The Final Chapter of Invasato.
"Mr. Horan...thank you for meeting with us given the circumstances."
Niall's foot taps against the hard white floors. Above him, is a bothersome fluorescent light beam that he can hear the buzz from. His hands lay in his lap, his palms run along his jeans.
He appears anxious.
A woman in a black pant suit sits across the table from him, a notepad and a folder in front of her. Her well manicured red nails embrace a black pen. He hasn't looked at her face yet. Along with the notepad, there is a tape recorder.
She clears her throat, her thick accent speaks. "I need you to understand that we need you to tell us as much as you can...so we can proceed accordingly."
Niall flicks his eyes up to her, an angry glare over his irises. "My friends were killed. What else do you need?"
He was sharp, stern. What else could he be?
She looks him in the eye.
"The story." she states. "Start from the beginning."
Niall looks to his lap and inhales. It's been two days. Two days since it all unfolded, two days since the museum burned down and crumbled into pieces.
Now, Niall knows better not to snitch. Even given the circumstances, he won't give up any information regarding the real reason they were all at that museum. He has identities to protect.
"It was Elaina's art gala. We were all there in support of her." Niall explains.
"Who's we?" The woman asks as she begins to write.
"Me, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Angela Styles, Zayn Malik, Bianca Alderez, and Aldo Riveria...and Harry Styles."
She nods, writing.
"And..." she, again, clears her throat due to the sensitivity of the topic. "Everyone else made it out, correct? Everyone except Miss. Basset and Mr. Styles."
Niall closes his eyes for a moment. He nods.
"We couldn't find a lot about Harry Styles in our research." she comments.
Of course she couldn't. Harry's never been caught using his own identity during heists. Only when it came to saving Elaina.
"I got everyone else out, but when I went back for the two of them...the building was completely collapsed to the ground on fire." Niall gets back on topic.
She writes. Her cursive is neat, she's done this lots of times. Niall watches the ink lay out on the lined notepad. His words on paper and on tape.
She drops the pen on the pad and looks back up at him, intertwining her fingers atop the table.
"I can't imagine what you're feeling right now...but I promise, there will be justice." she tells him, her voice genuine.
Niall presses his lips into a straight line. He doesn't know how to respond.
"Which brings me to my next point...Carter Basset." she says, a syringe of anger pinches Niall's spine at the mention. "Through our research, we found that he's Elaina's estranged brother. Is that right?"
Niall shudders his shoulders to shake the feeling off. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right."
"He was under psychiatric watch in Wyoming State Hospital, a totally separate state from where he was born. And then he escaped. And he went after his family." she says.
Niall shrugs. He knows all this already.
The woman exhales and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Well that explains his motive then, going after his adored sister and her boyfriend..."
Carter made it out of the museum that night. He escaped.
Along with Harry's father, Thomas.
The group saw them from the helicopter as they tried to save Elaina and Harry. Niall knew in that moment that they should've shot them down, but Vincent convinced him otherwise.
Niall wouldn't be here if Carter and Thomas weren't loose. He, like everyone else, wants them locked up if they can't be killed.
Niall looks to the side with a sigh and a head shake. "Look, is there anything else you need from me? I'm sorry but Im not necessarily enjoying talking about my friends' murder."
The woman nods in understanding. "That's perfectly fine. We'll reach out as things develop, just to keep you updated. In the meantime, you're free to go. Spend time with your friends, help each other heal from this...know that it wasn't your fault."
"Perfect. Thanks." Niall rolls his eyes and goes to push himself up from the table.
"Wait." the woman holds up her hand, causing Niall to try not to groan. He watches as she reaches into her bag on the ground beside her chair, digging through it. "I want you to take this."
She hands him a brochure.
'Grieving: How to Feel and Overcome Loss.'
"Give it a read through when you're ready..." she gives him a gentle smile.
Niall, with a certain hesitation, takes it from her hands, not saying a word.
He leaves the room, walking through the Paris police station and burying the brochure in his jean pocket.
He avoids the eyes of others as he hurries out of the station, head down and fast paced feet carrying him to the exit.
A black SUV sent by Vincent awaits him in the parking lot. He hops in the passenger seat, Vince's associate driving away silently and quickly. Niall doesn't know him, nor does he care really.
His phone begins to ring in his pocket.
He pulls it out, looking down at the screen to see a hidden number. He knew it was Vincent.
When Niall picks up the call he doesn't even have to say a word.
"I see the car's picked you up. Is it done?" Vincent asks.
"It's done. I'll be there soon."
"No suspicion on their end?"
"None."
"Well done." Vincent hangs up.
Niall puts the phone down and watches through the window, gazing at the streets of Paris for the last time before they all leave.
Good riddance. He won't miss it.
It was a short twenty minutes until Niall made it back to Vincent's 'hideaway' estate in Paris. A mansion tucked away in the trees. Vincent never stayed here, but it was fitting for the situation, considering he was housing everyone for the time being.
No one knows where this place is...that's why it's perfect.
Vincent himself lets Niall in through the front door, an occurrence that has never happened. It's always someone else, a proxy that allows Vincent not to be so direct and involved.
Niall follows his boss through the wide foyer, shoes echoing off of polished floors.
"I'm glad you're here finally." Vincent exclaims as he leads him to the crowded conversation pit, stopping as they both look at the occupants on the couches.
"We'll begin Phase Two shortly."
Niall looks at his friends, all eyes on Vincent.
He then meets the eyes that appeared to have little light left behind them, the eyes of his newly close friend and the eyes of the person he considered his brother. The two people that were saved in the last moments of the building standing.
Elaina and Harry.
Elaina is tucked into Harry's side. Harry stares numbly at the floor, traumatized, but alive and concealed.
And that's how it had to stay.
Elaina Basset
We were alive, by seconds of luck.
Harry and I were standing on that roof, the building beneath us falling apart. I was sure we'd crumble and burn with it. However, it wasn't until the last second that we felt the harsh wind from spinning blades and the deafening sound of Vincent's helicopter hover in front of us. It didn't feel real, not until Harry practically threw me off of the building and into the open doors, hands grabbing me and pulling me in. Then Harry jumped, barely making it as the building began to fall.
By any realistic expectations, we'd be dead. And when we saw Carter and Thomas limping down the road as we flew over them...Vincent knew that killing us off and saying we died in those explosions would be our best bet.
So now, Harry and I are alive only to the knowledge of our friends.
It's been two horribly hard days...it's almost like being alive was something I had to be ashamed of. I haven't spoken more than a few sentences. Harry will lay in bed with me until I'm falling asleep, then he'll go off to a separate room because I'm just not ready to share myself with anyone right now. But I've woken up with multiple nightmares for two nights in a row, so I haven't slept at all anyways.
He's worried. He sees that I'm not talking, I'm not eating. I want to sit in the dark and think of nothing.
I just can't settle. I can't stomach the fact that this happened because of me.
Niall went to the police and told them about Carter. It was Vincent's plan...and now it's a waiting game.
Two days ago, my life was at the hands of my brother. I watched him kill Isaac. I was going to watch Harry die. I was terrified. I was heartbroken. Nothing could compare to the things I felt. It was pure evil.
Anything I worked towards for myself, my fears, my accomplishments...it was all destroyed.
So, I may be alive, but it's like my soul was killed that night and only my body remains.
I lay in this dark, unfamiliar room. My hands are under my cheeks, my body atop of the covers. I stare numbly at the clock on the wall in front of me, watching minutes tick by.
A beam of light illuminates the wall from the door opening. I turn my head over my shoulder, seeing Harry coming through the doorway. He has a plate of food—freshly prepared. It smells expensive.
"Hungry?" he says quietly.
I blink and turn back to my previous position. "Not really." I mumble.
I hear him let out a little sigh, then step into the room and close the door behind him. He comes over to the bed, resting the food on the nightstand. I feel the bed shift as he joins me on it, sitting up next to me.
"You've gotta eat. It's been two days." he tells me.
I exhale. "I don't have much of an appetite."
I lay there, feeling his silence like a knife in the heart. I don't mean to be this way, cold and shut off, but it's how I feel.
It's not his fault. I wish I could express that but I can't express anything. If I think about the past week too much I'll implode from the tears that are swollen behind my eyes. If I talk about it, I'll be sick. I don't know how to grieve this...how to grieve the survivor's guilt.
He breathes.
"I don't know how to help...but I'll try, I wanna try." he says, his voice somber. "Please, just tell me what to do."
"Harry..." I murmur, my cheek moving against my hands.
"It kills me to see you like this." he persists. "And it kills me that I made it so you don't want to open up to me again..."
I lift my head, peering at him over my shoulder again. He's looking down at his lap, sadness all over his face, he isn't trying to hide it—or maybe he just feels too much of it that it's impossible to push away like he's used to.
For the first time in two days, I feel a sting behind the cage around my heart.
Through the lens I had for him after seeing that folder in his library, I lost sight of who he had slowly shown himself to be before I knew all of that.
I always loved him, but my anger made me forget his traumas. Was it selfish? Was it self preservation? Whatever it may have been...in this present moment...it doesn't matter.
He will be scarred from that night just as much as I will be.
I turn my body over so I'm still laying down, but I'm facing him now. He finally looks at me, and I see his eyes. I haven't looked into his eyes since the rooftop.
It's crazy that the only feeling I've had since then happened when I looked at him.
He sinks down in the bed, laying down on his side now so we can be eye to eye.
Looking back and forth at both of my eyes, he displays a certain vulnerability that he only ever let me see. "I wish I knew how to make this all go away for you." he speaks softly.
I shake my head against my hands under my cheek.
"It won't go away. That's the thing about...life...I guess." I say. "Just like Denver, just like your mother."
He tries not to display a frown but I can tell that he is uncomfortable with my pessimism. I'm supposed to be the one that lifts our spirits.
"I learned to live with the death of my mom."
"Exactly."
He pauses and then nods, understanding.
I lay there and look at him, wondering how, just days ago, I couldn't bare to set my eyes on him without feeling a burning anger and sadness in my chest but then remembering what he did and what lead to those feelings.
But I don't feel those things right now. All I can see is the Harry I saw in the diner in Arizona, in the fields of flowers, in the hospital bed where he told me he loved me. His eyes are sad, but they're soft and gentle. You can't manipulate what's hidden behind someone's eyes.
"I miss us." he whispers, like he wasn't sure if he should say it or not.
I flick my eyes down, breaking the contact.
"I know that's the least important thing right now, but...yeah, I guess that's just how I feel."
"You can talk about how you feel." I tell him.
He hesitates, scanning my face for an ounce of 'I didn't mean it, Harry. Don't actually talk about it' but he didn't see that—he couldn't have. Because I wanted him to talk to me.
He inhales, "Well," he exhales, "I've just been..." he sighs out again, stopping himself as if he couldn't get the words right. "I guess I haven't stopped thinking about that night. How everything went down. Seeing you in so much danger. It was impossible for me to watch but I couldn't look away..." he says, his voice quiet. "It was like...if I blinked...I'd open my eyes and you'd be gone. I was holding on to every passing second that you were still alive."
I watch him as he articulates, like I can see the gears turning in his head as the words leave his mouth.
"Even on the rooftop, I was like...okay, this is it. This is the end, but I'm holding her hand so everything will be alright. And I've been replaying that moment over and over, and remembering that to die next to me wasn't what you wanted."
I lift my head, furrowing my brows as I look at him with question.
"What? You really think that?"
"You asked me to tell you how I feel..."
I sit up, shaking my head. He shifts on to his back and pushes himself up a bit so his head is against the headboard. "Harry...after all we've been through, you don't think if I had found out you died alone I would have searched through the ashes until I found you? You don't think I would've lied down next to your body until the flames consumed me too?"
He looks at me with a bit of a pained expression, his forehead wrinkled with creased brows and his lips closed with the inside of his cheek between his molars.
"You held a gun to my head after you called me evil, which you had every right to do, but you don't think that hearing it hit me hard as hell?" he says, his voice steady but his bottom lip quivering slightly.
My eyes widen a bit. "Harry, I did that so I could get us out of there. I-I thought you knew that—"
"I know. I know." he shakes his head. "But at some point, when you found everything out, you believed what you said." he explains. "And it kills me."
His words were delivered with the power to break me out of this numbness, giving me an ache in my ribs and pressure behind my eyes.
I refuse to apologize for the hurt he's feeling. I'm done doing that. He knows what he did. But, fuck, I hate that he hates himself for it...I hate that he's so sad. He fucked up, he feels remorse. He has proved himself.
Forgiveness is something I don't think I've reached yet...but I know I will. If it's him, I will.
Still looking at him, I speak. "Did you read my letter...?"
His eyes and forehead soften. He nods.
"Do you have it?" I ask.
He tilts his head, looking down towards his legs. He goes into the pocket of his sweatpants, taking out the folded piece of paper. He holds it out to me.
"You've had it with you?" I take the letter.
"The only time it hasn't been on me was when I showered..." he admits.
I look down at the paper and unfold it. The creases of the folds are deep, it's been folded and unfolded multiple times.
"What are you doing?" he asks me.
I look down at my handwriting, remembering exactly how I was feeling when I wrote each word.
He's read it, many times, but I'm hoping that hearing it from my lips will change his perspective.
"Dear Dreamboat,"
I read the first two words, he sits up more.
"I remember when I saw you at my paint shed. The first time I ever saw your face. I noticed your hair first. I noticed it was longer than all of your friends, how the breeze was blowing brown locks away from you eyes—the second part of you I noticed...how green they were, how rare your appearance became to me."
He stays silent, watching me with loud eyes.
"The way you would talk to me made me feel small...but it didn't take me long to learn that it was because you felt small yourself. I think you saw yourself in me...a buried past of trauma that we used different passions to cover up...and it freaked you out. You had to be mean. It was self protection."
"El, I don't know if I—"
"There was never a moment I wasn't intrigued by you...and then showed me glimpses of niceties, and niceties became conversations, conversations became vulnerability. And by then, I was enthralled. It was terrifying."
I keep reading. I want him to hear it how I was writing it.
He watches, anticipating every word like a devastating poem he's memorized.
"I fell in love with you way before I knew it. Before the first kiss. Before the first time I saw you cry. It feels like I've known you in so many lifetimes..."
I flick my eyes up to him briefly. He's looking down at his lap now.
"...So that's why I simply can't find it in me to even imitate the feeling of hatred towards you right now."
I feel heat rising behind my eyes, a tightness in my throat, reliving all of the emotions I had when writing this.
I remember, I couldn't stop crying because I didn't know whether to regret leaving or not.
I sniff back emotion, "You hurt me so badly. You had my heart in your hands and you crushed it in between your fingers. I should—" my voice breaks, I crack. "I should hate you."
I can feel Harry glance back at me as the emotion tears through my words. In instinct, he puts his hand on my leg.
I look at him. I know the words, I don't have to look at the paper.
"But, Dreamboat, I love you more than I love anything in this world. My muse. My heart. I—" I stammer, looking back down. "I wish we weren't too good to be true. I would've held you forever on that floor if I knew nothing could hurt us if we stayed together."
His thumb grazes my thigh, the gentle touch that could've fixed all of my problems before.
"We can't be destroyed if we're apart. And that's why I have to leave. I wish you nothing but the best, Dreamboat. You are the love of my life.
Please, for your sake, don't look for me. If you need me, look in the fields of flowers. Look for me in the brushstrokes of paintings. I'll look for you in everything.
Love, your Flower,
Elaina."
I feel a warm tear fall from eye and I see it drop onto the letter. I sniff, wiping my eye and I look up at him. With his eyes glossy and soft, he looks so taken aback.
"You, uhm—" I sniff again, blinking and shaking my head to collect myself, "You couldn't feel what I felt when I wrote it, so I—"
He squeezes my leg. "Thank you."
Finally sharing an intimate moment with him after all of this brought the flood of what we were, how we were before this disaster unfolded.
I miss us too.
I find myself reaching for his hand and not stopping myself. I take it, he lets me. I rub his calloused but nimble fingers, they don't feel evil, they feel like they always have.
"You said you'd do anything for me, and you proved it." I tell him. "I hope you realize what that means to me."
His soft lips speak. "I'll stand by that forever."
I gently curl my lips, nodding. "I know you will."
I didn't think I'd ever be in the same room as him again in a situation where we were truly safe. Danger is still out there, but not in here.
"I need to process things though, and I need you to respect that...but I wouldn't mind your company every so often." I squeeze his hand, "Can I let you win me over one more time?"
The words cause his face to lift so subtly, enough so I can see the light behind his eyes start to brighten. The corner of his mouth lifts, a gentle smirk appearing on his lips.
He pulls on my hand so I lift out of my sitting position and fall into his chest. He immediately wraps his arms around me, his hold engulfing me. The comfort and safety came back so instantly.
My head against his chest, I realize that I could make up for two days of sleep right here.
There's still so much that I need to feel and recover from. I haven't even let myself have a full cry over what happened, about Isaac's death, or the trauma I'll have to rework through for a long time...but I have Harry again, and that's a start.
He tucks his hand under my chin and tilts my head up so I can see him. He looks me in the eye, tucking a loose strand of my horribly messy ponytail behind my ear.
"I will never make you feel abandoned again." he says, so serious yet so soft spoken.
I nod, blinking. "I know."
He forms his lips into a soft line and nods back, then takes his hand off of my chin and places it on the back of my head to place me back down against his chest. My eyes shut, feeling protection for the first time since I last held him this way.
A knock on the door causes my eyes to flutter open, taking me out of a sleeping state that I didn't remember falling into. I realize that I'm still on top of Harry, quickly lifting myself off once I realized how hot I was from our body heat combined.
Harry wakes up, his arms falling off of me and rubbing his eyes.
Another knock.
"What is it?" Harry groans, sounding slightly annoyed at the interruption. It took me a minute to gather coherent thoughts, having to remind myself that we're in a safe house and the knocking meant no harm.
The door opens, casting hallway light into the darkened room.
Zayn stands in the doorway. "Sorry." he clears his throat. "Vincent wants us downstairs."
Harry takes a moment to realize what's being said in his barely awake state, and then nods. "Okay. We'll be right there."
Vincent has been talking about this 'Phase Two' since we got here, but we don't know what that entails. Phase One, I guess, was getting Harry and I out of there. But, Harry's father and Carter and who knows how many others survived that fire, which means they're still out there.
I'm assuming this second part will cover that.
Harry and I head down the stairs. I check the clocks on the walls, I didn't realize how long I had slept. Harry came into my room at 8 and it was now 3:00 in the morning.
Why are we having this meeting so late in the night?
Harry walks in front of me as we enter the main living area where everyone gathered in the conversation pit.
I haven't left my room in two days, which means no one has seen me since we arrived here. I haven't spoken to anyone. So, meeting the gazes of Angela and Bianca and Zayn and everyone else, I felt that awkwardness that I felt in the beginning of all of this.
Angela looks away, sadness in her eyes.
I know I've gotta talk to her. I will. I take it upon myself to go and sit next to her while Harry takes a seat between Niall and Liam.
I can feel Angela glancing at me, almost shocked that I've chosen to be near her. She doesn't say anything, and I don't return the glance.
"Okay, now that we're all here, we can discuss what's gonna happen next." Vincent declares, all eyes on him.
I feel slightly anxious, not knowing at all what to expect. I know that everyone on this couch trusts him, that puts me at ease a little bit.
But what if he assigns Harry to a job, and that job is to go after them? Put himself in more danger? What if dealing with this is too much and I'm fired and left for dead?
The bed of my fingernail starts to bleed...I didn't even realize I was picking it.
"As we know, the enemy is on the loose as of now. What we don't know, is where they are. I've sent some men out to look for them, but Carter is a smart man...he knows how to fly under the radar." Vincent says, then he looks at Harry. "Which is what you guys will have to do as well."
I shift my eyes to Harry. I guess it was kind of a given that we'd have to lay low...we're the main targets.
"Niall went to the cops, giving them information about Carter. The goal is, if we don't find him first, then the police will."
Bianca raises her hand. "But like...say Carter is arrested, what if he snitches on us?"
"He won't." Vincent immediately shuts her suggestion down. "Louis will make sure of it. Turns out some good came from him secretly being an FBI agent."
"I've maintained some connections." Louis shrugs.
"A peep from Carter about what we do will lead to a lot of trouble for him in the slammer...and he knows that." Vincent adds.
"So what happens until then?" Harry chimes in, arms crossed, face cold and serious. He's almost glaring at Vincent, which makes my stomach turn.
Does he know something I don't?
Vincent looks at Harry and nods in acknowledgment, realizing he wants him to get to the point.
"Well, Harry and Elaina are what Carter want. Therefore, maximum protection is necessary..."
Harry keeps a hard stare.
"So, to ensure that," Vincent looks at Harry, and then at me. "We need to conceal you two. That means changing names, changing your stories, becoming different people for a while because remember, Harry Styles and Elaina Basset are dead."
His words send chills through me. But it's what he says next that causes my heart to sink like it has an anchor tied around it.
"Which also means that you two will have to be separated for the time being..."
I sit up straight, I cant control it. I immediately look at Harry, seeing his jaw clenched, his eyes narrow. He knew this was coming.
"You'll both be relocated. And there is to be no direct contact between the two of you."
My chin shakes as I feel like I have to do everything I can to stop this. "That's not fair." I whine like a child.
My voice makes Harry's stone cold expression go soft, his face falling as he looks at me.
"I know, and believe me I've thought of everything that could be done. This is the safest option." Vincent responds.
Feeling my eyes become glossy, I look at Vincent. "F-for how long?"
"Until Carter is taken care of." he gives me the solid answer.
"Vince, we can't talk about this?" Niall adds. "Separating them seems harsh—"
"My decision is final. I'm doing what's best for both of you." he addresses us.
My vision falls on Harry, feeling like everything is being ripped away from me once again. I want to scream. I want to break down in sobs. Every emotion I've pushed down is coming to the surface.
I just got him back.
"Two cars will be here to pick you up in ten minutes. We'll give you both some space to say your goodbyes."
Overwhelmed, hot, anguished, and terrified to be alone, I stand up and hurry out of the conversation pit. I find myself, through blurry vision, running out the front door.
I collapse against a pillar on the front porch, putting my body weight against it because I couldn't hold myself up. Heat was coming out of my body in beads of sweat, my eyes leak quiet tears.
I don't want to be away from him. It's like I felt the storm clouds of doom hanging over me all over again.
Hurried steps follow me out the door, then two hands grip my shoulders and turn me around.
"Hey, hey. I'm here." Harry caresses my cheek, his voice as gentle as velvet.
My trembling lip and my fingers white knuckling his hand on my face compared to his calmness and dignity made me feel like a child.
"I don't want this." I exclaim as tears fall.
"I don't either, but it's not forever, okay?" he uses his palm to move loose hairs from my forehead. All I can do is look into his eyes and hope he's right.
He takes a hand from my face and goes into his pocket, taking my hand and holding it open. I felt the cold chain fall into my palm. Looking down, I see his mother's necklace in the palm of my hand. His cherished item.
I look at him with wide eyes, immediately shaking my head. "No—"
He just nods. "Take it. I want you to have it."
"But, you fought for years to have this again..."
Closing my fingers over the necklace, he just grows a soft smile on his face.
"I want you to have it." he says. "You can give it back when we see each other again."
I stare at him, taking my shaking bottom lip between my teeth and averting my eyes down to my hand. I clutch the necklace tightly, sniffling while I hold it tighter than I've ever held anything.
I cant believe him.
He has given me the one thing he had left of his mom, and now it'll be the one thing I have left of him once these cars take us away.
"Hey," his fingers gently place under my chin so he lifts my gaze to his. He seems so calm, holding back emotion, but so put together. "This isn't goodbye. Whether I see you again in two weeks or when I'm old and on my deathbed, I'm not saying goodbye because I know we'll be together again. Do you hear me?"
There's so much I want to say to him. There's so much I want to go over, to learn from him, to discover...but the clock is ticking and I don't have enough time.
I'll have to wait to hear his perspectives and explanations and stories again.
I'll have to wait to watch his face as he sleeps and eats and talks.
It's like I've known him my whole life.
What the hell am I going to do?
"Don't forget me..." I plead quietly, and he nearly chuckles like he can't believe I said it.
"Are you kidding?"
"Don't," I shake my head, stopping him, "don't say anything else, just promise me."
His brows furrow, but he nods in submission. "O-okay. Okay. I swear."
I have always feared the idea of being forgotten—not being important enough to be remembered. I know Harry won't forget me, but I want him to remember my soul and who I am and why I love him.
I love him.
I love him.
Oh my god, I need to tell him. I'm losing time.
Like a lightbulb ignites behind my eyes that are only set on him, I realize that if I can't say everything else I wanted to, I had to at least say this.
"I love you." I almost stutter when it comes out, it happens so quickly. And saying it made my heart burn. "I love you, I love you so much." I start to cry again.
Lips parted open and longing all over his expression, his hands immediately come to my face. He doesn't even waste a second, crashing his lips to mine.
It's intense. It's powerful. It's the kiss of goodbye for now.
His fingers dig into my skin. He pulls away for just a moment, getting air in through his teeth before he connects us again. I'm crying into the kiss, and it wasn't until I felt wetness fall between our lips that I realized he was crying now too.
My hands grip his, the necklace between my fingers. I want him to hold me forever. If they have to tear him off of me and his scratch marks are forever left in my skin, I will trace the scratches every night until I see him again and he can kiss them better.
Our lips gently, slowly come apart. He rests his forehead on mine, sniffling and catching his breath.
"I love you more than anything." he whispers, pained.
I hear tires travel down the driveway, but neither of us look away from each other. He just tightens his grip on me.
I let tears fall from my open eyes. I don't want to close them to risk missing one second of him in front of me still.
It's time to go.
His thumb rubs my cheekbone, eyes flicking back and forth between mine as, in my peripheral vision, I see the men and black suits approaching behind him.
"Invasato, remember?" his voice coos. "You're everything I'm passionate about."
And then a hand on his shoulder whisks him off of me, taking Dreamboat away.
Invasato; possessed or dominated by a strong passion.
The End
//
i'll keep the sappiness for the authors note, but i did want to let you know something here.
As Harry said, this isn't goodbye... and this isn't the end of Elaina and Harry's story.
'Occulto' will be the second book in the invasato series, the sequel to Elaina and Harry's journey.
It's up on my page now, run don't walk, add it to your libraries.
and as always, buckle your seatbelts.