? Do you want to go and get something to eat?"
"Um," I paused, not knowing quite how to navigate this. I was sure if I took a bite of anything, I'd be sick. We had to leave for our flight soon, but I was assuming he wanted to grab something from the hotel, downstairs. "I'm not hugely hungry, but I'll definitely come with you."
"Did you already eat?" he frowned, his hand lingering where it had tucked my hair behind my ear, sending a shiver along my spine.
"I grabbed something earlier," I said, knowing it didn't sound at all believable. His lips moved to form a gentle pout, as if contemplating what I said.
"Well, maybe you'll fancy something when we're there," he said, tilting his head toward the elevator. "I'm starving, and I've got media all afternoon."
"Zoom calls?" I asked, mimicking the pout he'd given me a moment before, with a gentle sigh.
"One's in person basically as soon as we land," he said, taking my suitcase from where I'd set it down. I went to take it back, only for him to tug it away before I could make a real attempt at doing so. "The rest are online, after soundcheck."
"Stella loves keeping you busy," I remarked, as we approached the elevator. He looked at me, sending me a playful look as he pulled our bags in behind us.
"I had to leave the flowers behind," I said, sending him a sad look. He met my eye, amused.
"They survived in the sink?"
"I'll have you know, they were thriving in the sink," I returned, causing him to laugh.
I could feel his eyes on me as the elevator began to move, and it felt like he hadn't really bought a word I'd told him. But he wasn't hinting at it, as he drew closer and let his forehead drop to meet mine for a second. It was like he was asking permission to kiss me; something that caused a warm flutter in my chest - every gesture he made was so delicate - never pushy, or rash. I tilted my chin upwards, letting our lips connect - I'd intended to do so only for a second, but once I felt the warmth of his lips on mine, for a second, I almost forgot everything that was bothering me. The unsettling turn of my stomach from my previous encounter was instead replaced with the butterflies provided by Harry, and for a moment, it really felt like I could forget it all.
His hand pinched lightly at my hip as he took a step away from me, and I found myself aching to pull him back. He seemed to be gathering the bags, as the elevator drew closer to our floor. "Iz?" he said, then, not looking at me just yet.
"Mm?"
"Did you ever get ahold of your mum?"
I paused, feeling my heart plummet to the pit of my stomach. I watched him, as he watched me, a curious look on his features. Of course, he always saw right through me.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't tell him - because if I told him this, I'd have to tell him everything. I shouldn't have said even as little as I had the night before - in admitting to him that I had a problematic relationship with my mother, I'd showed him an open wound. I wasn't in a position to be sharing details, when I couldn't even wrap my head around my situation myself. I shouldn't have said anything - but I wanted to be honest with him, more than anything. I wanted to try and give him the same honesty and trust that he gave me - but when things got hard, I wasn't sure I could do that. I didn't want to tell him what had happened. I didn't want to share how defeated I felt; how heartbroken I couldn't deny being. Sharing it all, just wasn't something that I could do.
But when he looked at me like that, I couldn't help but wonder if it would really be so bad; to just tell him everything, and let him hear it - to let him be there. To confide in him, and just take the risk. But I couldn't give in - that was dangerously vulnerable; that was too, too much.
"No," I lied, with a gentle shrug, "she never got in touch. I guess she changed her mind."
I'd never felt so guilty for lying to somebody in my life - I'd never felt so awful, but in my head, there simply wasn't a plausible alternative. I hoped he'd leave it like that. Please, let that be it.
I wondered if he really believed me, but he gave me a small nod, as if he did, and he didn't push me any further.
-
OH my gosh hi
There are so many more of you than there were when I last wrote one of these, ahhh!!!????!
But yes, this is my THIRD post in three days bc I literally cannot help myself. I love this book so much and lI ove all of you who wait so patiently for these updates that I just could NOT wait to give you another chapter
You guys are truly the best, I cannot even put it into words. I am so lucky to have such amazing people reading my stories :') The comments you leave and the messages you send me, genuinely - nothing warms my heart quite like it and I just want to say how much I appreciate all of you. I'm so so grateful I can't even stress it enough
Thank you for always being so supportive. I love you guys an insane amount thank u thank u thank u
I need to stop writing before my head explodes from the 20,000 words I've written in the past 3 days. But I'll be back soon!
I love you <3