He's like cheating on a diet: the temptation to taste the forbidden fruit much too strong to resist, so you give in. And the giving in feels good –oh, so good- like stuffing your face with a chocolate cupcake after weeks of kale smoothies.
And it's delicious and mouth-watering and you swear that you see God himself and you never want to stop eating that chocolate cupcake because it felt so good while doing it.
But, the feeling after –that guilt, that overwhelming disappointment in yourself for succumbing to your desires and your weakness... that's... that's the part that has you binging on kale. That's the part that has you quitting the chocolate cupcake cold turkey.
But, no matter what you do – no matter how hard you try to erase your lapse of judgment from your memory, you still have the taste of chocolate on your tongue.
And it will never, ever go away.
Harry is that chocolate cupcake.
"I've been calling your cell all morning, Monkey. I thought we were meeting for lunch?"
As soon as that voice rounds the corner to the kitchen, I swivel in my spot to face the cupboards, my palms leaning against the counter to keep me upright despite my shaking knees.
I close my eyes and take deep, even breaths in order to calm down –to appear normal- despite my flushed skin. Despite my heart beating like a drum in my chest and my stomach doing flips. Despite the goosebumps that pepper my skin and the fire licking through my veins.
All because of that damned cupcake.
And despite his girlfriend standing a few feet from me all I can think about is those plump lips tracing my breast and that warm tongue lapping and sucking up the chocolate on my throat and those emerald eyes darkened with lust and his breath on my lips and-
"Oh, Layla! I didn't see you there. What are you guys doing up so early?"
That same blissfully ignorant voice has me turning to face chestnut eyes and matching hair and a mega-watt smile and I suddenly feel sick.
Sick because Harry is looking at his feet and his lips are a slightly darker shade of pink than usual and Jaime almost caught us doing something we should have never been doing –never have even thought of doing.
Because of her and forget and Him. Because it's just not right and would never and will never go anywhere, but we keep doing it anyway and that raging fire of lust is replaced by a slow burn of rage.
A few weeks ago he kissed me and he has a girlfriend.
Today he was kissing my skin and he has a girlfriend.
And I'm the other woman. I'm the homewrecker.
Oh god, I need to get out of here.
"We were... I was... we were baking. I was teaching him how to bake – baking a cake... A cake for his mom. For his mom's birthday." I stutter out like an imbecile, suddenly feeling like I am the one intruding here –that I need to leave because I don't belong here.
Harry finally lifts his head up and I can see him trying to catch my eye, to express something through them, but I busy myself with grabbing my cooking supplies as he watches on, the air heavy with sin.
"Your mum's birthday?" Jaime turns to him with furrowed brows, "I didn't know about that. Will I be able to meet her then?"
And she is looking at him like he is the best thing to ever walk this planet and her manicured nails are tracing his bicep and now I actually do feel physically sick because she is so obviously in love with him and I can't blame her.
He's all Tarzan hair and dimples and long ramblings and drawings on a hill and comforting after a nightmare and chalk messages and the best thing that has ever happened to anyone.
And I can't ruin that. I can't ruin that optimistic kindness. I can't ruin him. Not him.
"We'll just have to see – hey, where are you going," He stops when he sees me trying to sneak around him with my things, but clears his throat when he hears the panic in his voice, "I mean... the cake, it's not done yet."
And it's painfully obvious that he wants me to stay so I can talk to him, but Jaime absentmindedly trails her hand down to play with his apron –his apron I bought for him with a smile on my lips and thoughts of today in my brain and I just can't.
My eyes begin to sting and my throat burns and I need to get out of here, "I have to go... I have things to do... just – just follow the instructions on the recipe on the counter and, and don't forget to let the cake cool before you put icing on it."
"Oh, Layla, wait," Jaime exclaims, her hand wrapping around my forearm, but I tear it away as if her touch burnt me, "You have some chocolate on your cheek."
And the way she is looking from my cheek to Harry's chocolatey nose and back again makes it clear she is curious as to what happened before she walked in, but all I can do is offer her a shaky smile, face still flushed.
Harry's eyes meet mine –expression unreadable, but eyes pleading. For what, I'm not sure and I don't think I want to find out.
"Yeah, it got a bit messy. Thanks." With that, I turn on my heel and make my way out of his apartment as fast as possible, slamming the door shut behind me.
"Layla!"
I nearly jump out of my skin, letting out a sharp yelp, and dropping my cooking utensils onto the ground around me.
"Eliza, Jesus!" I exclaim, bending down to collect my things, hands trembling slightly.
"My bad! Sorry, sorry," She kneels down next to me to help stack my mixing bowls back up, though I avoid her stare, my eyes still stinging, "Hey, are you okay?"
I nod my head absentmindedly, head still racing with thoughts of Harry's lips and Jaime's hand on his shoulder, "I'm fine – everything is fine. Niall isn't home right now if you were looking for him."
Eliza nods, eyebrows furrowed in concern, eyes searching my face, but I keep my head down, "Yeah, he's at work, I came to talk to Harry. But, what are you doing here?"
"I was just giving Harry his baking lesson, but uhm... Jaime came over, so I-I decided to give them space, so you probably shouldn't go in there and-"
"Hey, hey," She reaches out then, swiping her thumb under my eye and catching a tear I hadn't even realized had escaped, "Why are you crying? What did he do?"
She goes from sympathetic to angry in a second flat, standing up to reach for the doorknob before my hand reaches out to stop her.
"He didn't do anything, not really. I'm fine, really."
Eliza gives me a skeptical look because I'm as convincing as weight loss ads, but she nods her head, handing me my things before sighing exasperatedly.
"You have feelings for him don't you?"
Her question is so sudden and shocking that I find myself choking on my spit and racing to deny it, but it's like my throat closes up and my brain shuts off and the words won't come out.
It hits me then like a tidal wave. Washes over me so fast and all at once that I couldn't have avoided it even if I tried.
The pull I feel towards him, how comfortable I am when he's around, the anger when I think about his girlfriend, the hurt that wracked my body when I saw him with Jaime.
I have feelings for him.
I have feelings for Harry.
His stupid hair and eyes and understanding attitude and drawings and chalk and laugh and dammit dammit dammit.
How could I have not seen this before? How could this have even happened?
I freeze completely, my stomach churning and face paling and Eliza places comforting hands onto my shoulders, but nothing can stop the silent panic rising within me.
"I've known Harry a long time, Layla. I've seen him with a lot of girls and he was always... content, okay. But, there was always something missing... a passion that he never found with those people and then you roll into town and it's you. It's you – you were what's missing and he is painting again and seeing the world in color again and he doesn't even realize it."
My heart stops and I try to play off her words because they terrify me and can't be true and, "We aren't – Harry and I aren't like that."
"Yeah, I know. I know that, just... He's an idiot, he is. Jaime isn't what he wants, but he doesn't want to hurt her... Just, give him time, okay?
And she means well, but I suddenly find it hard to breathe, "I can't, Eliza. I just can't."
I drop everything onto my couch as soon as I walk in and rip off my apron because it is suddenly choking me and I can't breathe because of Harry's mouth and Jaime and Him and Eliza and it's all too much.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
I was supposed to move somewhere remote and quiet and start over in peace and maybe in five years build a life there or somewhere else.
But, now there's a boy and he has a girlfriend and even the thought of building a relationship with him has panic clawing up my throat because I am damaged goods and I might never heal completely and how in the world could I ever amount to someone like Jaime?
I can never be someone that is loving and open and warm and fuzzy.
All I am is scar tissue.
___________________________________
There is a blooming red-violet bruise along my collarbone.
I've had many bruises in my lifetime –some large and demanding of attention like a kick in the ribs and some small and minuscule caused by a fingertip being pushed into the skin too hard.
But, for the first time, I don't mind this discoloring of my skin.
No, instead it stirs a fire in my belly and leaves chills on my skin when I think of the lips that put it there, but those feelings are instantly followed by guilt because those lips belong to another and sadness because that is where they should say.
And it's this shame that has made me call into work for the last two days. The shame has me standing on my balcony in a slip, letting the biting night air nip at my skin as punishment.
"I've been knocking on your door for twenty minutes you know?"
I jump slightly at the voice, though it doesn't scare me as much as it should and I glance over just briefly to watch as Harry leans his arms on his own balcony railing –hair tied up and flannel pajamas on.
"I didn't answer for a reason."
"Layla, look-"
"Jaime is a nice girl."
He glances over at me as I stare out into the night, lump forming in my throat from what I'm going to do, but I swallow it down and continue because I know what Harry would do if I don't say anything.
He would break up with Jaime. He would break up with her and wait for me. He would wait for me to heal, to offer him what Jaime had been, but that's just not possible.
I can never be what he wants me to be. I will always be the girl that panics when someone touches her and is too scared to commit to someone that might just turn into Him.
And Harry just deserves more than that. More than me.
I know now that trying to forget that kiss veer happened was naïve and pointless, but this –cutting off the stem from the start won't ever allow this to bloom. Won't ever allow us to be hurt.
"Jaime –She is a nice girl. She's kind and friendly and she loves you, she really loves you, Harry," A sad smile tugs at my lips when my eyes meet his, "You two are going to be really happy together."
My underlying message is clear and the stormy look in his eyes tells me he got it loud and clear. His jaw clenches and he looks away from me, only to glance right back.
"That's it then? That's you ending this before it even starts?"
His voice shakes slightly, though it is filled with anger. I bite my lip and glance away, my silence enough of an answer for him. He is silent for awhile, just staring. Staring at me, at the world below, just letting my rejection sink in.
"You're a dog in the yard, Layla."
"What?" Harry doesn't meet my eyes, but I can see the lights of the city reflecting on them from here.
"You're a dog in the yard and you're the choke-chain."
And that's all that is said before I hear the balcony door slamming shut behind him and even though my chest aches and eyes burn, I don't let any tears fall because I know this is for the best. I know that once people are broken in certain ways they can't be fixed.
I can't be saved because I'm not a damsel in distress – I'm the villain.
________________________________
): I promise things get better haha.
Thoughts on Layla realizing her feelings? On Harry not freaking saying anything? On Eliza? Predictions?
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