The ten minutes between waking up and actually getting up had quickly become one of my favorite parts of the day. Burrowed in the sleepy warmth of my bed, still drowsy, I could almost pretend he was there. Could still feel the heat of him right up against me, the way he'd curled around me, his arm holding me close, his breath on my hair, the firm steadiness of his chest along the length of my back, the little cocoon of warmth our tangled bodies had created under the cover of the blankets.
But it was just my body heat trapped beneath them now (and every morning) and for all of my pretending, Harry was not here. And imagining him there beside me was all I could do.
It had been a week, but I kept his note exactly where he'd left it on my nightstand - hadn't even touched it to read it in the first place - as if leaving it where he'd placed it would remind me of the truth of it all. He'd been here, he'd slept with me, and I was his:
Mads,
Couldn't wake you. You looked so peaceful.
You also moaned "no" repeatedly when I tried.
Figured it best to leave you alone.
I had the BEST time with you.
Until next time, my girl. Miss you already.
Harry x
I had been so disappointed to wake up and find him gone - crushed, really. And my tears blurred the words on the page, hatred for myself welling up and spilling over. I felt horrible, couldn't believe I'd let him go without seeing him off, without kissing him once more, without feeling him hold me for the last time. It hurt more than it should've, and I let myself wallow in self-pity until later that night, when he'd called.
"Hello, beautiful."
"Why didn't you wake me?" I'd accused, feeling tears burn hot behind my eyes at the sound of his deep voice.
He sounded alarmed, "Did you not see my note? You didn't want me to -"
"Of course, I wanted you to!" I sniffled, and muttered pathetically, "I can't believe I didn't get to say goodbye."
"Mads, are you... are you crying?"
The note of alarm was still there, mixed with a heart-wrenching tenderness, which only made my crying worse, "No." I said, trying to stop myself, thoroughly embarrassed, but also incredibly upset - too upset to hide the fact properly.
"I didn't mean to make you feel this way, I - I thought I should just let you sleep, I... I'm so, so sorry." I sniffled again, trying to make myself stop, "Mads, please don't cry, I - I didn't mean it. I just thought-"
"I know," I groaned, "It's not your fault, Harry," I said, breathing deeply to try and regain my composure, "I'm just, mad at myself." I tried to laugh, "I had one job, you know?"
"So did I," Harry chuckled a little, and I was trying not to be embarrassed about crying over the phone to him, "Note to self," he said, and his voice changed for the next part - he was smiling, "Always say goodbye to Mads before leaving. Even if she's asleep. Always."
I giggled, too, the rest of my tears subsiding with the laughter, and said, with as much sarcasm as I could muster, "God, you're such a jerk."
"I can't believe you didn't wake up to say goodbye." Harry said, mock offense coloring his words.
I laughed again, "We suck at this."
"We're just getting started, Mads," Harry said softly, "We have plenty of time to get better."
I'd smiled then, happy to hear him say out loud what I was growing more and more sure of all along, "Yes, we do."
I could smile at his note now, appreciate the humor, and each morning I traced the imprint of the pen, as if touching the lines he'd created would somehow bring him closer to me. And today was no different.
"Maddie!" Em called, before a knock sounded on my door, "You awake?"
She poked her head in before I could respond, "Oh good, I thought I'd have to wake you. What time do you have work today?"
Biting back a remark about entering my room without waiting for me to respond, I stood and stretched, "Not until later tonight, why?"
"I'm heading out in a few minutes, just wanted to see if you'd be home later." She took the liberty of using my mirror to analyze her appearance (I'm sure) for the umpteenth time this morning.
"Not till at least 10," I said, stifling a yawn, and plopping down on my bed again, in no way eager to get going towards the boring day ahead of me.
"That's actually perfect because I'm cooking for Bryan tonight." She used her fingers to lift her curled hair at the skull, turning her head this way and that to get a look at it from every angle she could.
"Ooh," I said, watching her, trying to tamp down the slight tinge of jealousy that stabbed at my chest, "What's the occasion?"
She tried, but failed to contain her smile, "As of tomorrow, we'll have been together for three years."
"Jesus," I said, racking my brain to remember that far back, "Has it really been that long?"
"Crazy, right?" she turned to face me, leaning against my dresser and crossing her arms, "It doesn't feel like it."
I smiled, "Yeah, for me either."
"Right," she said, "Cause everything's about you, Maddie."
"It's nice to hear you've finally accepted it."
Emily shook her head, but also laughed, "What am I going to do with you?"
"You love me." I grinned, totally self-assured in spite of her sarcasm.
"Eh," she smiled, "I guess I should ask though how things are going between you and Harry." She sat beside me, "You still talking every day?"
"Yep." I said, the reminder of him filling me with a strange mix of elation and painful sadness. It was like, all I wanted to do was talk about him - bring him up in random conversation, mention the way his cheek dimpled when I made him smile, or the way his fingers laced themselves with mine every spare moment they could, or the way his eyes never left my face when I was talking, making it feel like every word was important to him.
But I held myself back, not just because I was sure I could get incredibly annoying rather quickly if I were to let the words flow, but because I didn't know if I would be able to stop the flow, dam it up, and I knew that the water would be tainted with the sadness in knowing he wasn't here, and wouldn't be in the near future. So why bother getting myself started?
"How are you holding up?" Em said then, after several moments.
I looked at her, wanting to sound confident, strong, like I wasn't affected, but my stammered reply did nothing to help me, "I - well," I let out a shaky breath, "I could be better."
Em's lips pressed together, her eyebrows tilted down in sympathy, "Maddie..."
"I'm fine. Really." I said, swallowing over the lump in my throat, "It's, um, it's just a little harder than I thought it would be."
"Of course it is." Em reached over, taking my hand in hers, and all I could think was that it wasn't Harry's hand, "But you'll get through it, Maddie. It's going to get a little easier each day, and then before you know it, you'll be seeing him again."
I wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that I could stop my thoughts from going straight to him at any given point during the day, but I already knew the truth. It had been a week, and the feelings hadn't subsided in the least - the sadness, the disenchantment with my life separate from him, the giddiness of talking to him, the constant ache of missing him even though I was talking to him, the way that ache stayed with me, only panging more insistently outside of our phone calls. All of it was the truth, my truth for the next who-knows-how-long. And Emily would never really understand. No one would. No one but me.
I tried not to sound angry with her about it, "Yeah," I said, keeping the uncalled for anger in check, "You're probably right."
She squeezed my hand, and I tried to glean the comfort she was trying to give me with her words, her touch, her wide blue eyes, "I'm here for you, Maddie. You know that."
I smiled, unwanted tears springing into my eyes, "I know," I said, blinking them away.
She didn't look convinced, "Do you want to hang out later? Just you and me? I can tell Bryan we can do dinner another night."
"No, no! Don't do that. I have work anyway." I gave her my best smile, but it felt like my cheeks were working against me, weighing the sides of it down.
"Yeah, but after work," Emily started, "I can stay here if you want, kick Bryan out. He won't mind."
"Emily, please, don't do that. Enjoy your night. I'll be fine." My smile was hurting my cheeks, "Promise."
She eyed me for several moments, and I looked right back at her, knowing I'd only feel more miserable if my misery was starting to have an effect on others.
"Okay." She finally said, sounding completely unconvinced, "Well, I better get going. Text if you need anything, alright?"
"Will do." I nodded as she stood, "Have a good day."
She smiled and thanked me before closing my door behind her, and I fell back on my bed, waiting for the sound of the front door clicking shut.
But I didn't get up when the lock clicked into place, and the apartment fell silent (well, as silent as any apartment can be - it sounded like someone was getting a workout in upstairs). Instead, I lay there, staring up at my ceiling fan, nowhere near ready to face the day ahead of me.
I didn't like who I had become in the past week - this mopey, unmotivated, sad version of myself - but I couldn't seem to help it. My days were filled with laying around until my shifts, thinking about him, and even the monotonous work of waiting tables only distracted me for so long before he made an appearance in my head again. A customer's eyes could set me off - that guy had almost the exact same shade of green - or a little girl wearing a One Direction t-shirt - I shit you not that actually happened - or just randomly, with no provocation, and I was blindsided by the mental image of him shirtless in my parents' pool, or the feel of his hands on my waist when he pressed me up against the wall in their living room, or the warmth of his lips and breath on my neck while I was ordering Chinese for dinner.
And the only place I had the time to really replay those moments was here, in my room, tucked into my bed, and I stayed here as long as I could, letting the memories of him wash over me before and after tackling my real life responsibilities.
Today, I had even more time to dwell on him, and I lay there for probably too long, imagining his hands on me, his smile when I said something stupid, the way his eyes gleamed after he kissed me - like a child who'd gotten away with something he shouldn't have.
Only when I couldn't take it anymore did I grab my phone from my nightstand, glancing at his note once more.
Good morning/afternoon/evening/night to you wherever you are today. (figured I'd cover all my bases). Missing you here. x
I didn't expect a reply right away, but that didn't mean there wasn't a level of disappointment that came with not receiving one.
With nothing else demanding my attention, and the thought of going outside into the bustling city almost unbearable, I pulled my laptop onto my bed, hoping it would contain distractions of the most mindless kind.
But there was a knot of nerves in my stomach as it powered up, as I typed in my password, as I pulled up the web browser. There was a reason I'd avoided going online since he'd left, a reason I was choosing to face now, in the quiet of my bedroom, with too much time to kill.
I wasn't actively searching for anything at first, just checking my emails and Twitter, but then I typed into the search bar: Harry Styles.
Pictures of him came up, obviously. And I smiled at one where he was just kind of looking into the camera, his arm over a young girl's shoulders, a barely there smile on his lips. I wondered why he did that - why he didn't just smile, show his teeth, his dimples. They were two of the most important parts of his smile if you asked me. But then I thought that maybe it was tiresome, always smiling wide for cameras, no matter how much he enjoyed seeing his fans.
It was hard to even scroll past that image of him, but I did, reading dozens upon dozens of tweets to him asking for follows, wishing him a great day, informing him of the fact that he saved a fan's life, imploring him to follow so and so, and I wondered how often he looked at these. He'd hardly had his phone out at all while he was here, and with so little downtime on the road, he couldn't have seen even a fraction of these messages.
And then, there it was, like a slap in the face - exactly what I'd succeeded in avoiding all week.
At least there haven't been any more pictures of @harry_styles with that girl.
I stared at the words, knowing full well what they meant, yet still wishing that I'd somehow read them wrong. But there they were, staring at me from the screen, the letters stringing together a sentiment I had absolutely no desire to even think about... until now.
Because now I had to know.
Harry styles and girl, I typed into the search bar.
Strange as it was to think about, in the moment, I would've been more comforted by images of Harry with Taylor Swift or some model popping up on my screen. Those images would mean that all was as it should be in the world. They would mean that I wasn't totally out of my element. They would mean that Harry Styles wasn't with me.
I analyzed myself on the screen, wondering, only for a moment, if this was what everyone saw when they looked at me. Zooming in on the picture, I was surprised by the height of the bun on top of my head, the dark strands wrapped around themselves in a tall, messy knot, and wondered if I always wore clothes that looked far too big on me - my t-shirt was hanging off a shoulder, looking like a sack draped over my midsection. And I wondered if my smile looked as bright, if my eyes looked as blue, if I looked as intent and happy when I wasn't sitting with, and staring at Harry.
For a moment, all I wanted was to remember what it was he'd said that made me smile that way - what in particular we had been talking about in the precise moment the photo was taken. That was before the unsettling knowledge of the fact that the photo had been taken at all sunk in, quickly followed up with a paranoia about what its landing on the internet would mean for me, for him - for us.
I shouldn't have scrolled down. Shouldn't have read each tweet.
Shouldn't have kept scrolling.
But I did.
Should've stopped myself.
But I didn't.
Shouldn't have let myself be affected by words - they were just words.
But I was.
Each comment, each thought, each passing judgment felt like it branded me, searing itself into my mind and heart. The positive comments almost meant nothing in comparison. And when I finally pulled myself away from the computer, only the negative words flashed, big and bold, before my eyes.
Ugly.
Bitch.
Slut.
They were there while I got dressed for work, there while I made myself more coffee, there while I grabbed my things and locked the door behind me.
I shouldn't have.
I wanted to call him, wanted to have him comfort me, tell me to ignore it. But more than that, I wanted to be able to handle this, not worry him or stress him out. Because this was something that came with being with him. And more than anything else, I knew, without a millisecond of a doubt, that I wanted to be with him.
"Maddie," Mick called over the counter, an hour into my shift, "You didn't pick up the drinks for table five yet?"
I stopped in my tracks, then followed his glance to the tray of untouched drinks waiting for me at the bar, "Oh, right, yeah." I balanced it on one hand, and didn't say anything to Mick by way of explanation before turning.
I shouldn't have.
"Maddie," Shantal called out to me while I was waiting for Julian to finish looking over an order for one of my larger tables, "The folks at table three say they've been waiting for you to bring them their check for almost twenty minutes."
I'd completely forgotten about it, and winced before turning to her.
"Yep, I was going to head over to them right after this," I said, taking the tray with several of the plates precariously placed on it, and walking through the swinging doors into the dining room.
I shouldn't have.
"You alright, kid?" Mick was drying a water glass, rubbing a towel back and forth over the rim while he eyed me with his beady brown eyes, a concerned expression on his face.
We were waiting around to divvy up tips, and I lifted my head from the bar, staring back at him, wishing I could unload everything that was on my mind, let him take some of the burden. Mick was like a father figure, and I laughed when he called me "kid" the first time, telling him it was exactly what my dad called me. He didn't smile, just said gruffly, "I call everyone 'kid.'"
He put the glass down and grabbed another one, using the same motions to dry it, looking between the glass and me, "You don't seem yourself tonight."
I didn't try to smile, "I'm just tired."
Mick nodded, "Long day?"
"Long week."
I shouldn't have.
The ten minute subway ride home was spent in deep contemplation about what I would say to him tonight. How I would broach the subject of the pictures. If I would broach the subject of the pictures.
He hadn't said anything to me about it all week. As far as I could tell, the One Direction fandom exploded as a result from those pictures on Sunday, the day they were taken. Wouldn't that have been enough time for him to catch wind of it? And if he did, why wouldn't he say anything to me about it?
It made more sense that he hadn't seen them, hadn't seen the way his fans were reacting. If he had, surely he would have said something to me. Told me to ignore it, to rest assured that nothing they said had any real effect on what we shared.
But how could he not have seen it?
I shouldn't have.
"Maddie, is that you?"
"No, it's Santa Claus," I called into the apartment, dropping my bag unceremoniously on the floor and kicking my sneakers off.
My sarcasm got a laugh out of Bryan, whose goofy chuckles were so loud they reverberated off the walls.
"Very funny, Madelyn," Emily said when I walked in, sounding far too much like my mother.
Catching sight of the candles, and the plates of dessert between them on the counter, the proper thing to have done would have been to excuse myself to my room, allow them their privacy to finish the rest of their romantic dinner.
Instead I asked, "Are you going to finish those?"
Emily looked down at the plate of brownies between her and Bryan, but before she could say anything he lifted the plate from the countertop, extending it to me, "Here, have some. Em made them and they're actually delicious."
Emily smiled, averting her gaze to her lap in an attempt at modesty.
I took one, and grinned from her to him, "Did she also mention that they're the boxed kind?"
"Maddie," Emily said through clenched teeth.
"Still awesome, babe." Bryan said, taking another one after setting the plate back down on the table and biting into it, "So good."
Emily winced a bit at the sight of him practically making love to his brownie, but I just laughed.
"So," she said, crossing her arms on the table and looking up at me, "how was work?"
I swallowed the rest of my brownie, and sighed, the stress of my day nowhere near gone, "Fine."
There was a pause as I walked into the kitchen, and checked out the rest of their meal on the stove - it looked like chicken of some kind, with broccoli and roasted potatoes. I reached into the cabinet for a plate.
"Hey, uh, how's Harry?" Bryan asked.
I stopped dead for a moment, the thought of Harry sending a sharp pang of fear through me, dulling only momentarily the constant throb of missing him. I didn't turn around, "He's fine."
I shouldn't have.
"That's good." Bryan said, his voice never losing its peppiness, "I meant to tell you, but haven't seen you since the barbecue... I really liked him. He seems like a real good guy."
I took a fork from the drawer, and nodded, still not turning around, "He is."
There was a beat of silence as I dug into the food.
"Aren't you going to heat that up?" Emily asked.
I chewed on the cold bit of chicken, "Nope."
They were quiet again as I popped a potato into my mouth, and the silence allowed me to think again, to see the words again.
Gold digger.
Whore.
Cunt.
"Here," Bryan stood up, and motioned to his chair, "You should at least sit while you eat."
"Oh," I swallowed, feeling guilty now, "no, that's okay. I don't want to impose on your dinner." Even though I kind of already had...
"Dinner's over, Maddie," Emily said, getting up from her seat, too, "You really should sit. It's better for digestion."
"Thanks, Mom," I smirked at her before walking over to Bryan's seat, and they cleared their plates, "This is really good by the way."
Emily smiled over her shoulder, "Thanks, glad you like it."
I shouldn't have.
"So, Maddie," Bryan leaned on the counter beside the sink, facing me, while Emily rinsed their plates, "Are you good if I steal Em from you for the night?"
Emily's shoulders stiffened only a bit before she continued scrubbing, and Bryan's eyes were too searching, too intent on my face. I should've known she would tell him about everything. Once more, I tried not to be angry about it.
"Absolutely. I've got stuff to do anyway." I said, stabbing a piece of broccoli.
Emily scoffed, "What stuff?"
I crammed the last piece of chicken in mouth and talked over it, "Besides, you two deserve a three-year celebration without me barging in," I swallowed and stood, carrying my plate to the sink, "Now get out of here, I'll finish this up."
Bryan hugged me from behind, always too excited, "Thanks Maddie!"
Emily came closer, and her voice was too soft when she asked, "Are you sure?"
I grabbed the hose from the side of the faucet and aimed it at her, "Don't make me do this."
She smiled, and so did I. It felt like the first real one all day.
When they left and all I was left with were the dishes and my thoughts, I made the decision to be better than this, braver than this.
I scrubbed away the grime from the plates and imagined myself scrubbing the words away from my mind. I shouldn't have looked at all those comments people made about me because they weren't any of my business. It didn't matter what people thought about me, it only mattered what I thought about me. And in this situation, what Harry thought, too.
He wanted to be with me. He chose to be with me. And a bunch of jealous girls that neither of us knew weren't going to change that. They weren't going to change me.
I felt marginally better by the time I'd finished cleaning, and took another brownie before checking my phone. Harry had never responded to my earlier text message, but sometimes he really couldn't, and I tried to avoid letting that become another worry on my already excessively long list.
But after calling and getting his voicemail, I couldn't help but tack it onto the bottom.
With yet another brownie in hand, I flopped down on the couch, prepared to watch TV to get my mind off of everything. But my heart rose into my throat, and I nearly choked on my brownie when my phone started blaring from the counter.
"Hello?" I said, breathless from falling over myself to get it.
"I miss you, too." He said, and he was smiling.
Which made me smile. And this - this was the first real one all day.
"So you did get my text."
He sighed, and I imagined him running his hand through his hair, "I'm sorry I couldn't answer. We were in interviews all day, then I took the longest nap known to mankind because I only got three hours of sleep last night, and then we had the show, and I've kind of just been feeling off my game today."
I sat at the counter, "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for keeping you up so late last night."
"Don't apologize for that, Mads. It's the only chance we get to talk."
I couldn't stop smiling now, "I know, but if you have an early morning, we can cut it short."
"Not an option," Harry said, still smiling, "Next topic of conversation, please."
I giggled, and traced the edge of the counter, "Okay... how were the interviews?"
"They went well, I think," he said.
"You think?"
"Yeah, well they were in Spanish for the most part, with translations for our benefit of course, but I'm not entirely sure what they were saying one hundred percent of the time." He paused, and breathed a laugh, "Could've absolutely shat on us for all I know."
"Oh, you know they didn't. The fans would completely rip them a new one if they did."
"Our good old fans." There was no semblance of sarcasm in his words, only a genuine amazement. "What would we do without them?"
The fans had also completely ripped me a new one today, but I didn't think I should mention that. I was going to be strong about this, I reminded myself, take it for what it was, and learn from it.
I shouldn't have.
Before I could think too much more about it, though, I said, "Speaking of the fans, have you checked, um... things out online recently?"
There was only a moment of quiet, "Why, is there another embarrassing, crotch-pounding that's surfaced?"
My eyes went wide, and I felt a quiver of excitement in my stomach as I asked, too hopefully, "No, should I expect one?"
"No, no," he said, too quickly, "I was just... checking."
"Right."
"What's going on, then?"
I'd wanted to handle this, and I would, I told myself, but I needed some comfort from him, and I tried to believe that that need wasn't weakness, "There were some pictures of us up from the other day. In the park."
And that was all I was going to say on the matter. Just informing him of the fact. See how he reacted...
Harry sighed, "Oh, that."
"You knew?" I said on a quick exhale, incredulous to think he would keep something like this from me.
"Uh... yeah." I could see him tugging at his lips with his fingers, "Yeah, I knew."
Those three words felt like betrayal.
There was a catch in my throat, so I took a breath and tried again, and my voice sounded much calmer than I felt, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I - was worried about how you might react." He waited, so did I, "I didn't want you to get scared, Mads, that's the only reason."
I didn't know what to say.
"People can get nasty in these situations - say mean things..."
No kidding.
"...I just, I don't want you to fixate on those things."
Too late.
"So I figured keeping it from you would just, spare you all the stress, I suppose."
I let out a long breath, "While I appreciate that Harry, I'd rather you just be upfront with me. It was... hard stumbling across it myself."
"Did you, see anything in particular that upset you?" he asked next, his voice sounding level - too level.
Yes.
"No," I felt my eyes go wide, "No, I didn't let myself go past the pictures."
He let out a breath, "That's probably for the best. I'm sorry for not saying anything. It was actually picked up by our manager, I didn't even see the photos, but I figure we did nothing incriminating," He was smiling again, "we can just get on with our lives like it never happened."
His confidence wasn't catching, but I tried to fake it, "So, we don't do anything?"
"Nope. No need. We don't owe anyone anything, remember?"
I knew he was right - he was using my words against me after all. But the reaction from his fans would take some time to leave the forefront of my mind, because in a way, I felt like I did owe them something now, proof of some kind. Proof that I wasn't any of those things they were calling me. Proof that I cared about Harry so much I could barely breathe just thinking about being near him, and I was already suffocating being without him. Proof that I deserved him, just as much as any of them did. That I loved him just as much - but maybe in a different way.
"I've done this before, Mads. Just trust me, okay?" I stayed quiet, imagining the deep green of his eyes as if he were standing right in front of me, unfurling my clenched fingers, "You... you do trust me, don't you?"
I did a few minutes ago. And I still did now. But there was something else ebbing in the swell of emotions - something that left me angry with myself for reading all of those comments, that left me angry with him for not telling me sooner, because if he had, I would've known not to look. It was something that felt like a pinprick of doubt, a black smudge of fear.
I, so much more than, trusted him. I loved him. And that's why all of this hurt so much.
I shouldn't have.
"Of course," I murmured. The love filled me for a moment, and I let myself float in the lightness of it. But there was that pricking feeling again, that darkness that I couldn't overlook, "Just, you have to be honest with me, Harry. If something is going on concerning us, I'd like to know about it from you. I'm - I'm new to all this, remember?"
"I do remember. And you have more to deal with being with me than you might have with anyone else, and I'm well aware of the fact. And I'm sorry for that, for today, all of it." Harry sighed, "We're still good though, right?" He paused, and chuckled a little, but I didn't miss the slight quake in the tone of his voice when he said, "You still like me, right?"
I, so much more than, like you, Harry.
"Eh, you're alright."
Harry laughed then, and so did I, shoving the feelings of doubt, and the grim look of fear to the very back of my mind while he asked me, already moving on, if I'd ever gone skinny-dipping. I laughed and responded with a resounding "no" and listened as he told me about the one time he did. And the realization that I loved this man struck me once more, the knowledge of it undeniable now.
I loved him.
And I found myself wondering, through it all, if I should have.
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