Elaina Basset
Hi Mom,
It's nearly been a quarter of a year since I last saw your face. I woke up today after dreaming of you.
We were at the kitchen table, I was admiring you while you drew your pictures with that worn down 2B pencil you refused to throw out. I can't recall exactly what you were sketching out on that coffee stained sketch pad, but does it really matter?
All that matters is that I miss you guys endlessly, and I hope you're all together and at peace. I see you all when I fall asleep...we're together again...and when I wake up, it pains me to know that I won't get to be surrounded by your nurturing love for a really long time.
I've been thinking a lot about mothers and daughters. There's such a beauty in those intense relationships. Women raising women. I wish I told you more often about how much you inspired me. And I realize as I grow day by day, that you admired me too. I was your creation. You molded me, but you didn't smother me. You created life, and you stood by and watched it blossom, gently providing your guidance as a mere suggestion. You wanted me to be who I was going to be.
One day, I will make you so proud. I swear, mom.
I told you about Harry in my last letter.
I described him to you. I told you how he gives me butterflies. I even told you about what we're involved in, and how I feel protected when he's with me.
I want you to know, mom, that if you're ever worried about me...Harry will be there with his arms around me, keeping me safe from the scary things of this world just like you and dad once did.
Healing from the trauma of the night I lost all of you was something I never thought I'd even begin to accomplish...and it's still so hard. But, Harry did something a few mornings ago that gave me a glimmer of hope, he made me think that maybe I can grow.
He asked me to shower with him. I said no at first, because I shower with colder water and he doesn't.
But, he told me that he wants me to try...and if I can't do it, at least I could say that I attempted it. He took my hand, and he brought me in. We started with cold water, which he tried to hide his discomfort for, then he slowly raised the temperature to lukewarm, slowly making it warmer while asking me if I'm alright with every turn of the knob.
I didn't make it much further than room temperature water beading on my skin before I started to get anxious, but he told me how proud he was of me for it.
He called me brave. He held me close. He dried me off. He dressed me.
If there was ever a time since the fire that I enjoyed feeling warm, it's because I'm hugging him. I've only admired the colour orange recently because of how he looks in the sunset.
He walks into a room and I ignite into a labyrinth of colour. He holds my hand and I want to grip onto him until my knuckles are white. He looks at me and I'm blissfully lost in a forest of evergreen. He kisses me and my skies become blue even if they're grey. If you could define colour as an individual, it would be Harry Styles.
Mom, I wish you could've met him.
I've never felt this way about anyone—
Harry walks back in to my bedroom from my ensuite bathroom, freshly showered. I set my pen down and close up my notebook, opening my nightstand drawer and placing it inside.
"Writing again?" Harry smiles as he begins to get dressed.
I lay with my head on the pillows, smiling back as I admire him. "Just rambling."
"Mm." he hums, opening the neck of a white t shirt so he can put his head through and then let it fall down his torso.
It's been a few days since the Leo and Marco incident. I spent the first day afterward being horrified at myself for what I did, even if I'm not sure if the two of them are dead or alive.
It's kind of assumed by everyone involved that they're dead. We had to let Vincent know what happened, luckily he wasn't mad. We were warned about the dangers of doing such things in public, but we were praised for protecting each other.
Harry climbs onto the bed with me, putting his head in my lap and hugging his arms around my thighs. His eyes shut as he inhales and exhales through his nose, long eyelashes fluttering with the small involuntary twitches of his eyelids. I start to run my fingers through his damp hair. I'm beginning to get used to the shortness of it—not having thick curls to comb through.
I can feel his thumb rubbing gently back and forth along my upper thigh, in a tiny gesture of returning a tender touch.
I swear, I could sit here for hours and touch every inch of his skin with careful and extensive study. The tan on his arms and face from the summer sun. The way his back curves.
"You smell good." I acknowledge.
He chuckles. "Thanks baby. You too."
I grin to myself as I watch him breathe, eyes shut.
"I'm gonna miss your smell when you're away." I say quietly. "And these cuddles."
He inhales, then nods against my lap. "Me too." he says. "But I'll be back."
He leaves in two days. We've been spending these past few days being together as much as we can, appreciating quiet moments like these.
He's been off though. And as much as he tries not to show it, I can see it. He's been waking up early and getting out of bed, leaving for a bit to go smoke and then he'll come back. Or at night, he won't be able to fall asleep, tossing and turning or holding on to me in restlessness. I've asked him what's wrong, but he won't give me anything.
I think he's stressed.
And who can blame him? He's got a lot going on right now. I'm hoping that he'll pull himself back up, but if he can't, I need him to open up to me so I can help him.
"Baby," I mumble, looking at his quiet resting face in my lap.
"Yeah?" he responds groggily.
I take in air through my nose and blow it through my lips. "Do you remember that night when we got back to Angela's?" I start, "You said you had to tell me something but I didn't let you..."
I've been thinking about that since it happened. What if he was ready to completely open himself to me and how he's feeling, and what's got him down, and I completely shut him out?
He blinks his eyes open, his brows creasing. He then lifts his head so we can see eye to eye. His lips part open while he examines my expression.
"I'm sorry for not letting you talk to me. I should have—"
"Don't apologize." he immediately rejects.
I go quiet and he sighs, looking down as he traces the intricate knitting on my duvet.
"I..." he hesitates, "I have a lot on my mind. A lot of shit that I feel really guilty about."
"Why would you feel guilty?" I ask.
I can see he's fighting himself. He doesn't know how to say whatever he's about to say. His jaw is clenched, his eyes, even averted down, are sad and complicated.
He looks to my eyes. "When we first met," he pauses and swallows like he's genuinely nervous. "when we first met, I thought you were different. I...thought you were bad."
I furrow my brows. "Bad?"
"There's things I've done, things I thought had to be done...because I thought you were an enemy."
I can feel my stomach twist itself into knots suddenly. I look at him, and I see the worry in his eyes as he waits for me to say something.
I've had this gut feeling that he's been hiding something from me for a while now, but I never would have thought it would have anything to do with him believing I'm one of these bad people out to get him.
"W-why would you think that...?" my voice becomes shrill and quiet, my throat feeling tight.
I thought he was bad too before, but I had good reason.
He shakes his head, like he's in deep remorse. "I'm sorry."
"Harry." I say, "What did you do..."
"I-I can't explain everything to you now...not like this." he tells me, reading my face. He then reaches for my hand and grabs it. "But, I swear, it's different now. I don't think of you that way anymore. You're so important to me."
"Will this...whatever you've done...will it come back around to hurt me?" I ask, feeling his hand grip mine like he's terrified to let it go.
He shakes his head. "No. No, I'm taking every measure I can to make sure it won't."
My mouth closes and I look down at our hands. I can feel my chin start to tremble. I don't know what to call this feeling. I almost feel...betrayed.
I knew Harry had secrets, I knew that.
I never knew they had anything to do with me.
"Baby, hey." he takes his other hand and tilts my chin up so I have to look at him again. "I'm telling you this because I want you to trust me."
"You can't even tell me the full story, Harry..." I retort, but not angrily. I feel more sad than anything.
He wants me to trust him, yet he's being so vague. I have no context to go off of.
Why would he ever think of me as an enemy?
"I'm going to protect you. Always. Okay? I know you now, and I feel so deeply connected to you...that's more powerful than anything I thought you were before." he says, rubbing his thumb along my knuckles, squeezing my hands.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
My mouth falls into a frown that I can't stop. In my heart, I fully believe him. I believe him when he says he'll protect
me. I believe him when he says he feels connected to me. I believe that we share these unbelievable feelings for eachother. But for some reason, it hurts so much that he hated me so intensely at one point, to an extent that he feels insane guilt over what could have happened.
"Do you need me to go? Give you space?" he questions and I immediately squeeze his hand back like it was a reflex, so he stays.
I needed him to stay, but I wanted to cry.
"I think I was so enthralled by us being so happy together, that I forgot about how flawed we were in the beginning." I whisper.
"If I could go back and do it over, I would." he says with regret.
I can't look into his eyes right now and see any maliciousness. It's only what he said it was—guilt, and worry, and maybe even some sadness.
I'm upset over this, and I'm gonna let myself be upset...but I care about him. I care about our relationship.
"You can't reverse it though," I tell him, "that's just the fact of it."
As I say this, he nods with shame and averts his eyes down.
"But, I can tell that you feel bad. You feel remorse for this and that's huge to me." I say, he doesn't look back up. "I feel sad that you had this image of me...but you didn't know me. You couldn't have known better and I understand that...I'm not saying I'm fully over it and that I don't feel anything about it, but all you and I can do now is focus on moving past it...if that's what you want."
He finally makes eye contact with me again. "That's all I want...to move on with you."
I nod, giving his hand another squeeze. "Okay. Then we move on."
His head shakes a bit as he looks at me with these glistening green eyes that hold so much behind them. "Never change who you are, okay?"
I changed myself so much for Isaac. I became the prom queen. I became the perfect girlfriend who loved to be his arm candy and go out with him simply to add to his aesthetic visual.
I can be who I am around Harry. I know he's fallen for me because of who I actually am and I'm well aware of how rare that is.
I don't want to lose him, ever. And that's a very intense feeling that I'm still navigating...I think it's the same for him.
"I won't if you won't." I respond.
All the same, I like Harry for who he is behind the heist master persona. He's sensitive, he feels things intensely just like me. He appreciates small things about other people, like my painting and his mothers readings. He grasps onto those things and he feels them just like the other person would.
That's the boy that won me over.
The conversation ends there. We don't hug or kiss or anything, because Harry thankfully knows my boundaries.
Instead, since Zayn's away at the bar, we left my room and went to the couch downstairs to watch a movie. I fell asleep for a bit and he just put a pillow under my head and sat in the chair adjacent to the couch.
I woke up when I heard Harry talking. I lifted my head off the pillow to see him, he was in the kitchen, on the phone.
He spotted me from there, looking at him. That's when he told the other person that he had to go and walked back into the living room.
Kneeling in front of the couch to come down to my level, he doesn't wait for me to ask what he was talking about.
"That was Ang." he says. "She wants to have dinner with me and you at her place."
I sit up a bit. "Oh? Did she say why?"
"No not really. But I told her I'd see what you wanted to do."
"I mean I'm down." I rub my eyes out of sleepiness. "If you are."
The corners of his mouth lift slightly. "Okay. We'll leave in 10."
I nod and sit up fully, stretching my arms and yawning.
I think this will be nice, spending time with my best friend and my boyfriend. Maybe it's what I need to end this day.
My heart feels a bit achy when I think about what Harry confessed earlier, and that what he told me wasn't even the whole story, but I'm trying to remind myself of who I know he is—his intentions, now at least, are good.
On our way to Angela's, Harry drove while I gazed out the window. Music played at a decent volume with the AC blasting. He held my thigh at one point but that was it...we didn't really talk a whole bunch.
As we pulled into the driveway and parked the car, that's when we spoke. Because Harry didn't get out right away.
He looks ahead at the garage door, hands on the wheel as the skin of the inside of his cheek was between his molars.
"What is it?" I ask as I look at him.
"I don't know...I—" he shakes his head. "I just have a weird feeling."
My brows knit together and I look ahead at the house. I didn't see anything off that we should necessarily be worried about.
But I also can't imagine Harry having an instinctual feeling about just nothing.
"Like what?"
He snaps himself out of it, running a hand through his hair and undoing his seatbelt. "I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just cause Angela and I haven't hung out like this like...ever." he disregards. "Let's go in."
Walking up to the front door, I can tell that he hasn't shaken this feeling. He suspects that something isn't right, which causes him to keep me behind him.
Instead of knocking on the door or ringing the doorbell, he pulls out his phone.
"What are you doing?" I question.
"Texting Angela. If there's something going on, I don't wanna knock."
That does make sense.
Moments after he sends the text, the door opens and I hold my breath. Angela stands where the door once was. I firstly notice what she's wearing.
She isn't wearing her regular leather pants and ripped up crop tops, but instead she's wearing jeans, a white shirt and a cardigan. Her jet black hair is tied into a low bun with two strands of hair framing her face. I try to hide my reaction...it's not her style at all.
"Hi." she forces a smile.
"Why are you dressed like an American Girl doll?" Harry immediately questions, clearly noticing her attire as well.
Angela smooths out her shirt, "I'm...behind on laundry."
Harry scoffs. "Okay..." he says as he begins to step inside.
Something's definitely off.
Before Harry can step any further, Angela steps in front of him with her hands out to stop him. "Wait! Uh, before you come in..." she licks her lips in hesitation. "I just...I want tonight to be chill. No drama or anything, okay?"
Harry and I both hold confusion on our faces now. Harry just shakes his head. "What are you talking about, weirdo?" he says, putting on the front of the annoyed big brother but I knew that behind that, he was concerned about something being wrong. "Let us come in."
"Okay." Angela exhales, jaw clenching as she steps aside.
Harry walks in through the door, and I follow, smiling at Angela on my way. Angela walks behind us as we head to her kitchen. Her off white walls are dimly lit up by her warm toned ceiling lights.
I smell the satisfying scent of cheese and dough as we enter her very modern kitchen. In the dining room, on the table, there's a stack of fine china plates and silverware. A large round pizza topped with spinach and mozzarella sits in the center of the table. There's a pasta dish as well, and wine and glasses. I initially thought that it was some take on a very Italian dinner, until Harry looked at the pizza, then at Angela.
"Did you make..."
"It's the spinach and mozza pizza we used to have when we were teenagers. Yeah." Angela replies, pouring some expensive brand of Italian white wine into a glass.
Harry chuckles a bit, his lips curling. "You made that yourself?"
"Mhm." Angela nods.
"We used to have the frozen version from the grocery store when we were kids." Harry acknowledges, bringing up the past.
Angela just shrugs passively. "Yeah, well...just wanted to try it out. Nostalgia and all that, you know." she remarks.
Harry furrows his brows but his slight smirk remains as he looks back down at the food. I smile to myself silently as I watch him.
This is a positive memory of his past with Angela. Probably one of the few.
Angela pulls out a chair across from Harry and I, and we all sit down.
I grab two plates from the stack, passing one to Harry. Angela takes one as well. I notice that there's one more plate at the bottom of the stack, but I think nothing of it, she probably just brought them out and didn't really count them.
As we all dish up some food, Angela cracks her knuckles and sniffs. She seems kinda nervous, which is incredibly unusual for her. She's uneasy.
"So, uhm." she clears her throat. "How are things with you guys?"
Harry and I glance at each other. From the look on his face, I can tell that he's trying to see if I can also sense the weird energy exerting from her.
"Fine?" Harry answers. "Things are fine."
"I meant like...relationship wise." she clarifies.
We look at each other again. I don't think it's worth bringing up what happened earlier, because besides that, I've never been happier with someone.
"It's going really well." I say, smiling at Harry which causes him to smile back.
Angela nods as she chews through a bite of pizza. "Cool...that's good. I'm really glad." she smiles.
"How about you and Niall?" I question. "What's going on there?"
Harry groans under his breath as he shovels a bite of pasta into his mouth.
Angela rolls her eyes subtly at Harry. "You know, it's just hooking up with each other here and there. That's really all it is."
"Ew." Harry mumbles through his mouthful.
"You don't feel anything towards him though?" I ask, just trying to catch up on her and her love life, or...I guess, sex life.
She shakes her head. "This isn't about me and Niall." she looks down at her pasta, twirling it around her fork. "I just...wanted to see you guys."
"Okay." I nod. "We wanted to see you too." I say, trailing off at the end because I can still sense that something isn't being said here.
"Okay." Angela forces another grin and goes back to looking at her food instead of eating it.
Harry looks at her. His eyes are narrowed in on her like he just can't figure out what's going on with her, which for him, is probably driving him crazy—the sense of no control and the unknown.
"Okay." Harry drops his fork, making Angela look up. "What's going on with you? Why are you acting like a fuckin' alien?"
"I—"
Her head, along with mine and Harrys, turn to the sound of someone coming through the threshold between the living room and the kitchen. My heart drops.
Turning into the other end of the dining room...the new presence calls for an eerie silence to fall over the villa. Harry's face gives me chills as my eyes can't help but to shift right to him. It's like he's seen a ghost, but he hasn't.
He's just seen his father walk into Angela's dining room.
The sound of Harry's fork dropping against his plate echoes over the silence. My heart pounds as Thomas looks at Harry.
Thomas begins to say something, but Harry doesn't allow it.
"El, we're leaving." he tells me, beginning to push his chair out.
I was ready to get up and go with him, but Angela reaches out in attempt to stop us. "Wait! Just wait a second!"
Harry stands from his chair, palms flat on the table top as he seethes at Angela.
"You're unbelievable. What the fuck is wrong with you." he utters in anger.
I'm on his side here.
"Harry, don't get upset with her—" Thomas speaks but Harry pretends he isn't even there.
"Is this what this whole dinner was about? So you could lure me in to the same room as him?" Harry interrogates.
"What else was I supposed to do! You won't give your own father the time of day!" Angela shoots right back.
"If you gave a fuck about me, you would have respected that I don't want to give him the time of day—"
"Harry, let's just leave." I grab his hand from my sitting position, trying to stop this before it goes too far.
"El, no. He needs to stay and work this out."
"Fuck you." Harry retorts to Angela.
"Both of you, enough." Thomas steps in, Harry and Angela both going quiet.
Thomas walks up to the empty seat next to Angela and Harry just glares at him with distaste in his heart. I keep my hand on his, unable to anticipate what could happen next.
I know the anger that Harry feels when he looks at his father...but I also know the sadness. He broke down into my shoulder. He's shattered by this relationship.
I know that a part of him needs to stay here.
"I wanted us to sit and have a nice family dinner. This was my suggestion." Thomas speaks calmly, a tone I've recognized in Harry before. I cant tell if he's looking to de-escalate or to condescend.
Harry, looking at his father, just scoffs with a head shake, chuckling like he's in disbelief over how ridiculous the situation is. "What is this?" he says. "I mean, you never cared if we all ate dinner together when I was actually living with you. What the hell has changed?"
"We're all grown ups here. You both have matured and now I think it's time that we leave the past behind us..." Thomas says to Harry. Harry just looks at him with his hands on the table, his jaw clenches.
"Harry, please." Thomas' voice softens. "Let me be a dad for one night at least."
It's after his father says that when Harry's guard wants to come down, and he tries to fight it. His jaw goes soft and he blinks.
In seek of something comfortable, he looks down at me. All I do is look back up at him, then, he slowly sits himself down. He sits with his hands interlocked by his chin, looking down at the tablecloth.
Thomas follows, sitting as well.
I'm anxious. I cant tell if this is going to end smoothly or end in turbulence.
From the outside looking in, I suppose this would look like a family dinner. Thomas dishes up his plate, looking over at Angela with a clearing of his throat and a small fatherly smile. She smiles back, a daughter adoring her father.
Thomas takes a hearty bite of pizza, one of his two slices. "Gotta say, it's just like the one you two always used to have." he says through his chewing with a grin.
He then looks at me. My stomach turns.
"So, how long have you known these two?" he asks, sounding like he's making genuine conversation.
I open my mouth to speak, trying to sound natural. "I've known Ang for a few years." I gesture to her. "Harry, maybe just over a month?" I estimate roughly.
"She's been living with our mutual friend." Angela states. "She's new to Milan."
"Oh? Where are you from then?"
My breath hitches slightly. "Denver." I state shortly.
I feel the floor slightly vibrating beneath my feet. I can sense Harry's anxiety, and I can feel it too because his foot is tapping rapidly but silently beside me, his leg bouncing. He hasn't said a word since he sat down.
I wonder if he's panicking.
I let my hand drift to his bouncing thigh, resting it there to let him know I've got him. He's not sitting in front of his estranged father alone.
His leg stops.
Thomas' eyebrows raise. "Pretty far away then. So did you move here on your own? Or did your family come with you?"
Heat rises in my chest. The bad heat. I feel Harry turn his head to look at me, concern and anger in his eyes.
All I can suddenly think about is sitting at my kitchen table, hearing the breaking of the glass windows.
"Dad." Angela immediately steps in. He looks at her. "Don't—"
"I-it's okay." I shake my hand, trying to brush it off. "I—uh...I lost my parents and sister a few months ago, actually. That's, um, that was why I came here."
Thomas' face drops and he shakes his head as he sits back in his chair. "Wow, um." he stammers in what may be shock. "Jesus, I'm sorry, I-I shouldn't have assumed—"
"Maybe we should stop talking about it." Harry immediately speaks up and brings a halt to the topic.
I silently thank him in my thoughts. I could feel my heartbeat getting faster the longer the conversation went on. I bite my cheek and look down at my plate to fry and regather myself.
"Right." Thomas nods. "Im sorry."
There's awkward silence now.
Thomas, once again, clears his throat. "But, can I ask, why Milan?"
I look up at him, seeing his eye contact with me. He seems focused in on what my answer might be.
I clear my throat as well, hesitating. "I paint."
"Professionally?"
"That's the goal, I guess. There was an opportunity here, but it didn't really work out, so now I'm just...taking it day by day." I say vaguely.
"Ah." Thomas nods. "Well, one day, right?"
I force a small closed lip smile. "Yeah."
The conversation left me feeling off. I couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that made me feel uneasy. When Thomas was asking me things, I almost felt like I had to answer in a specific way.
Maybe it's because of what Harry had told me about him.
We ate dinner, Harry didn't speak much.
When we were done, I offered to clear the table for Angela and Harry helped me, not wanting to hang out alone with the two of them.
I felt horrible for him. He was so uncomfortable, and this is one of the only times where I've seen him be unable to mask his discomfort with toughness.
While I finish washing the last dish and Harry puts the dry ones away, Angela comes up next to me. I stop what I'm doing and look at her.
"Do you think we can step outside and share a drink for a second?" she asks. "I think dad is gonna try to talk to Harry."
I immediately try to reject, remembering how devastated Harry was the last time they had a one to one conversation. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Ang—"
"I know last time was bad, but that was his first time seeing our dad in years. He was still in shock."
I bite my cheek and look over at Harry. He's calmed down, but I think it was because we were away from the table.
I don't want Harry to have to cry into me again. It pained me to see him that way in ways I can't describe.
"We'll leave the window open...and if it starts to escalate we'll step in." she tries to convince me. I look back at her and she sighs out of desperation. "Please. If my father is gonna be here, I just want to see my brother have a decent relationship with him."
I realized that I've been paying so much mind to what Harry felt, that I kind of dismissed Angela's feelings. Deep down, she has been affected by their father too, and seeing Harry and her dad fight doesn't do anything to heal her.
I'm in a complicated position, but if there's a chance of Harry potentially healing his broken inner child by actually having an open heart to heart with his father, then I think it wouldn't be wise to let that go.
If my father were still here, I'd want nothing more than to have a deep conversation with him.
So, I go with Angela.
Harry Styles
Placing a final plate in the cupboard, I realize that I'm suddenly alone in the kitchen. My brows furrow as I look around for Elaina, who was just across the room a second ago and now is out of sight.
I close the cupboard and start to head out of the kitchen, ready to search this whole property for her.
I walk into the dining room, catching a glimpse of my father sitting at the table with some cheap import beer. I don't look directly at him, but instead I plan to walk right past him.
"Is that tattoo for your mother?"
His voice makes me stop in my tracks. My heart skips a solid beat that makes my chest pump to catch up for it. I furrow my brows as I look back at him.
"What?"
He looks at me from the table, gesturing up and down his own arm in the place that it would be on my arm. "The rose...I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice."
I grab my arm over the rose tattoo. I don't say anything, I just look at my hand over the inking.
He speaks again. "If it is, I think it's a beautiful thing to do in honour of her." he says.
I raise my eyes to look at him under my low brows. "You didn't even like her."
"True, but she was your mother and I can't change the relationship you two had or how she made you feel."
He has this softness to his voice that I never once heard before, and what scares me, is that it feels like it's drawing me to sit at that table with him.
I uncover the tattoo, looking at it once more, looking at the shading of the petals and the stem without thorns—because my mom never had any sharpness about her...just the flow and gentleness of the petals.
"I figured it was a way to have a piece of her with me." I murmur, tracing the lines.
"I bet she'd love it."
I can feel myself wanting to sink into his parenthood—something I never received from him as a kid. I snap
myself out of it the best I can.
"You never talked about mom. Why are you suddenly so interested?" I question.
He shrugs, holding his can of beer. "Because you loved her."
My brows pull together again, while my heart feels like it's been exposed from my chest.
I want so badly to be able to walk away from this, but I'm being pulled in the other direction. It's like little me is standing here just wanting to be seen.
"I'm trying really hard, Harry, to understand where your feelings toward me come from. I've done a lot of self reflection, and I would love it if you just sat down and talked to your old man."
I've been stubborn and prideful since he left my mother and I. It didn't come naturally until it did, and that was all I felt when I thought of him. But, I know these feelings are coming from a place of heartbreak and abandonment by a person who I would've done anything for.
The shitty reality of it all is, I can put up this front all I want, but I guess that all this time I was really just waiting for him to acknowledge me as his son.
My father, who I'd honestly never planned on seeing again, is here and he's asking me to sit with him...to talk to him.
I feel like I owe this to child me.
And all I can see, is 8 year old me, sitting down in the chair across from my father.
I'm sitting in the chair as 22 year old me, but I'm feeling like the kid who was finding out how a parent could betray their child for the first time.
"I know you're sitting in front of me and resenting everything I've ever done...and you have every right to do that." he tells me.
"I really don't need your permission to be mad at you." I state.
He nods.
I sigh.
"I just...never understood why you left." I tell him.
I wasn't expecting an explanation or anything...I just had to make it known that he never gave me a reason. He up and left.
"Your mother and I weren't good together..." he starts.
"She was destroyed when you left." I remark. "I remember hearing her cry from her bedroom."
"And did she ever explain anything to you?" he leans in. "She was allowed to be upset, but she wasn't an innocent in this whole thing."
I sit up in my chair, my back straight as I narrow my eyes. "What are you implying?" I shake my head.
He keeps the silence for a second.
"I'm sure she told you awful things about me." he says. "Or maybe she didn't. All I know, is that she never told you the things she did."
I swallow nervously. I feel like I'm about to hear things that I won't be able to handle.
"I need you to know, that your mother loved you...okay? You were what kept her alive for the longest time..."
I feel my chest start to struggle to keep up with my breathing, feeling pressure.
"What do you mean?" I speak almost silently, because I wasn't sure if I wanted the answer.
He looks down, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek before he sighs and looks back up.
"Your mom was troubled, Harry." he says. "She was very sick."
I blink, my head shaking again. "She didn't seem—"
"You were too young to remember the bad parts...and also, you being born offered her a saving grace. But it wasn't always like that, and then it got bad again, that's when I had to go—"
"You need to elaborate." I say in a frustrated tone. I couldn't listen to all of this being said about my mom when I didn't even have the details.
"She would often threaten her life if I told her I wanted to separate..." he explains with a saddened expression. "And often times, I believed her. She was severely depressed, she was on medications, and it was a lot for me...as selfish as that sounds. I became unhappy, I wanted out."
I sit there and listen, my body feeling like it's slowly being impaled by a pick.
"Then, we found out she was pregnant...with you." he lets a small lift of his mouth slip. "It should've been a happy moment, but she felt that she wouldn't be a good mother."
I get flashbacks to photographs of my mom with her pregnancy bump. She was smiling in the pictures.
He pauses again, exhaling. "She...she wanted to put you up for adoption...even after she held you for the first time."
I felt the oxygen ripped from me. I felt the pick stabbing at my body impale me with one final blow.
"She didn't..." I struggle to speak, "she didn't want me?"
I get another flashback, my mom tracing the skin on my infant face.
"We took you home from the hospital. As much as she thought she wanted to, she couldn't part from you...she wouldn't let anyone else hold you, either." he says, and I become confused. "I think she loved you from the moment she found out about you, she just didn't know how to feel it. Like I said, she was ill. But, I'd catch moments where she'd be rubbing her bump, or even after you were born, she'd just watch you as you slept."
I look down as I try to recount what he's told me.
"I think she saw a glimpse of hope in you...something to live for."
I feel my chin quiver. I was overcome by the idea of not being wanted by neither my father or my mom, and then I was overcome by the thoughts of being the only thing that my mom wanted to stay alive for.
"Things we're good for a while after you, but then, she got sick again. She'd have depressive episodes that would spiral into anger. She would tell me to leave and then threaten to take custody of you away if I did leave..." he says, I feel heat behind my eyes. "I couldn't do it anymore. I..." he sighs. "I wanted to start over...so I left."
Looking down at the tablecloth, once I blink, the tear falls. I immediately bring my hand up to wipe it.
I didn't expect to sit here and be told about how my
mom wasn't what I imagined her to be.
"I'm sorry, son."
"I wish...I wish I had known she was sick. I could've helped her, I could've fixed everything, I—"
"You couldn't have stopped anything, Harry. I know it's hard to hear, but you had no say in what happened, unfortunately."
I wipe my pathetically crying eyes once again. It's a struggle to keep it together in front of him.
I feel destroyed.
"I know that you've grown this outer layer of toughness since everything happened." he speaks.
My lips part as I breathe air in, my cheeks slightly wet. Taking a shaky breath in, I look at him with blurry vision.
"I...I built my whole life off of the pain I felt for mom, and the r-resentment I had for you."
"You can let it go now. I'm with you now."
I pull my lips to the side as I sniff and try to keep myself from full on sobbing. I cant believe I'm sitting in front of my father and he's trying to break down my walls.
"Harry, I know you're tired." he has sympathy in his tone. "I look at you and I don't see what you think I see...honestly, I still see you as a kid, my kid." he pauses and sighs. "You're just a kid..."
I've put up these barriers because of him. I lost my childhood when he packed up and left and I lost my innocence when I found my mother lifeless in our home. I often used to think about what would have happened if my father was still home. He could've protected her. He could've stopped it.
But that's just not the case, is it?
"I don't know what kind of trouble you've been getting yourself into, but don't think I don't see the bruises and the scars." he adds. "And believe me, I know it's because of me. I know what you're doing, you're releasing your anger." he tells me and i just stay quiet. He sighs again with a pause. "I just hope that this girl...Elaina...can maybe pull you out of it..."
Everytime he mentions Elaina, I want to flinch.
I always thought that I was doomed until Elaina and I started getting along. She gave me some sort of light. It's like, when life feels bad, I have her.
But that just adds on to my fears in a way. Her and I could be over at any second.
"I'm..." I struggle to speak. "I'm really afraid of losing her." I suddenly confess to my father as if he's got a notepad and I'm laying on a brown leather couch.
He leans forward, brows narrowed. "Why would you?"
I bite my lip and shake my head. "I haven't been a good person towards her. I've tried to be better and make up for it, but I'll always feel like she deserves more than me."
I cant stop letting it out. Like little me is finally getting an opportunity to talk to his dad...to have a real heart to heart. I want it to stop, but the child inside of me wants it to go on forever.
"Well, do you believe she thinks that?" he says. "That she deserves more than you?"
I wipe under my eyes and look down at my lap, twisting my rings. "N-no...and that scares me too."
With all the things I've done, if Elaina thinks that I'm the best thing for her, then I'm afraid it'll end up hurting her more.
I don't want to hurt her. Ever. Some things are out of my control.
"Do you love her?"
The question makes me lift my gaze, my lips parted and my breath robbed. The wetness in my eyes trickles down slowly. The first image in my mind when he said that to me was Elaina dancing on a table in that diner in Arizona. She was carefree for that moment. She was happy. Her teeth were shining, her cheeks were flushed. Her hair was flying.
My dad's lips lift at the corners subtly. He's reading me.
"She is a special one." he says. "I can tell."
"I don't know if she'd call it love." I answer.
"Ask her."
"Not yet."
"Well why not?" he shakes his head.
"I'm leaving for 5 days. I can't have that conversation with her and have it end badly and then leave." I vent. "I won't be able to sit with that."
He taps the tabletop with his fingers and leans back in the chair. "Well, why don't you let me talk to her while you're gone...see if I can get anything out of her?"
My brows furrow and I immediately feel off about him having a one on one with her. "No, I don't think that's a good idea."
This conversation may be going well, but it's not like my perspective of him has changed completely. I don't need him interrogating my girlfriend.
"Oh, c'mon. What do you think I'm gonna say?" he chuckles.
"Something stupid. You'll scare her away."
He smirks again with an exhale. "Okay, okay. Fine." he nods, then pauses and ponders for a moment before leaning in again. "But, at least let me make sure she's taken care of while you're gone."
Again, I'm confused. "Taken care of?" I start to feel a little protective. "How?"
"Money wise. I'll take her out to lunch? Check up on her? I don't know..."
"My friends will make sure she's okay. She lives with Zayn." I retort.
"Well, I'm sorry, I just want to get to know my son's girlfriend. It's another part of me reconciling for not being in your life like I should have." he tries to explain and I look down again with a hesitant sigh.
He speaks again, "I know that I'm probably not in her good graces either. I need to make up for the past at every angle that I can. I'm trying to be productive here but you're making it seem like I have bad intentions."
"That's..." I sigh, "that's not what I think, I just...I feel a really intense need to protect her at all times." I tell him. "And can you blame me? You came into my life again with no warning so of course I'm gonna question it."
"I understand, but what you need to understand is that I'm trying to get on your good side here. Being helpful to the people you...care for is just another part of that."
Something is holding me back from letting him interact with Elaina. I don't know what.
I don't think he'll harm her, but he doesn't know that there are people out there who want to. And let's say he takes her out for food one day that I'm gone, and the masked killer or Leo and Marco or even someone worse comes for her...he won't know until it happens, and he won't know what to do. He can't protect her like I can.
It would be selfish of me to keep her locked away in her bedroom the whole time I'm away, but fuck, at least I'd have some peace knowing she's there.
Before I can go to respond, the front door opens and Elaina walks in with Angela. I feel a sense of relief...some comfort in this moment.
When Elaina sees me, she probably saw my red eyes and water stained cheeks first, which caused her to look at my father.
"Everything okay?" she speaks with a slight defensiveness to her voice.
I clear my throat and push my chair out to stand. "Yeah. All good." I head over to her and put my hand on her back as I look at Angela and my father. "We're gonna head out, I think."
My father stands up, "Alright." he says. "Well, thanks for coming." he turns to Angela. "And thanks for not inheriting my cooking abilities." he chuckles.
I press my lips into a line, feeling awkwardness fall over the room.
"It was nice to officially meet you, Elaina." he reaches to shake her hand. She returns the gesture because she's polite.
"Thank you." she says as she drops his hand. "Bye, guys." she turns to leave and I follow her.
My head was telling me not to do this, but I found myself looking back at my father as we walked out. He gave me a nod and I turned back.
When we got into the car, I sat in the drivers seat and took a long inhale and exhale. I felt better being alone with Elaina. She looks at me from the passenger seat.
"Are you okay?" she asks me, not having any idea how the talk went.
"I don't really know..." I murmur. "It didn't go how I was expecting."
"Is...is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
I shrug. "Neither, I guess." I say, "Like I didn't leave the talk wanting to murder him but it's not like I wanna give him a hug."
"What did you guys talk about?"
I put the car into drive, wanting to get back to my place. One hand on the wheel, I run my other through my hair.
"We talked about my mom." I tell her, feeling her gaze. "He told me things I never knew..."
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to..." she says softly.
Honestly, she's one of the only people I want to talk about this with. Her and Niall, because he deserves to know as well.
"I guess she was really sick...like, mentally." I say, nearly choking on the words. "It fucked her and my father up. They...they couldn't stay together."
I feel her gentle hand come to my shoulder, rubbing it out of sympathy.
"I had this whole image of my mom." I say. "Maybe it was naive to think she was perfect, but in my eyes, she was."
"From what you've told me, she sounds like she was an incredible mother." Elaina says. I glance at her. "And, if what you're father said is true, then she clearly fought through her illness to put you first."
I sigh and shake my head. "I'd do anything to talk to her one more time..." I say as I look out the windshield.
"I know, baby." Elaina leans in and lays a kiss on my shoulder. I shut my eyes for a moment of bliss. "But I think all she wanted was to see you happy."
I've never had anyone who was so good about hearing what I have to say and validating me.
I grab her hand and hold it. "We talked about you too." I say.
She furrows her brows. "What was said?"
The pad of my thumb rubs her soft knuckles. I recall what my father said and the things he made me think of. I think he's brought me to a realization that I haven't delved into because I've been scared to do it.
But that'll be my little secret for now.
I turn my head just for a moment to softly smile at her, and she smiles back. I turn back and just kiss her hand.
"Doesn't matter." I tell her. "I'm just happy I have you."
She squeezes my hand and brings our interlocked fingers up to her cheek so she can rest on them. "Me too, Dreamboat."
My index finger has access to her cheekbone. I ran the side of my finger along the bone as we approach a red light. It's dark out now. There aren't many people out on the road.
I lean my head against the seat and I turn to look at her. The red stoplight casts over her, shadowing the contoured parts of her face. She looks at me as well, leaning into our hands.
Her other hand comes up to rub my arm. The look on her face has changed ever so subtly. It's not a soft look anymore.
I feel my stomach tense, my heart beats a little faster, all just by seeing the look on her face. I slowly let go of her hand, letting my own hand drop down her arm. My fingertips trace the skin, neither of us having to say anything.
I keep glancing at the light, praying it'll stay red forever. I can feel her chest rise as my fingers trace down her silky blouse.
She watches my movements, watching as travel down to her leg.
I want to take it slowly but I don't know if I'll be able to. I rub her thigh, with each back and forth getting closer to under her skirt.
Green casts over her face.
I look forward and press the gas, but my hand doesn't stop.
She swallows, slowly beginning to spread her legs open.
Fuck.
I want nothing more than to indulge in her right in this car, but I need the go ahead from her. For now, I let my hand lurk underneath her skirt and between her legs, feeling the fabric covering her. Feeling how wet it was.
"Harry..." she murmurs, breathing heavier.
"Mhm." I hum.
She bites her lip and lifts her vision to look at me as I drive.
"Park the car somewhere."
//
ma'am are you sure that's a good idea considering...ugh nevermind y'all are gonna do it anyway.
see you in the next chapter