72.
●•Scarlett•●
This time, when I woke up, Harry was slumped over still asleep next to me, both of us struggling to fit into the not-so-great space the couch provided. It was certainly not meant for two people, but for some reason we believed we could turn into one if we could just collide against each other tightly. We were still fully connected.
His legs were stuck between mine as he pinned me, unconsciously, against the back of the couch. And for the first time, it felt as if I was the one holding him instead of the other way round, with his head stuck between my neck and shoulder, even if that meant he’d had to scoop further down the couch until his legs were hanging out of it to do so. He looked so f–cking fragile.
After our completely necessary conversation, he’d dragged me back to the upholstery, holding me there whilst something useless played on the TV, none of us really paying any attention to it as we talked a bit more about his past and ate the leftovers from last night. It was quite scary, though, how thrilled to hear it I was. The thing about my ‘relationship’ with Harry is: I’ve had him to escape what the rest of my life is. The whole concerning thing, the constant weights I’m ought to carry because I have the necessity to not let people down, not let them feel disappointed, nor sad. My whole existence apparently goes down to lifting people up when they’re about to break, and hold them up when things are fine.
And having Harry telling me about him completely breaks the purpose of being with him to start with. Until a day before, what I knew of him was what he showed me on a daily basis, which meant, nothing but what he does when he’s by himself, or with me. Everything I knew about him involved me and him only, and okay, maybe secondary characters here and there, but nothing much, all in all.
Now it is something.
Now there is someone else, and a past, and a whole context that allows me to put a few pieces together and understand why he’s acted in a determined way in determined moment. I’m not really sure whether I’m scared or pleased by the sudden realization, but either way it’s too late to go back.
Plus, I was the one who brought the topic to the fore, after all. If I’d just ignored that damn ring in the back of his drawer, let it there like I should, things would be fine; I would still be into the stupidity zone (and by stupidity I mean only being unaware), would still have no commitment to him. Not deeply, anyway. But I wanted to know. Felt something like jealously, maybe, and I caught myself needing to know about that damn stupid girl in the picture. I honestly should’ve just let it there.
Things didn’t seem to go downhill, though. Besides his little freak out for having known I’d messed with his stuff, he quite looked eager, even, to tell me about everything. And if the thought of Meena hurt too bad, he didn’t let it show. Not like I had done when I told him about me. He seemed happy, above it all, satisfied, kinda, and just so pleased at the memory of her. He was a kid when everything happened, sure, but who am I to judge his early decisions in life?
It was well pointed out by him, actually, that at the age he felt like drowning in love, I was pregnant already, so.
We were, actually, pathetic teenagers, but life doesn’t exactly come with a manual that tells you when you’re supposed to take really huge steps or not. Unfortunately, not everyone in life has it the easiest way; not everyone has parents to guide them through their lifetime, and I wonder if Harry’s parents are bad in any way.
But honestly, if I stop to think about it, doesn’t seem like it. Harry seemed pretty fond of his family, explaining a few of his tattoos to me. Once he lost the ‘love of his life’, he’d told me, he went through some tough times, rebel ones. By the age of eighteen to twenty, he relieved some of his misery in tattoos.
There’s the result.
“The ‘G’ is for Gemma, my sister, and the ‘A’ stands for ‘Anne’, my mum.” He’d pointed out, rubbing the tip of his finger against his shoulders, smiling fondly at each one of the tattoos. “The butterfly and the swallows mean freedom – flying and stuff –, something Meena always believed in, has dragged me into the whole idea as well.”
And I’d just listened, actually paying more attention than I cared to admit.
“These two little crosses here – you might think it’s stupid actually, but I was kind of out of my mind when I got most of my tattoos, so –, I’m a firm God believer, you see, and so was Meena and her little sister, Khaya. That’s why there’s a ‘K’ and an ‘M’ tattooed below the crosses. Because below God, they were the two people I trusted the most. Have always been good with kids, I suppose.”
Harry had actually laughed at the thought, and I couldn’t really see him with another girl who wasn’t Angel, trying to picture a 14-year-old Harry Styles acting as lovely as he does nowadays, but to some other kid who maybe wasn’t a bit like my Angel.
“The ‘might as well’ one is simple, really. Just something she and I usually said to each other for the mere sake of teasing. The other ones inked here,” he’d pointed to his upper arm, and I swear I tried not to stare – much – at his muscles, forcing myself to actually hear him “are just patches of memories. Small useless stories, objects we found together and stupid meanings, things we couldn’t’ve done – that’s why it’s on the ‘things I can’t arm’ – so I won’t really waste much time on it.”
And then there were so many others. The ones on his ankles, his wrist, the cursive letters spread in many places, random words, drawings, from the smallest to the biggest ones, with no meaning at all – if not the urge he’d felt back them to ink those on his skin – and at the same time, others that held great meanings, and I could even say I’d seen the corner of his eyes prickling with tears whilst explaining those.
The actual thing is, he looked so lost in his own bubble, the part of his life only he had experienced, and I felt a bit bad for being there, crowding his space, when, clearly, I was not part of something he had enjoyed so much. Even after she’d died, he’d still taken his time to make himself the walking reminder of her. Was a bit ridiculous, actually, being there with him, hearing him trusting me enough to let everything out, when I knew I would never make him feel the way that girl had. I was not sure if I was a tad bit mad because I was jealous, or because I had gotten into something that wouldn’t provide me 100% of his heart. Shouldn’t be expecting that, either, but apparently, I was. And just maybe I was mad at myself, too.
And still, there I was, pressed against the back of the couch, his curls tickling the exposed skin of my neck, his breathing giddy and yet calm, his arms beneath the touch of my fingertips, because since a few hours ago I couldn’t exactly stop staring at them. Even being clothed, I could picture the tattoos underneath the denim so clearly I felt like really seeing them, my head going back and forth between their meanings.
So lost in my own mind, I didn’t even realize when he shifted lightly, only being brought back to the living room once he yawned, eyes glued to my face while he shot me a dimpled and sincere smile I couldn’t help but mirror. The dimples an exception, of course. I didn’t have those charming ones. Nor the soft curls clumping over my forehead. Concluding: Harry was rather cute, meanwhile I was-
“What’re you thinking?” he laughed lowly, kissing my neck. “You’re frowning so hard seems like you’re actually trying to decipher some impossible enigma or something.”
I snorted. “Not really, no. Or maybe, yes. I dunno. Wondering why you have cute soft curls and dimples and I don’t.”
He actually laughed out loud at that, sleepily, yet, but certainly loud. It was a Harry thing, I’ve learned. Being loud all the freaking time, no matter where, no matter with who. I kind of liked that a lot.
“Well, you have deep blue eyes and I don’t,” he reasoned then, as if the fact made up for the rest of his qualities.
“You have green ones. Still not fair.”
“You have boobs,” he shrugged, and I gasped.
For a second, I didn’t know if he’d just hit me or if the air had just left my lungs all at once, but it hurt, and I wanted to laugh, not being able to because I was flabbergasted. Not that I really minded cheeky slash naughty Harry, because it was so him, but for God’s sake he’d just woken up from a long nap and. God.
“Harry!” I scolded then, and he laughed once again, winking.
“What? It’s a perk. But anyway, you should complain to my mother. Should be illegal to make such a perfect human being, even though I don’t like the thought of having my mum in jail. Ask her for the secret ingredient or something.”
“You’re a twat,” I murmured under my breath, rolling my eyes at him with my hands still moving on his arms slowly. He didn’t seem to notice, and if he did, didn’t make a mention about it. “Can’t even compliment you that you get your ego so high. I’m gonna go back to insulting you all the time. You were more bearable.”
He shrugged again, scooting closer to me, digging his fingers deep on my waist and breathing in the scent of his own clothes on me – which I said I wouldn’t wear, but –, his knees bending awkwardly to fit his feet on the couch, but giving up once he realized there was no way he could do that without forcing us a bit closer to the edge of it.
“What time is it?” he whispered a second later, eyes closed again, voice back to the low and slow tone he usually used.
“I have no idea, really. Must be something around ten already,” I guessed, moving my hand to his curls this time, soothing them, slowly pulling it out to watch the strands uncurling on my fingers, then curling back once I let them go. I kept the movement constant, and Harry sort of purred at it, moving his head to get more. What a kitten. “Shall we go to bed?”
“Hm, no,” he whined. “Not yet. M’too comfortable to get up now.”
So I simply smiled, murmuring my agreement and closing my own eyes, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, completely isolating the embracing cold around the whole room. And in the silence again, my mind went back to everything he’d told me, how his eyes shone with passion and endearment, longing. Even though he was awake now, I ignored the fact, drifting off to my own theories, apparent new fears. At least for me.
Harry had a past as well. I’d overestimated him, I knew that, but it’s not like it was written all over his face that he still had traumas. And they were too deep for my liking, honestly. Because I was here with him at the moment, curled up on the couch, hearing him say over and over again he was able to wait whatever long for me to leave Tyler and be all his, but she was the one all over him. She was the one on his mind, she was the one inked on his body, probably in his soul as well. He obviously kept the memories of their past clear in his mind, and I was not sure I could compete with that.
I was just someone who was hurting him one time after the other, telling him I wouldn’t give up on my relationship for him, and yet giving him too much hope. I was the one fooling him around and he was going to get so, so sick of that. Soon.
I deserved that, though. Should’ve listened to my conscience from the very beginning, but didn’t, and there I was. In some sort of love with him, jealous of a dead girlfriend, but too attached to a duty to give myself to him completely. Meena had given herself to him. She was better than me. I would not replace her.
But still, that night, a while later, we went to his room; hand in hand, fingers twined, shoulders bumping, giggling like idiots, feet bare.
I had him for now. For now.
●•Author's Note•●
dedication goes to: @Kathy1Dsmile glad you like this, love! I can't tell if there's going to be a happy ending or not, you can see there're many controversies in the story. But. Well. Thanks! Becoming a writer is my dream.
note: I feel so sorry for Scarlett. She feels less than Meena. God, she doesn't understand, does she? But anyways. I hope you liked this one. So much still to happen. Ps.: For the people who read MTJA, just so you know, his friend's sister he used to babysit, that I mentioned in the short story, was Khaya. A few people thought the girl he babysitted was the one he was in love with. It was not.
next update: Tuesday (November 26th)
900 votes for early update. Best comment gets a dedication :) Love you lots, really. - Dani xx