New York City, New York
Times Square
12:01 A.M, Marriott Marquis Hotel
S
I made a revelation in the hotel shower at 12:01 A.M, as I washed the sin and grim off my body. Honestly, after almost two months you would think I'd be gone of him. It was practically revolting how I still felt his hands pinching and folding every inch of flesh covering my body, how every time I would drink a bottle of water I would mistake it as his saliva aching on my tongue or even how I could still feel him stiff inside of me.
The bus driver had dropped the boys and I off at the back entrance of the hotel a few hours before; due to the fact that our hotel was right smack dab in the middle of Times Square which hundreds of screaming girls already lined up for any chance to see the boys outside of a concert hall. The boys initially wanted to the havoc ridden entrance, but their tour managing team deemed it "too dangerous," since the boys had multiple TV appearances the next day and they wanted them to "keep up their pristine looks." Squeezing a dime size of the hotel's lilac and soy shampoo onto my red palm, I massaged the amount into my hair and eventually onto my skin as my original soap bar melted into the drain from it's over usage.
There were no sounds of a T.V blaring or conversation chiming from the rest of the room, the one I coincidentally shared with Harry. It was almost as if no one was here besides me, although I wouldn't have been surprised if he had gone out to party and drink with the rest of the lads. Although I hate to even think of its occurrence, I had treated Harry like the dirt on the bottom of my shoe the whole time I was here; smacking myself for the fact on his own tour.
The horrible thing was that this wasn't the revelation that I made in this hotel shower at 12:01 A.M; while I was doing it, I knew I sounded and acted cold, heartless and dare I say, bitchy. Frankly I just didn't care, for my own selfish agenda and attitude was very fresh and very present in my consciousness.
I felt a certain evil infest my skin and course through my bloodstream as I yelled, screamed and cussed at him, even more so when I saw his face morph from its naturally calm, cool and collected state to one of exhaustion, sorrow and depression from my own doing, and I savored it. Maybe the green evil inside of me was John, or maybe it was me. Either way, I was indefinitely wrong and as I felt the words I said to him come back to me, my fists started to rap on the tile of the shower and I wept for my
"I don't have to tell you anything, considering you do the same."
"Come on, Harry!"
"And mostly, I'm done with 'this.'"
The part that hit me the worse was that I remembered feeling this way in the same setting months before; déjà vu in its worst form. Only the first time, it was someone else's fault. I had no control, no voice and no say. But this time, it was my own. John had raped me and that it was plain and humanely wrong, but it was my responsibility after to decide how I would handle myself. Now, I had the control, the voice and the say I so desperately wanted and needed that early summer night and yet I blatantly abused it. I didn't only abuse my power though. I also abused the boy, the man; who loved me to the ends of the earth and the one I would and will love, until my heart quits beating and my eyes sleep for eternity. And even then, I'm not quite sure if I would stop.
Throughout my self-pitiful pounding and sobbing on the floor of the shower, I had found the revelation:
I was not done with Harry; not now, not tomorrow and not forever.
3
"Perfect," Harry thought somewhat happily to himself, admiring his handiwork. Lounging on the futon in a pair of blue sweat pants that hung loosely of the contours of his muscly hips, he aimed to make Sydney feel as comfortable as she can under the circumstances. He knew she liked the room somewhat chilly when she slept, so he turned to air conditioning down a few notches. She also liked sleeping with a soft blanket along with sheets, so he bought the softest one at the nearest Target that afternoon. He also knew she liked sleeping on two pillows (one fluffed and one not), so he did exactly that.
He did all this to make her happy; that's all he really ever wanted.
Correction, he wanted something a little more complex than that. It was simple in appearance, but perplexing and painstaking in its core; he wanted Harry and Sydney, Sydney and Harry, Styles and Ronan. He knew rationally that she was just caught in an emotional tidal wave when she declared she was "done" with their friendship. But the irrational side of his brain, the one that unfortunately dominated his every action told him that she maybe, truly was just that; "done." And from that, he had sweated and toiled feverishly to impress her; through one wintry hotel room, one fleece blanket and two down pillows.
Because, guess what? Harry Edward Styles did not give up.
After a few ticks of the clock, he noticed Sydney was still in the shower after more than a half an hour. Sadly, he knew exactly what she was doing. Even though it was over two months ago since he viciously brutalized her she was still determined to wash the sin that was John off of her skin.
And in her context, "wash" really meant "rub raw till your skin bleeds."
He nearly leaped off the stiff futon to knock on the bathroom door. But before he could bring his fist to complete the slightest rap, he heard something that made his chest ache with grief.
The sound he heard wasn't a cry, a sob or even a pounding wail.
It was a question being repeated over and over till the thin black paper in a video tape tangled.
"Why?"
He didn't need to knock anymore. He opened the door, walked in and sat himself on the cold tile floor, leaning his back against the wall of the tub as only a mere shower curtain separated them.
She must've noticed his presence, because the question was now halted and the shower diminished into small trickles. Both had so much to say, not necessarily to one another, but just in general. But the bathroom remained silent, as the two teenagers were so close yet divided by the thin shower curtain.
Until a few more ticks of the clock, and she whispered:
"Why, Harry?"
His already throbbing chest pounded with contained sobs. She asked him a question, and she deserved an answer. But he couldn't give her one. He had not the slightest clue why someone would ever even consider hurting her, raping her; breaking her. He lowered his pounding head into his folded arms.
"I don't know."
Abnormally fast, she stepped out of the shower in a white fluffy towel. He lifted his head at the sound of the shower curtain rings gliding against the rod, staring at her as she walked out of the small room and into the bed room to which he followed.
Sydney was lying on the bed, facing the wall wrapped in the same towel. Her figure curved beautifully under the towel, but her skin; her beautiful skin; was red from her constant scrubbing. Her shoulders sunk into her neck as her long dark hair stuck damp to her back and forehead in small ringlets. She ignored the blanket and her unique pillow preference was ignored. She just lay there, looking out into the New York City skyline wordlessly.
Harry stared at her for a few more ticks before he decided to climb in next to her, and just caress her raw skin. In a matter of ten ticks of the clock, he had gotten her to say something; anything, to him.
"Harry?"
"Yeah?" He murmured, feeling the nerves twitch under her skin as he pressed his lips to the back of her warm shoulder.
"I'm not done with you."
"I know, don't worry," he said, releasing the nervous hot breath out the threshold of his mouth and onto the skin of her neck. "I know."
Turning around, her view no longer portrayed the glowing city lights but the infatuating green eyes of Harry. She parted her mouth, as she delicately dragged her fingers down his T-shirt clad torso and innocently pressed her lips against his ear.
"Make love to me."
He hadn't fully processed the request, before she said it again.
"Make love to me."
Harry loosened his embrace on her, letting his arms fall in complete shock and alarm as she stared at him whilst biting her lip curiously.
"What?"
She wanted him to have sex with her.
Not just have sex, make love.
His mind was racing and his emotions waged a full on war. He should be jumping in glee and ripping off her clothes on the spot. This was what he always dreamed, wasn't it? To make love to her, to love her in the most intimate way possible, to feel her sweaty chest slide onto his own as he thrust...
But no, his rationality screamed at him. It was beyond wrong, they were best friends, and she had been abused in the same form she was asking him for now. There was so much at stake for both of them, physically and mentally. They just simply couldn't, and that's exactly what he said to her.
"But," he started, feeling a dry upheaval of anxiety spill out his mouth. "We can't."
"Yes, we can," she stated, her calm blue eyes remaining solid on his frantic green ones.
"No, we can't!" He shouted as he quickly got off the bed.
Sydney sat in a hurried position, pulling the towel closer to hear in instinctive fear as Harry's feral eyes stared at her wildly. The last time she heard a man yell that loud was two months ago in that wooden room. She squeezed her eyes close, as she mentally chanted for herself to "be normal." Unknown to this, Harry ran his hands throughout his hair in complete panic as he paced around the small hotel room while the clock sounded more.
"We can't, we can't....."
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
"But, I want to," she spoke, her voice cracking as she glanced her watery eyes at her sprawled legs.
He raised his head in awareness to the genuine nature of her tone. He looked into her blue eyes, which were welled in tears. But for the first time in two months, they weren't sad tears.
She was crying because she wanted to. And here Harry was, rejecting her for his own personal vendetta.
"Why?" He blurted, resounding the question she chanted in the shower only a few moments before. "I mean- why do you want to? With me?"
She licked her lips in contemplation of what to say next, keeping her serene eyes on him as she patted the space on the bed next to her. Hesitantly, he sat down next to her and for a while, they paid no physical or spoken attention to one another, before she knew exactly the words to say to him.
"Because I want to feel loved for once," she answered honestly, dipping her head into the base of his throat. "The last time, it wasn't my choice. I was forced to and I didn't want it-"
Harry subconsciously tightened his grasp on the fragile girl, as she paused to collect some much needed breath before proceeding once more.
"-whatsoever, you know that."
He slowly nodded his head in both understanding and reassurance for her to continue. The blue from her eyes peeked behind the dark hair that fell in front of it, and her once sinking shoulders straightened up as she knew exactly what she meant and felt she had to say.
"But this time, with you..." she spoke carefully, raising her head up to meet his face which were now only a few, aching inches from one another.
"I want to feel someone love me, the way it should've been the first time. I want to feel love again. More importantly, I want to feel you love me, Harry."
His lips unstuck from one another in surprise at her last few words as he stared at her once more, breathing heavily at her profound natural beauty.
"God, this was wrong," Harry thought.
But how come he felt so right about it?
It wasn't one sided; he wanted to, she wanted to. What was there stopping them? There was in actuality, a thousand different things that could've stopped them. But those facts didn't, and it was proven as he finally closed the small proximity between their lips, and right in that moment he understood the cliché feeling, like this was something he should have done long before.
It was a complex kiss; sweet and slow in the first few instances, but it gradually progressed into a fiery, passionate interaction between two mouths. The feeling of Harry on her lips to Sydney was therapy, like a long, hot vanilla bubble bath after a dreadful day at work. Although to Harry, her lips were like a precious tropical fruit that you could only find in one select place: unique, wonderful, and refreshing. After all the years of wondering, Harry now knew firsthand that she tasted like coconut as Sydney licked up mint on her best friend's lips. Somehow in this twisting and turning train of thoughts and events, her towel was dropped onto the floor beneath them.
His hands selfishly salivated every inch of her naked skin, but he treated this abundant amount of time delicately. This wasn't some awkward first time experience in secondary school, nor was it a quickie in a closet like he had done with Caroline a year before. This was Sydney he was touching; the one he sought out through a small indent of light while having this with someone else, the one he had willingly bruised and bloodied his knuckles for, the one he once wished to spend the rest of his remainder here on earth with.
As her lips continued to dance with metaphorical electricity on his, she wore nothing but her natural grace and brilliant blue pool of eyes. Lowering his head towards her neck, he decided she had never looked so perfect until now and he didn't need any other girl to satisfy him as long as she was right here.
She slowed for a moment to grasp the hem of his white t-shirt, but their kiss remained very much alive as their tongues became a part of the equation. Harry took her cue, moving her gentle yet arousing hands off his chest and to the side of his hips as he slid the shirt over his head easily, thanking god he decided to be lazy and wear a basic t-shirt today.
She stepped back a bit from his swollen lips, admiring the perfectly defined abs and ridges gracing his chest. The two swallows tattooed on his collarbones stared at her as she gulped with sudden fear, contrasting greatly to her bold bravery she displayed just a few moments before. Her fingers still laced into his as he stepped forward, his bare chest just barely touching the taut peaks of her breasts.
"Are you still sure about this?" He asked breathily, as he placed a trail of small kisses from her nose to her lips to their final destination of her neck.
Sydney moaned lightly at the feeling of his lips nipping at her collar bones, but she fixated on the two birds tattooed on his chest. They mocked her, stealing her gaze away from a certain pair of hazel eyes that she deemed her weakness. She must have not replied, because he followed up with his question once more.
"We don't have to, if you want..." Harry whispered between his trail of kisses, moving closer to her as he traced his finger from her gaping lips, down the valley of her breasts and reaching her naval, just stopping short of her private area.
He stopped; she managed to think to herself among her desperation for him. He didn't go any farther and tried his best not to push her further, the way John always had. He respected her, and her decision would determine what the next hour in this East Coast hotel room would be like. Trailing her fingers delicately over the tattoo she once merely glanced, she cocked her head to the side and gave him a teasing yet completely serious grin.
"Like I said, I'm not done with you."
Harry smiled slightly at her answer, but it was an understatement compared to what he was feeling inside. He was sure his eyes looked wild as he glanced downward at her breasts once more.
"They were perfect," Harry decided.
Just like the rest of her.
She took notice to this, lifting his chin to meet her blue gaze. The two teenagers simply stared into each other; her finger under his chin, his thumbs messily grazing incoherent circles onto her hips as their faces bored into one another's practically seconds apart. They simply breathed on each other's lips, more and more until those same lips intertwined into a second ecstasy driven kiss.
In the midst of this kiss, Sydney was lowered on the bed as Harry hovered over her bare body, his large hands rummaging every scar and birthmark on her back. She kissed his face, running her shaky hands along the sides of his face before trailing them down to his v-lines, wrapping her throbbing legs around his waist and running her fingers throughout his curls as she nicked the skin behind his earlobe with her lips.
"Sydney-" he panted her name onto her lips, desperation laced within.
The sound of Harry losing control, more or less due to her, was like a lullaby to her ears. As his mouth peppered soft butterfly kisses on her shoulders, she discovered the cause of this delightful sound to the bulge emerging under the fabric of his boxers. She also discovered that while she was completely nude, Harry still had his underwear firmly placed over his stiff length.
"Off," she breathed into his ear as she tugged at the waist line of his briefs, not waiting for him to fulfill her demand as she slid the cotton material over the ridge of his erection and onto the floor, next to her towel.
She gasped at the full length of him as the image of a fifteen year old Harry flashed throughout her mind. There was no turning back at this point, no second guessing if this was the right path to take or not. But to her own surprise, this impeding thought didn't faze her whatsoever. All she knew now was that she wanted him; she wanted him, she wanted him, she wanted him.
"Impressed?" He remarked cheekily, taking notice to her doe eyed expression.
She started to giggle, leaning her head on his chest as he chuckled along with her. It was almost like they were just those two sixteen year old's again, laughing over cheap liquor and cheesy jokes. But the fact that they were both nude and Harry continuously ran his mouth over her breasts assured her otherwise. Leave it to Harry to halt such a sensual moment with a cocky joke.
But then again, maybe that's why she wanted him so bad.
"Very much so, Mr. Styles" she added back with a posh accent and soon enough their brief friendly moment changed back to its previous amorous state.
Toying with her fingers, Harry was just about to enter her when a cool, damp object suddenly spilled onto her bare chest. Removing her gaze of Harry's eyes, she found the pesky object to be his St. Christopher Necklace.
Harry had received his St. Christopher necklace at the ripe age of sixteen from Anne; in fact it was given to him seconds before his now famous X-Factor audition. To what she had told her, Anne always knew Harry was destined for greatness, so her gift of the necklace was to represent this; St. Christopher was the saint of safe travelling. Sydney hadn't realized the significance this specific necklace held for their relationship until now. Maybe its bothersome appearance was to remind Sydney just that; to travel safely and cautiously as they entered into a foreign land they had never experienced before: an act of lust being used as one of love.
Before Harry could question her suddenly still position, she hooked her pointer around the gold chain, pulling his face closer to hers by the necklace so she could devour his lips once more, to which he gladly complied. Just as their two bodies were finally about to mold into one entity, he heard Sydney's beautiful voice pant their sentiment into his neck as he kissed all the places on her beautiful skin she was ever wronged.
"I love you, Harry. To the stars and-"
The ending morphed into a beautiful moan as he thrust inside her in prolonged passion and unquantifiable years of yearning for just this one moment: Sydney Ronan, his best friend, now becoming his lover and hopefully, his forever.