hi... if you're still here, I want to say thank you for sticking with me. this is the longest I've ever gone with out updating and I honestly don't even know what happened.
i found myself feeling really inadequate and like my writing didn't meet expectations or match other standards.
please bear with me, I'm still trying to get back into the siwng of it but ily and i am determined to finish arls and harry's story.
el <3
TW- talks of drug addiction and death via overdose!
★
Being a newlywed has been better than I thought it would be.
The past week and a half that has passed since Harry and I got married has been the best of my life. The two of us have done nothing besides explore little secluded Italian towns, eat yummy food, stargaze, swim in the warm lakes and have more sex than I thought was even possible.
But, seriously, I'm so sure that my vagina is having some sort of existential crisis because, for the past ten days, Harry and I have been going at it like horny teenagers in a sex club.
Laying, my head rests against Harry's chest, a prominent and uncomfortable ache between my legs. It hurts with every movement that I make during my sleep but weirdly not in a horrific way. It kind of feels nice, pleasurable in a way.
Just like the strange feeling of poking a bruise. It feels bizarrely good.
I'm half awake, rising earlier than Harry like normal. I hook my thigh up over his and wince at the painful movement that reverberates up my pelvis. Snuggling closer to him, I breathe in the smell of musky sweat from last night and the lingering traces of vanilla from his aftershave.
Sleeping peacefully beside me, his chest rises and falls so slowly that it barely moves. One hand of his is stretched out under the curve of my neck, laying flat across the mattress while the other is sprawled over his bare stomach. His fingers are closer to the inking of his butterfly tattoo.
The gold wedding band sits proudly on his finger, a little bit lifted from the base so I slowly lift my hand up and swirl the ring around his finger.
It suits him.
But then again I am biased.
This blissful little bubble that we have been living in where it's been just the two of us is going to have to pop at some point and while I have this awareness, I'm not ready for it to burst.
Today, we head back to work. But, at least our work is together.
We're attending the Venice film festival, so instead of Harry's Italian villa tucked away in the country we are holed up in some hotel in Venice.
The team will be here in a couple of hours to start getting us ready but for now, I am still well and truly in the bubble.
Sighing contentedly against his chest, I cuddle closer to him and look at the ring on my left hand that sort of matches his. The sentiment between the two pieces of jewellery means the same as I twist his ring around with a soft, sleep-soaked smile dancing on my lips.
"What're you doin'?" Harry's chest rumbles under my cheek as he speaks slowly.
He is groggy still, most likely more asleep than awake currently
"Waiting for your lazy ass to wake up," I chuckle, continuing to twist his gold ring around his finger.
"Aww," He teases, lifting his other hand propped under my head to wipe the sleep from my eyes. "Missed me?"
"I was bored," I declare bluntly. "I want entertaining,"
"What sort of entertaining?" He questions sleepily.
I always find his voice so appealing in the morning. It is always so thick and coarse while somehow managing to be gentle. There is this roughness to it that makes my stomach quake with each pronounced syllable.
"Don't make this dirty," I playfully bat his chest at the suggestive spark in his voice.
"But it's our honeymoon,"
I laugh, rolling into his chest more so that my nose squashes against his tanned skin. Harry's hand scrunches the back of my head gently, holding me close.
"I don't think my vagina can survive anymore,"
"Sore, Baby?"
I roll my eyes, blinking as I look up at him and rest the tip of my chin on his tattoo.
"Wanna test that theory?" He mutters lowly, tucking some of my hair back behind my ear.
"Stop looking at me like that," I tell him sternly.
I know that look. It is a darkness that comes with the lust lacing through his blood right now. His eyes glower a darker shade of forest green that pierce into me.
"Like what?" He replies, trying to act like I don't know his well calculated plan by now.
"Like you're hungry and I'm breakfast,"
"Do you wanna be my breakfast?" He questions, that darkness igniting more.
Shaking my head, I sit up a little, holding my body up by pressing my hands into his chest. "I haven't showered since last night,"
"Don't care,"
"Harry–" I squeal his name out as he smoothly and rather abruptly flips the two of us over so that I am lying in his previously warm spot with my head melting into his pillow.
He smirks at me, chuckling sinfully as his hands run up and down my bare thighs, kneading my flesh as he scoots my knees apart with his.
Hooking my leg up on his thigh, he holds himself above me and smirks. "Still sore?"
I nod, my body shuddering as he gently runs my hand down the curve of my thigh. His fingertips skid over my pebbled skin.
"What are you doing?"
"Isn't a husband's job?" He smirks, his feather light touch tickling my already overly sensitive skin. "To make their wives feel good?"
I shake my head.
"No," I tell him, holding the back of his head, specifically tangling my hand through the thick strands of hair that are a mess. "Your job is to love me,"
"I've been doing that for nearly a decade now, Trouble,"
He says it so easily. It's as if he doesn't even have to think about it anymore, it's just second nature for him to love me. It's the same as taking in a breath. Your body does it subconsciously, mechanically.
He loves me as if it is a basic function that sustains his life.
I hum, smiling lazily when I feel his hot breath gradually get lower and lower until it fans across my heat. I may be slightly sore and my body may have had enough orgasms to last me an entire lifetime but even so, my body physically reacts to his touch.
I can feel myself getting wetter and wetter as he hums to himself and presses shy kisses down my stomach.
He places his lips over my two tattoos, kissing them delicately as his fingers pinch my nipples, rolling them back and forth.
I moan lightly, my head falling back on the pillow as I swallow and try to compose myself.
It feels unnatural at first and the feeling of his hot breath hitting my core makes me shudder in anticipation.
Sharp shivers flurry up and down every nerve in my body, fuelled with a burning desire that ripples through me like tidal waves of electricity. Biting on my bottom lip, I curl my fingers into the sheets, fisting handfuls of the material for some kind of leverage because I know what is coming.
His tongue darts out and flattens against my clit, the warmth and wetness of it shocking my body. I gasp and immediately, my body stiffens up with pleasure as Harry skillfully moves his tongue in a manner that has me tensing.
"Uh- God!" I whimper, arching my back from the mattress.
Dragging one long line up the length of me. Warmth spreads through my lower half, my stomach jumps at the one singular touch.
The ripples of pleasure that run over me are only heightened when Harry continues to move his tongue against my clit in hungry movements. His calloused hands wind around the back of my thighs, holding me to his face with a sharp grip that seems to bite into my flesh.
His eyes remain open, staring up at me as he devours all of me.
For a couple of seconds, he works his tongue against my clit. Teasing it by running the warmth around in circles or suctioning his lips around my clit and sucking to a brain-scrambling extent that has my chest jumping with staggered breaths.
His slick tongue traces patterns on my clit. Ramped and calculated as he hums out against me while satisfied. His eyes are glued to mine, soaking up each squirming reaction or breathy moan that is occurring because of just how overstimulated my clit has been the last couple of days.
It's throbbing, pulsating in his mouth as he continues his attack.
My legs tighten around his head, my willpower to try and prolong the orgasm he was delivering me dwindling the more that I look down the length of my body and see that hungry look of power in his eyes.
My heart hammers against my rib cage from deep inside of my chest. I'm half convinced that it isn't healthy to have a heart beating this violently but the smallest of sensual touches delivered by Harry has my heart working double time.
"I can't hear you,"
He growls against me, his nose brushing up against my pubic bone, digging into my skin as his hands round the back of my thighs and take a tighter hold. Pinching and squeezing at me assertively while my eyes screw shut and I bite down on my bottom lip.
"Show me how good I make you feel," He mutters again, his warm breath drawing over me in a tingling kind of delight.
Moving his tongue in certain directions, Harry's fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs, wrapping around and pinning them into the surface of the mattress with a hard grunt. Nipping his fingers into my hips, he holds me down on the bed. Although the ache is slightly painful, I don't push him away because the pleasure overrides the pain.
My eyes screw shut, the tightness knotting in my stomach propelling me to breathe heavier and clamp my eyes closed as my head spins.
Because of this, I don't see Harry reaching for something but as soon as I feel something silicone press against the skin on the inside of my trembling thigh.
"Want to feel real good, baby?"
Void of all ability to formulate sentences that so much as resemble the English language, I swallow and nod feebly. My eyes track the vibrator in between Harry's fingers as he drags it through the mix of my arousal and his saliva with the device still switched off.
"Words, Trouble," He hums decisively as his eyes glow dark in the early morning light.
My teeth bite into my bottom lip and I breathe out of my nose when I feel Harry drag the toy down to my core. Skating it over my clit, he runs it down through the wetness that he has caused before dragging it back up to lubricate my clit, circling it with the tip that is still not switched on.
Teasing me with the idea of the vibration that will soon rush through me, I scrape my teeth along my lip and let it pop back into place so I can thickly answer him.
"I want you to make me feel good," I whisper, my voice shaking as I try to hold together whatever shreds of composure I still own.
"I was hoping you would say that," He all but growls out to tell me. "Just wanna make m'wife feel good,"
I nod helplessly against the pillow, feeling this craving for him become almost unbearable.
Grabbing his wrist, I guide his hand back down between my legs. Showing him exactly where I need him, I stare into his eyes and silently beg for him to give in and turn the vibrator on.
Every part of me shudders as Harry finally grants me that relief by flicking his thumb against the button and switching the toy to the fastest setting. The change of pace and the shock of the buzzing vibration causes me to sharply inhale through my gritted teeth. My chest concaves, my stomach collapsing from the feeling of it.
"Make me feel good," I whine needily. "Please–"
Harry smirks, sitting back on his heels as he watches the visceral reaction that I am having to such a small movement. The silicone casing of the vibrator is silky against my skin, drawing circles against my clit that has me drilling my head back against the pillow.
Ghosting the vibrating toy over my clit, my whole body comes alight with the euphoria. You would think that with the amount of times Harry and I have had sex now that I would get used to how good it feels but I don't.
I never think I will.
My mind spins every time.
Biting down on the inside of my lip, I buck my hips up towards the toy that he is currently still idly moving around without applying any pressure.
"I want more," I demand through a strained expelled breath.
Harry shakes his head with a sly grin of self satisfaction before he dips his head back down and starts to move his tongue in insatiable circles on my clit while he carefully thrusts the bullet shaped vibrated inside of me at a slow speed.
Stretching around the toy, I bite my lip and groan in pleasure.
It hurts but it is the sort of pain that feels too good to stop. Addictive in the most alarmingly sinful way.
Each time he moves his hand and in turn the vibrating deceive, I shudder. The vibration runs through me, setting in motion a new sort of feeling that just radiates warmth from the fire in the pit of my stomach. With each thrust in and out, my jaw drops a little more and my breathing becomes shallower.
Lacing my fingers tightly through Harry's hair, I knot his curls between my digits and hold his head to my heat, bordering on the very precipice of an orgasm. My other hand bites into the foam mattress underneath, ripping the sheets with my fingernails as I sharply drag them over the fabric.
Whiny moans fill the sound of our room mixed with the lustful sound of Harry's mouth working against me.
"Fuck–" I sigh, closing my eyes after licking my lips.
His warm tongue never lets up, dancing rapidly on the throbbing collection of nerves that are aching.
"Jesus–" I whimper, my stomach tightening under the strain of the bubbling orgasm that seems to be ripping through me any second now.
"You get me so fucking worked up and you don't even know it, Arls baby-" He hisses through his teeth, dropping his head against my thigh as he watches me grind my aching hips against his mouth and the toy.
I hum in response, pinching my eyes shut as the bubble deep inside of me continues to inflate. Each flick of his wrist, each rotation of my hips, each subtle tease of his thumb is enough to drive me fucking insane and inch me closer and closer to the edge.
Floating, I am in this serendipitous state of being with my legs trembling around Harry's head, clenching around his face to pull him impossibly closer.
"Harry–" I whine his name in a strain that barely sounds human. "-Baby, I–"
Reading me like a book, he hums in acknowledgement and then starts to move his head more feverishly. Roughly thrusting the toy in and out of me in such a motion that has me mindlessly gyrating my hips up to meet his mouth and hand that are working in synchronicity, I feel myself descend into ecstasy.
"Fuck–" I whine breathlessly, my voice cracking as I feather my eyes shut again.
"That's it," My husband coaches me through the impending climax. "Be a good girl and come on my tongue, Heartbreaker,"
I nod, whimpering as I screw my eyes shut.
My thighs turn rigid as my muscles tense up and my toes curl in pleasure. Bucking my hips upwards, I grind against him, trying to collect every possible sensation and use it for my own selfish pleasure.
"I love to see you like this..." Harry hums contentedly with a smirk. "...Love to see you come undone for just me..."
"I love you–" I choke out again as the balloon pops, the wave crashes over me and my stomach crumbles into a puddle of delirious whines and whimpers.
Harry lifts his head a little, his eyes tracing up the length of me and shining with happiness. It kind of looks like disbelief, like he cannot quite understand that I said something so meaningful.
Lightly kissing my leg, he halts the moment with a second of sweetness before returning to the hot and heated attack that is currently causing me to lose my mind.
Tightly clamping my legs together around his head, I feel Harry start to lap up every little bit of cum that I have to give, working me through the orgasm until my mind goes completely blank and void of any thoughts other than him.
The overwhelming sensation rockets through me so that my heart hammers like a marching band drum. Tossing my head back against his pillow, I suck in a sharp breath and feel my throat tighten.
"Arls?" He calls, lightly working me back down from the peak while gently massaging the inside of my thigh and pulling back with a light kiss to the inside of my knee. He sits up, his thumb still idly running back and forth over my overstimulated clit.
I hum, batting his hand away lazily as I lay breathless and panting on the bed in a mess of tangled and ruined sheets.
"You okay, babe?" He says in humour, watching my stunned expression as I wince and finally find the strength to fully push his hand back from between my legs.
I nod, staring at his dreamy face. "Yep. Give me a second to just–" I hold my finger up as I try and fail to catch my breath and align my thoughts.
Chuckling at my dazed expression, Harry flops his body down beside me and curls into the side of my body. He hooks his leg over mine and drapes his arm heavily over my stomach.
"I've got to pee in a second–" I whisper, turning my head to the side so that our noses come face to face. "-Dylan and my glam team are going to be here in a bit and we both need to shower and you know–"
"You know?" He whispers back, keeping his voice just as low as mine.
"The room probably smells like sex now," I say humorously. "We need to open the windows and ventilate it before the teams get here because that's embarrassing,"
"Married couples have sex, Arls"
I nod against the pillow, the tip of my nose brushing against his as I hum in agreement. "I know but only like fifteen people in the whole world know that we are married,"
Harry's lips curl up into a wicked smirk and before I know it, he is leaning forward and pressing them against mine softly. I can taste myself on him and although I could push his face away, I don't.
I wanted to be something you couldn't put down, H.
★
"What do you think?" Harry holds his hands out like wings, allowing me to drag my eyes down the length of his outfit.
We'd both been made up in separate rooms. Harry was in ours and I was taken down the hall to an empty one where my glam team were ready and waiting as well as the designers dressing me both today and tonight for the premiere.
I haven't seen Harry since I got out of the shower this morning and then led away from him. Not knowing where to look first, I bounce my eyes back and forth over each perfected detail of his appearance.
The first thing I spot is that his hair has been styled differently from what I'm used to.
I have the desire to reach out and touch it. His curls are normally brushed back from his forehead, but today, it's been parted at the side and waved down his forehead. Forming a tight curl on the right side of his forehead.
"Your hair!" I giggle, lifting my hand as I go to touch it before retracting my hand with the knowledge that someone has meticulously styled it to lay in that position.
"I can't tell if I hate it," He says shyly, his lips curling downwards with that self-conscious sheen.
"No-" I cut him off, shaking my head and smiling at him. "I love it, it's perfect... you look gorgeous,"
"And the outfit?" He mumbles, looking down at himself.
I nod.
He always looks good but I guess sometimes it is nice to have reassurance. But, the thing with Harry is that he never sees himself the way that everyone else does. He has so many people, both privately and publicly who adore him.
"It might be one of my favourites,"
"You're not just saying that?" His voice trembles with insecurity.
"H," I say his name sincerely. Tipping my head to the side to squint at him in the bright light of the Venice sun. "No, I mean it. I love this..."
Reaching out, I thumb the silky soft scarf that is tied around his neck loosely like a tie.
"So..." Harry swings my hands out between us. "...I'll see you there?"
I take a deep breath, sucking in the strained oxygen through my gritted teeth to try and calm myself.
"See you on the other side?"
Harry nods, leaning forward to kiss my forehead before looking down at the ring sitting on my finger and then darting to the ring on my finger. "Do you want to keep these on?"
Apprehensively, I glance down at the wedding ring on my finger and sigh.
"I think–" I start quietly because I don't want to hurt Harry's feelings yet. "-I think I want to stay in our private bubble a little bit longer, if that's okay?"
He nods, a small smile curling on his lips. "Of course it's okay. And besides, announcing it at an event where your ex is there seems a little like a show and me and you aren't a show."
"What we are–" I nod to him, looking down at my outfit before motioning our joint hand to his outfit. "-is oddly coordinated,"
With a small chuckle, Harry glances down at his pinstriped suit jacket and then sniggers at the sight of mine. "Yeah... maybe we should have discussed this before we agreed on these outfits,"
"I think it's cute in a cringey kind of cliche way."
"Really?" He scoffs, biting on his bottom lip.
"No, but we're here now so we're going to have to make it work,"
Harry nods, leaning down to kiss me before stepping back and then dropping my hands. He walks backwards down the walkway before lifting his foot over the ledge of the small speedboat. He climbs in, winking at me before the driver manoeuvres the boat away from the dock and guides out onto the body of water.
I stand and wait for my turn, my fingers wiggling the ring off my left hand and instead sliding it onto my right hand. I slide the ring up my right ring finger and then smile down at it, hoping that Harry remembers to do the same with his wedding ring so that we don't get caught out.
Both of our fans can be intense. They're some of the most perceptive people that I have ever known in my life. Their attention to detail is quite literally astounding. They would pick up on that in seconds flat and post it all over Twitter before I even had the chance to motion for Harry to quickly swap fingers.
My boat pulls up, and a bunch of people work on securing it to the deck before a hand sticks out to help me climb into the boat.
"Ready, Miss Addams?"
I nod, looking at the driver in question who gives me a small smile.
Part of me likes that everyone is so oblivious to the fact that Harry is now my husband and privately my name is Arlie Styles, not Arlie Addams.
It feels like a fun little secret that we get to relish in. Our whole relationship, the two of us have thrived under conditions where we were forced to hide the importance of our relationship.
I cheated on my boyfriend with Harry and while I do not condone cheating and I do feel guilty about it, I also don't. If you play with fire, you're going to get burned and Jonathan was juggling a fucking flame thrower.
He had it coming and maybe that's cold and callous of me but after all he put me through, I feel no remorse for falling in love with someone else.
"I'm ready," I nod.
Although I feel like a bundle of nerves, my stomach is twisting and I feel the acidic bile rising up my throat, I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes.
Martha, my photographer and friend, hops into the boat after me, aiming the giant lensed camera in my direction. She snaps a few pictures and I try to act like I am not on the verge of having a giant panic attack but I am.
My chest feels tight, like someone is suffocating me and while I may look like I am holding it together while leaning against the roof of the small boat, I am not. Internally, I am screaming to get out of the cage of my mind.
"You nervous?" Martha asks me.
Opening my eyes, I feel the cool breeze whip around in a majestic way. "What possibly gave that away?"
"The fact that your face is pale as a ghost right now and you can't even open your eyes? Is it the boat?"
I shake my head, side eyeing her as she flashes another picture which I know will be awful because of how shaken I look and feel.
"Are you scared of boats?"
"No?"
"Oh–" She stops, cutting herself off. "It's the seeing the ex again thing, right?"
I nod, folding my lips in on themselves. "I think it would be better if I was in love with my ex not that I'm scared of him,"
"You know you'll be fine, right?" She mumbles, letting the camera hang loosely around her neck via the material strap. "Harry will be with you the whole time and I'm sure you won't be left alone with Jonathan,"
"But it's so public. The breakup and the affair and whatever–" I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "So much of it was public knowledge and I don't know, I guess– I'm just a little worried that some kind of question about that is going to come up and I know my manager tried to sway and veto everything related to that but journalists have such a way with words and finding loopholes that I just– I'm just scared. Harry and I are so private and I don't want to have to talk about it "
Martha nods. "It's okay to be scared, you know? I would be worried if you weren't scared,"
"Yeah," I nod passively, watching the film festival appear in the distance.
Fans line the sides of the river, calling for whichever celebrity they spot. Harry is currently being papped climbing off the small boat and the cheers for him grow in intensity. I smile to myself, loving the way that he acts shy when in reality, I know that a small part of him laps up the attention.
Raising his hand in a small peace sign, I bite my bottom lip at his signature move that seems so innocent and sweet.
From a distance, I tuck my hand up under my chin and blink at his enticing simmering smile that radiances his excellence like a bright beacon of light. A million flashes violently flicker in his direction, snapping pictures of him that will no doubt be plastered on the front of every tabloid.
"You really do love the living daylights out of him, don't you?"
My attention is snatched from Harry in the distance as the boat I was on cruises closer to the dock. I turn to Martha and nod.
"I did marry him so–"
"No but..."
"What?" I pout, longing to look back over to my husband.
"...It just looks different with you two. I don't know... you look at him like he's..." Martha shakes her head with a small chuckle while searching for the right word to describe this. "...Like he's the star or something,"
My smile curls brighter and I scrunch my nose up while covering my face with my hand.
She wouldn't understand the weight of what that means for me and him but it sets off this swirling simmer in the pits of my stomach.
"He might be," I shrug, trying to act nonchalant about the comment but meanwhile, my heart beats a little more intensely.
"A star?" Martha scoffs, her eyes honing in on Harry while I watch the side of her face.
"I mean, look at him right now," I point to him in the distance which clearly attracts the attention of nearby fans. "I would call that a star, wouldn't you?"
The sound of the cheers erupts so loudly that it actually makes me jump. Screaming girls throw their hands over their mouths and jerk from my pointed finger to Harry and then back to me.
"Jesus,"
Martha turns to me, bumping her hip into mine with a small grin. "I would say you're a natural born star,"
Shaking my head, I try to seem upbeat and unaffected by the comment but it is hard when suddenly a bunch of unresolved feelings of resentment float to the surface.
"I'm a tailor made star, nothing natural about me."
The boat pulls in towards the docks and the screaming intensifies to an ear splitting screech. I smile, waving towards some of the fans lining the side of the river and try to ignore the conversation that Martha and I have just had.
A million cameras and phones are pointed in my direction, capturing my every move, expression, emotion and so I become the most successful character in my repertoire; Arlie fucking Addams.
As if I was switching into the zone on set, I take a deep breath and snap into that facade. My walls go up and I turn on the professional mode that is there to protect the inner workings of my heart and mind.
I suck in a deep breath, sucking in my stomach so that the paparazzi can't capture any unflattering angles to print everywhere.
As my official photographer, Martha jumps out of the boat first and gets in position to take pictures for my social media. My name is yelled in every direction and I reach out for a man's hand that is outstretched for me to climb out of the boat.
Thankfully, I am in a small pair of tailored shorts that are a dark navy blue with pinstripes which protect my dignity as I try to elegantly climb out of the boat.
In the distance, I spot Harry on the red carpet, standing and waiting as paps take a dozen pictures of him. His smile is beaming, bright and beautiful as he grins for the sake of the camera.
I watch him, not really focused on the camera but instead too entranced by my husband in the far distance who is attracting attention like a spectacle.
I'm still not used to calling Harry my husband.
"Arlie?" My name is yelled. "This way! Arlie!"
Pulling my eyes away from Harry sauntering his way through the paps lining the red carpet, I set them back on the photographers, blinking in realisation and then smiling professionally.
My hands sit in front of me, connected where I hold my own fingers and hope that no attention is drawn to the ring on my finger despite it being on the opposite hand.
"Arlie!"
I am ushered by one of the event runners, leading me towards the start of the red carpet where I slowly step down the carpet, stopping occasionally to pose for the stream of paps and smiling softly so my cheeks don't ache.
Harry is ahead of me, slowly making his way down the carpet.
"Arlie!" I can barely distinguish words let alone different voices. "Stand with Harry!"
"Harry and Arlie!"
Harry looks back at me briefly, smiling delicately with a gentle nod that silently asks if I am okay. I nod back at him, smiling with my eyes as he winks at me. Fans scream louder from even the glimmer of small, suggestive action from him.
Rolling my eyes playfully, I watch him slip through the doors and out of the public eye.
With Harry gone, the screams of my name intensify which only makes my head spin. My body starts to physically react to the attention. The sound of the loud screams ricochet around my head like a dark echo chamber.
I clam up, freezing stiffly which makes me panic. I don't normally react like this but as I stand here, I feel a little sick that I can't snap out of it.
No matter how hard I try, I can't become Arlie fucking Addams. I've spent nearly six months being Arls and now trying to be Arlie Addams again feels too tricky.
It feels impossible.
It's like I have outgrown that part of me and I don't want to make myself small again to fit in her costume.
For the last week, being Arls Styles, I feel the most me that I ever have and I don't want to go back to being my robotic self for the sake of a movie. Falling into autopilot, I let my body stiffly move through the motions until I come to the end.
Once I get to the end, I am shuffled inside the building and practically thrown into Harry's arms.
Standing and waiting for me with a subtle grin on his pink lips, he holds his arms open for me. I don't know if he can tell I desperately need a hug or if he just does it without thinking, but I fall into him.
"Fancy seeing you here, Trouble." He sings, his hand falling around his waist and his lips pressing to the top of my forehead.
Instantly, my body deflates against his, folding onto his frame as he holds me tightly and sways us from side to side.
"You're nervous, aren't you?" He mutters into the top of my dark waves that fall freely down my back.
I appreciate him keeping his voice quiet and low so that the dozens of people swarming around us and being shuffled into position don't hear that I am wavering.
I tilt my chin up, placing it on his chest to blink at him. "Is it really that obvious?"
"Not to most but I know you," He runs his hand under the bottom of my chin, pinching it lightly. "Want to tell me what's going on?"
"Mmm," I hum, closing my eyes and standing close to him while we wait in a corridor before the press panel. "I haven't done this in a while. I feel like I am out of practice. I used to do this stuff in my sleep, every other week I was doing press for movies but now... it's been almost six months, H,"
"I know," He hums. "But you'll go out there and you'll be fine. It's like riding a bike, all the media training will come flooding back to you and you'll be fine,"
I nod, agreeing with him. His words alone talk me down from the edge and the daunting premonition of sitting in front of journalists and interviewers becomes a little less alarming.
That is until I catch a familiar face looming in the far corner of the corridor.
"Harry–"
I pull on the sleeve of his suit like a needy child. He looks down at me, eyes flicking back and forth to try and read the alarm in my voice.
"-Cleo–"
"Cleo?" He frowns, seeing where I am staring and spinning quickly to look over his shoulder in that direction. "Cleo!" He says in realisation. "Of course she's here!"
"This is a bad thing,"
"Oh, trust me," He grits through his teeth, eyes narrowing in her direction with contempt. "I know because if she so much as says anything to you about Priya, I know you're going to lose your fucking mind,"
Wearing a black latex dress that sits high up on her thighs, her bleach blonde hair falls down her back in broken straight strands. Her makeup is caked onto her face and I don't think it looks bad but it is a little too orange for her skin tone. Her eyes are ringed with the thick black eyeliner that she always used to wear.
I drag my eyes down her inked up arm, spotting a few tattoos that weren't there two years ago and gasp when a stream of light glints off the silver band and diamond on her finger.
"Look at her finger," I grunt, nodding to the ugly engagement ring that sits on her finger as she mingles with people who are not interested in talking to her. "She has that damn ring on–"
Harry looks at me and then back to the ring, a frown turning on his face. Ducking his head down, he flashes me a perplexed expression. "Are you like jealous of her or..."
My eyes snap from the large ring on her finger and back to my husband's annoyed expression.
"You're joking, right?"
"Arls?" He sighs, tipping his head back.
"Am I jealous of her? No? Do I look like someone who wants to be engaged to the guy who allegedly groomed me?"
Harry's face falls flat before he glances around to the back at Cleo conversing with people who appear to be a part of Jonathan's team.
"Why are you worried she's engaged to him then? How can you even see the ring from here? It could be a different one, you know?"
I scoff at him, dropping his hand and backing a pace away. "What, so now I'm not allowed to be upset that my cheating ex has given the other woman a ring that I found when we were together?"
Rolling his lips in on themselves, Harry lets his eyes scan down my face in a bid to read the frustrated expression I am wearing.
"I don't see why you care, Arls?"
"Because it's fucked up—"
Harry sighs, tipping his head back to the ceiling and sighs. He turns away from me as if my face was almost too irritating for him to see.
"All of it is fucked up. I was with him and she was with my best friend. She claimed to only be into girls and now she's engaged to this guy. She broke my best friend's heart, lied so much... to everyone and don't even get me started on him..."
"I just don't see why that all matters now... two years later,"
"Because–"
Harry sighs, the kind of sigh that is done with the conversation.
"We've been married not even two weeks, Arls, and we're already fighting."
I shake my head, reaching for his hand but he jerks it away before I have the chance to touch him.
"Baby, we're not fighting," I reason, tilting my head to the side.
He presses his lips flat, feathering his eyes shut. "We are because now I'm pissed off,"
"Why? I'm sorry I can't control my feelings about it—"
A chilling voice cuts through the heated tension that vibrates between us like a battlefield. It's cool and the tone is calculated to sound eerily calm in amongst the bustling chaos swirling around us in preparation for the press panel.
"Trouble in paradise?"
Harry turns his head to the side but I don't look at him. I don't even move my face from my husband's because I know that is exactly what Jonathan wants.
Wincing, I purse my lips.
"Hello, Jon."
Even when I'm not looking at him, I can hear the smugness in his smile. The way the irritating superiority conforms his lips into a tight curl.
"Sugar plum," He hums back in a greeting with that very same snarkiness that churns my stomach and boils my blood.
"Don't—" Harry cuts in sharply. An edge to his voice as his temper flares. "-Call her that—"
It's comforting to know that even when Harry and I are at war with each other, we are still a united front against other people. He has my back even when he is mad at me.
"I'll call her whatever I want," Jonathan says curtly. "My ex, my decision,"
I part my lips to fire some bitchy comment back to him but Harry beats me to it.
"My wife, my right to beat your face in if you condescend her again..."
"Harry–" I whisper, grasping his hand and giving it a small tug to pull his tall stature back from where he is squaring up to our direction right before the panel is due to take place. "-let's not do this now–"
I wrap my arm around his, looping my hold tightly on him as he turns his head down to me and lets his shoulders slump with frustration. I know that all he really wants to do is whack Jonathan around the place but he can't.
"Hey!" Cleo's irritating accent chirps, her arm mimicking mine and snaking itself around Jonathan's.
The two couples stand mirroring each other, Harry and I defensive and stoney while Jonathan and Cleo are standing tall, poised to attack.
"Long time no see, A,"
"Not long enough," I clip back with a sarcastic smile. "Been sleeping with any of my other friends recently?"
"Nope," She pops the P. Trying to act innocent even though she committed such heinous behaviour. "I have to say–" Cupping her hand dramatically over her lips, she leans in like she was telling me some big secret. "-Priya did kind of put me off women... she was–"
"I fucking dare you to finish that sentence–" I spit maliciously.
"Arls–" Harry pulls on my arm, the rolls now flipped on its head as he holds me back from beating Cleo to a pulp.
Jonathan smirks, his snake-like grin creating a pool of acidic nausea in my stomach.
"So 'wife' huh?" He drawls lazily. "You managed to trick him into marrying you?"
He turns in Harry's direction, ignoring my presence completely. I feel Harry place his hand on the arch of my lower back. His hand slips up under the blazer jacket to the fiery heat of my bare skin. There, he lets his thumb idly drag up and down to comfort me as best as he can.
"A word of advice, son... I would run for the hills if I were you. This one is nothing but a dirty, little addic–"
Harry drops his hand from my back. In one fluid motion, he is lunging forward to pounce on Jonathan for the vile way he was talking about me.
I roll my lips in on themselves, frozen in place as I try to take a deep breath and snap out of the anxiety filled trance I was in.
My eyes can't seem to drag away from Harry's backing Jonathan against the nearest wall, his face a picture of pure anger and hatred.
"Panel time!" A cheerful voice slices through the heavy breathing and the thick tension. "Everyone follow me. Your name cards are assigned to your seats. Each seat has a headset for translation, please put it on when you sit down and make yourself comfortable.
Glaring one final time at Jonathan, Harry backs away and shakes his clenched fists out. His nostrils are flaring and his jaw is set solid as he flicks his eyes back to me behind him. Instantly, they soften back to the mellow fresh green that reminds me so much of a meadow.
"Let's go, baby-" Reaching out for my hand, he tightly and rather protectively loops our fingers together, leaving Jonathan and Cleo in the hallway alone.
Wordlessly, Harry leads me down the corridor in silence after the runner who has come to get us. We come to a door where the rest of the main actors involved in the movie are waiting. I spot Holland in the corner and lift my hand in a little wave which gives back but we don't speak.
A loud voice over the speaker system starts to speak in Italian, introducing the movie and then one by one, calling our names to the stage.
Everyone has gone besides Harry, myself and Jonathan.
"Harry Styles as Jack Chambers!" Harry squeezes my hand and offers me a weak smile before walking out to a round of applause. I watch from the sidelines as he waves politely and takes his seat behind his name card.
He slips his headset on clumsily while trying not to mess up his hair. I bite on the inside of my cheek so that I don't have to stand here any longer with only Jonathan for company.
Just when I think I am safe, I feel a hot breath hit my cheek before a gruff growling voice fills my ears.
"I see you got my little gift at Coachella?"
I pause, unsure of what he means. As far as I am aware, Jonathan didn't even attend the festival and yet–
"That–" I stutter, my chest tightening
It dawns on me.
"-That was you?-"
Spinning on my heel, I turn to face the truly wicked smirk that resides on his ageing face.
"I-I nearly died. That–"
He grins wider and then nods in the direction of the door.
"It's showtime, my little star...."
My blood runs cold.
I turn back to the door to the stage, my eyebrows creasing into a frown because I didn't hear them call my name but everyone, including Harry, is looking off the stage in search of me.
Taking a deep breath, I run my clammy hands down the front of my tailored shorts and try not to freak out but that ship has sailed.
I walk on stage, my feet feel like they're floating above the ground. I can see myself as I am no longer in my own body.
Looking over myself, I numbly walk to my seat which is two away from Harry but beside Jonathan and Holland. Perching in the chair, I grab the headset and slip it over my head and then fold my hands on the table and look out to the ocean of eager reporters.
I don't know how I got here. One minute I am being berated by Jonathan out in the hallway waiting to appear on stage and the next thing you know, I am being lightly elbowed by Holland.
I look to my side, my mind swimming in a sea of uncertainty and doubt.
It feels like time has simultaneously slowed down and moved at the speed of light.
She nods her head towards the journalists with a tight smile.
"A question for Miss Addams?" The words are translated into my ears through the headset.
I snap back into reality and nod carefully with the best version of a smile that I can muster.
The room pauses, the faces of many reporters dropping in shock as the man continues to ask the question in another language that is delayed in my ear.
Seconds later, I hear it and my heart drops just like the jaws of everyone around.
"Do you think that your mother's death via a heroin overdose is what caused you to fall into addiction yourself? I've done my due diligence and I have been made aware of a stay at a rehab facility in the North of California for a 'severe cocaine addiction' nearly six years ago now. How long did it take for you to admit you had a problem and how do you think that has hindered your work on this and previous projects?"
An eerie silence simmers over the room.
Lifelessly, I look out into the crowd and spot an all too familiar face staring back at me with a shit eating grin and a black tape recorder in his hands.
Cruz Ripley.
C.R.
My old dealer.
"What kind of fucked up question is that?" Someone booms from the left of me and I think it sounds like Harry but the ringing in my ears means I can't quite tell.
The clicking sound of the cameras that are repeatedly snapping pictures of me looking uncomfortable is now the soundtrack to my life but the more that the flashes go off in my face, the more that white spots start to develop behind my eyes. Multicoloured kaleidoscopes. I'm aware that this is being filmed and yet, I can't move.
I can't react or reply or even so much as get up and walk out.
I am welded in place in this chair. Cursed to be frozen in this tortuous room.
"Arls–"
I can't react.
You know that feeling you get right before you fall asleep? I love that sensation. When your eyes grow too heavy for you to keep them open, your body practically slumps in on itself. I relish in the feeling of finally giving in to the tiredness.
It's like plunging head first off the side of a cliff and into a body of water. The feeling of falling, tumbling through the window and knowing there is a safety net to catch you.
It feels similar to the act of falling in love.
I love it, very few things feel better to me than falling asleep but as I sit here in front of the rows of brainless reporters, each one holding up small black microphone recording devices or scribbling things down on jotting paper, I don't love the feeling of falling.
My body stings in a burning way before turning completely numb, my eyes flicking in darting motions between the excitable faces that are getting high off the biggest secret of my life getting revealed in some commercial success story for a shitty journalist in the back row.
The room is bustling with noise and even so, I can't hear anything. Muffled to near silence, there is a profuse ringing that chimes around the emptiness of my skull and makes me shiver.
It's strange, somewhat alarming really, because I can see people's mouths moving. As I skim my eyes over the sea of reporters, I can see them all screeching questions in my direction loudly. It is a battle of who can get the exclusive and yet... I can't hear a thing.
I am surrounded by silence.
Harry's hand lands on my shoulder, his body striding across the back of the stage to reach me only two chairs down.
I can feel it, his hand is heavy and weighty on my shoulder. Weirdly, the pressure makes me feel a little less alone in this room packed full of people.
"Arls–" His voice calmly mumbles in my ear, just loud enough to cut through the violently loud silence.
I love the feeling of falling asleep but this...
Sitting here, unable to move and frozen in place while people scribble the secret of my addiction down on paper to print to the world, this isn't like falling asleep.
This is that horrendous nightmare where you're falling asleep and suddenly you're falling.
Not the good kind of falling but rather the tumbling too fast that you feel like you're on fire. The loss of control that jerks you from the blissful trance you were dwelling in previously.
Today is the rude awakening from the honeymoon, the newlywed bubble my husband and I have been floating in.
Today is the jerking yank from the joy.
Today feels like falling.
But the thing with falling is that you have to hit the ground at some point.
Honing into focus, I can see the hard cement underneath me, drawing closer as I hurtle down faster than the speed of life.
Pinching my eyes shut, I prepare for the impact.
The feeling of falling.
I used to love that feeling.
oh?