The soft, crisp sheets felt incredible against my warm body as I lay back in the bed, light streaming through the huge open windows, lighting my apartment brightly. It was a beautiful day; the sun was beaming down on the world outside, the atmosphere pleasantly warm though not too sticky or humid. The people of the UK were delighted, as well as quite surprised, and the sudden burst of heat, the start of the summer coming early in April. It was the nicest I'd ever seen the weather here in London, and the city was stunning when it looked like this, with the light bouncing off every surface, the vast, pure blue sky consuming ever worry and leaving you feeling carefree and untroubled. Everything seemed better when the sun shone, didn't it? It put everyone in a good mood.
Unfortunately, it was going to take something much more influential than a spot of sun to clear up the battle of emotions going on inside my head right now.
"Lazy bones," I heard a low, gruff voice mutter from the end of the room, though I kept my eyes on the bright window, not looking at him.
In my peripheral vision, I could just about see the sandy haired boy pull his white t-shirt over his head. I didn't really want to look at him - when I didn't, I could almost pretend that he wasn't here.
"I'm just sleepy," I mumbled in response, gaze still set on the window. Why he bothered making conversation I couldn't figure out. Maybe he thought I actually cared, that he was more than just a way of making me feel justified in my emotions.
"I'll see you soon, yeah?" he asked, grabbing the last of his things as he moved towards the door, and I found myself wishing he'd just leave faster. I didn't really want him here. And yet, I'd been the one who asked him to come over. Lately I didn't know what was right or wrong - I kept ending up doing things that I'd told myself not to, and not doing the things I knew I should. The world didn't seem real anymore, not properly. I was just pulling my weight along, trying to find answers to all the questions and figure out what was going on in my head, but every time I thought I was close, I did something wrong and fucked it up again.
"Mmmh," I hummed shortly in reply, not wanting to give him a real answer. I couldn't promise him anything, because my feelings changed with every new day. If I was honest with myself, I knew I'd end up with him again. I always did when things were going wrong.
"Ok then," he replied shortly, sounding slightly miffed at my disinterest in him. I knew I should feel bad, but I didn't. Not really. I wondered if he had any idea, even the slightest thought in his head that I was using him as some form of reassurance to myself, as a device to make me hate myself more. He probably didn't, I reasoned. Who could ever decipher my fucked up thoughts enough to reach that conclusion?
It had all started on Valentine's Night. That much I knew. Harry had uttered those words, the suggestion that we be together, and at first my heart had thudded hard in my chest and I'd felt like jumping for joy. It was what I'd always wanted, wasn't it? For me and Harry to be together, for him to love me, to want me like I loved him. And I did love him. How could I not?
I didn't really understand my reaction at the time - the way I'd laughed at him, how I'd watched his perfect face crumple with disappointment. Why was I denying myself the one thing I really wanted in the world? Why was I hurting the only person who really mattered to me?
But then the realisation slowly sank in, the memories of all the pain of before. The heartbreak, the betrayal. Everyone I'd ever gotten close to had hurt me. I'd never had anyone who I cared about as much as I loved Harry, but anybody who had come close had eventually abandoned me, forgotten about me, decieved me, hurt me...
What if something happened to Harry and he was killed? What if he had to leave for America, how would I cope without him? What if he stopped loving me? Found someone better? What if he hurt me?
My heart had been broken too many times now. I couldn't deal with all that again. The risk was too much - one which I wasn't willing to take.
But Harry would never understand that. He'd try to convince me that he'd never hurt me, never leave - because he loved me, of course. But obviously that was what he was going to say, I couldn't ever know for sure. And so, I'd settled on sabotaging my life for myself. I'd hurt Harry until he didn't love me anymore - I'd slowly make him hate me. And how better to do that than to fuck with his drummer?
After that night, when he'd put in so much effort to please me, and still managed to make it perfect even though everything had gone wrong, I'd begun my plot to destroy everything. All it took was a single text. Just a few short words.
Are you busy tonight?
Josh had been intrigued, and my phone buzzed mere moments after sending it. Within a few short hours, I was screaming into his pillows as he fucked me hard from behind, the way Harry had always loved to do it. I was grateful for his choice really - it meant I didn't have to see his face. That way, it was easier to pretend to myself that I was Harry's soft fingers on my spine, and I could hear his passionate, deep voice whispering into my ear telling me how much he cared.
As time went on and we fucked more often, I learned to stop hearing Harry in my head. It became purely sex, nothing more or less, and that was perfect. That way, I could separate myself from Harry, make myself forget about how he made me feel beautiful when we were together. Instead, when I was with Josh, I plainly felt like a disgusting whore.
Ignoring Harry was the worst part. Watching him grow more and more frantic, confused and dejected. His texts became rhetorical, never expecting a reply, and his attempted calls which were constant and anxious at first became occasional and slightly hopeless. He'd hang up after the first ring, as if he'd decided to call, then realised it was futile and pitiable and hung up. I wished I could answer those calls, just to lay in bed and hear his voice in my ear like I had grown used to since before Christmas. He never slept without saying goodnight, and I started hearing his voice telling me to sleep well in my dreams. It was never as good as in real life, his voice in my head. It lacked the same silky undertone, the sound of his smile in his voice, and the sense in his words that he was thinking of me.
We'd met up once or twice, unavoidably. He was heading to LA at the end of March for two weeks, and he begged to see me before hand. When I did text him, it was to excuse myself as being busy, telling him I was in the studio writing when in fact I had barely put pen to paper for my new album. He never questioned me, just replied a little sadly, saying he wished he could see my face.
The sex had depleted terribly. It had become structured and robotic, though I knew he tried his best to please. I forced myself to remain unresponsive, even when his soft, tense touch was driving my insane, because he had to think I didn't want him anymore. He had to be convinced that I was bored of him, so that he could grow to hate me. That was the only way I could ever justify myself for being too scared to love him - if he didn't love me back.
It hurt to know that I was hurting him, and he was definitely in pain. His eyes had no spark anymore, and I was positive that he knew there was someone else. It was breaking his poor little heart, but all I could do was remind myself it was best in the long run. When he didn't want me anymore, I would be by myself again, and free to be alone and miserable. That was the best way to be, in that addictive kind of sadness. Being happy was too difficult, because there was always the risk that at any minute you could lose it all. It would be worse then, because once you'd had a taste of being truly happy, it would hurt more when it all slid from under your feet.
That was what Harry was; a taste of pure happiness. I couldn't bear it if that was taken from me, so instead I'd destroy it for myself. Then I'd have no one to hate but myself, no questions and no wondering, "Why me?" Once Harry hated me and I could be alone and miserable again, I'd have nothing to lose.
It really was the best way to be.
I stayed still and silent and Josh slipped out of my room, leaving me lying naked in my bed once again. I really was sleepy, so I wasn't objecting to his departure. Tired, I supposed, of everything. Of having so much shit running through my mind every minute of the day.
But it was too bright to stay in bed, and I couldn't waste such a beautiful day. Even if I just lay out on my balcony for a while, at least I'd have accomplished something with my time. I hopped out of bed, pulling my hair up quickly into a bun and grabbing a strappy, baby blue bikini from one of my drawers. I got dressed slowly, still smelling the boy's aftershave in the air. His scent had lingered annoyingly on my pillows these last few weeks, especially whilst Harry'd been in LA. It didn't smell as good as Harry did; too bitter. Harry's smell was fresher, sweeter, more inviting to my nostrils. Maybe that was just because the scent reminded me of having my head buried protectively in his neck, or of watching him sleep.
There was a sharp knock on my door and I jumped, and spurted a blob of white suncream from the bottle onto the floor below as it missed my waiting palm in my shock. I swallowed, pulling on the first t-shirt I could grab, reasoning that it must be Josh, having forgotten something as he left in a sulk.
I pulled the door open slowly, starting as a pair of familiar emerald eyes looked up at me timidly, a small smile playing on his flawless features, a much less assuming curve of the lips than I'd ever seen on him before. His usual cheeky grin had vanished in recent times, replaced by shy smirks and terrified blushes. I'd bruised his confidence so much, and that was one of the things I hated myself most for. I'd destroyed the once arrogant, cheeky boy and turned him into a mouse, scared of his own shadow. Self conscious about his performance between the sheets whilst I struggled with all the resolve I could muster to stop myself from melting into spasms in his arms, determined to make him hate me, determined to make me hate myself...
"Hey," he murmured quietly, standing awkwardly in the doorway as his eyes fell down to my feet, drinking in my scantily clad figure which he'd most likely been missing lately.
"Hi," I replied, feeling the rising chaos of warmth inside me, begging to be let out. I was dying to show him that I didn't hate him, that all this coldness was just a front so he would leave me alone like he should. But I couldn't. So I simply stood staring at him, allowing the silence to sweep in around us and eat into me, the tension boring over both of us.
He began to shift from foot to foot, eyes flashing away. I decided to cut straight to the point; be blunt, abrupt, I told myself. That was what was needed.
"What are you doing here?" I questioned uninterestedly, forcing my gaze to remain blasé and my tone to settle at a tepid, nonchalant note. Make it seem like I couldn't give less of a fuck that he was here, when in reality I wanted to wrap myself in his strong arms and never let him go.
I was immediately angry at myself for my slip of concentration, at the thoughts of him holding me that I'd allowed to invade my mind. Those thoughts were stupid, dangerous, tempting little demons that would destroy my reserve and make me fall back into him exactly the way I'd wanted to. Those thoughts of his safe body enrapturing mine wouldn't help me when I was heartbroken after he hurt me. Now I could see that Josh had always been right about that; whether he meant to or not, Harry would always hurt me. So I was better off alone.
He swallowed hard, and I could almost smell the regret as he once again wondered why he'd bothered to turn up here. The thoughts running through his predictable little mind were almost hearable.
She doesn't love me. She doesn't want me. She doesn't miss me. Shouldn't have come here...why did I even bother? Fucking things up more...I look pathetic...she doesn't even need me...
I watched him with a stab in my heart as he scuffled tiredly, scratching the back of his neck, a sure sign of nerves. His tense shoulders raised in a simple shrug, and his original, tiny smile had vanished into a frown.
"I haven't seen you in a while. Thought we could catch up. If you want?"
He eyed me hopefully, and he looked tired. He didn't deserve what I was doing to him. I could see him weakening physically before my eyes, and I'd always known that he lost weight when he was under pressure or stressed. Right now, he was a stick, his usually well built frame and broad arms looking frail and bony, his collarbones jutting out more so than usual, unnaturally so. He looked like someone who was ill - and it was my fault.
I nodded, feigning a tight smile. "Come in?"
His lips pulled up at one side and he stepped in, shuffling awkwardly as he eyed the apartment that he'd once known so well. He was barely round here anymore, where as we'd once spent days on end when he'd had free time after New Years simply laying tangled in the sheets, ordering Chinese food and talking about life in general.
"What have you been up to?" I asked, trying to keep conversation light, but worrying that I would give out the wrong impression. If I was going to lay him off, let him down easily, there was no point in leading him on with flirting or idle conversation.
I worried more that I was raising his hopes cruelly as he seemed to brighten a little at my comment, his eyes gaining a spark of excitement that I hadn't seen in a while at the fact that I was paying him attention, in any shape or form. "Not much, magazine interviews mostly so we're not too bogged down." I nodded, smiling politely, but letting my comments end there. "Lovely weather, isn't it?" he grinned, nodding towards the wide glass wall of my apartment where the bright sunlight streamed in.
"Yeah, I was going to sunbathe," I told him, hoping it would encourage him to leave me to my plans. On the contrary, I felt his hot gaze flutter to my thighs, watching how the hem of my old t-shirt fell around my skin. When I looked up, his gaze had darkened. It made my breath fall short, my mind running immediately to pent up memories of how his touch had once felt on my heated flesh, the sensation of his perfect, plump lips on my clit, how his teeth nipped at my thighs, leaving the smallest, slightest purple-brown blotches...
I shook the thoughts from my head immediately - those sorts of ideas were lethal to my plans - but poor Harry was probably feeling a little hard up and horny, his hungry gaze continuing its trail up my body, undressing me inevitably, my cheeks flaring as I silently predicted all the filthy positions he was picturing me in.
"I could put on your suncream?" he murmured darkly, smirking slightly at me. I was surprised at his blatant flirtation and even more so at how he blushed slightly - Harry had never been one to blush. I guessed it showed just how I'd damaged his ego - though it need never have been injured. A trickling warmth spread in my abdomen and between my legs and I gulped, feeling our eyes stick, his murky emerald orbs bearing into me, making my insides feel like they were on fire.
This was not how things should be going, I scolded myself, have some self control. You shouldn't want him, you're only hurting yourself and him...
I chuckled quietly, scratching my neck at odds with what to say. "Maybe, yeah," was all I managed, an uncertain solid frown on my lips. I felt my stomach twinge with sadness as I watched his eyes become cloudy with uncertainty again, the glimmer of confidence and boldness disappearing in an instant as I shrugged off his attempt at charming me. I felt terrible once again, and I wished for once that Harry would drop it and leave me alone. He shouldn't have to suffer, and he wouldn't have had to if he just gave up on me immediately like everyone else did. Why did he have to try so hard to like me?
There was a thick silence and Harry shuffled from foot to foot, hands delving into jean pockets. Whilst he wasn't looking, I allowed myself a quick glance at him, my heart aching at how scrawny he'd become. His ramones t-shirt hung from him - was he not eating? Was that how much my ignorance was hurting him?
"You didn't take my calls," he mumbled, his voice near a whisper. It had been almost a fortnight since our last rendezvous, and since then I'd barely contacted him. In saying that, I hadn't seen anybody else either; this morning had been my first time with Josh in around the same amount of time. I'd needed a while to just sit on my own with my thoughts, in the dark and catch up with myself. It hadn't helped much - I was still just as confused as before.
"I was busy," I replied quietly, my over rehearsed answer to every question he posed. "I'm really sorry."
I'd uttered the phrase once too many times, and it sounded stale. Harry noticed; his head cocked up at the falseness in my voice, how artificial I seemed. He looked hurt, but then again, he never appeared to be anything other than hurt these days.
"Too busy to send a text?" he demanded, his voice suddenly thunderous and strong, echoing painfully through my hollow chest. He was angry, his eyes watering in the corners, lips agape and eyes glaring in disgust. "It takes a minute, Tam, it's not hard."
"I know, I'm sorry..." I choked, unknowing of what to say. I felt my eyes stinging, my heart aching and longing for me to just give in and run to him, to tell him how I felt and that none of it meant a thing - but my head knew better than that.
"Well you know what, sorry isn't good enough," he thundered, shaking his head at me, spinning on his heel to move towards the door, but not before I saw the first of his tears roll gently down his cheek. "I can't take sorry anymore."
My skin prickled at the pain in his voice, my eyes watering uncontrollably as my resolve broke, every cell in my body yearning and commanding me to stop, to just listen to my heart and let him in. Whether he broke me or not, none of it was worth seeing him like this, a broken man with a lost hope and a constant dullness in his eyes. He wasn't my Harry. And I needed to see that side of him one last time, just once more before I let go of him for good. I could make him feel how sorry I was, making him see that it was for the best. There was no other way.
"Harry," I sighed, pulling him by his bony shoulder so he turned to face me reluctantly, his face soggy and pink with tears. He started as my lips crashed hard to his, my hands hungry and pulling him forcefully against me, a sudden need deep in my stomach telling me that he should be as close to me as possible.
He was hesitant, cautious almost, but his hands were quick to adjust as was his mind, and in moments he was pawing my skin, making my hairs stand on end and stomach flip with nervous excitement. It felt wonderful, I realised, to simply let myself give over to him, just one last time. That was what I promised myself - one last time.
He grabbed my arse, lifting me up and stumbling back to my bed, his familiar, though scrawny, frame hanging over me as our lips smacked noisily with wet kisses. He was swift to pull his tshirt over his head, and my fingers were rampant on the button of his jeans, wanting nothing more right now than to have him naked. His big, rough hands that I'd missed so much, a touch that was a thousand million times more soothing, yet sexy, than Josh's could ever be, traced upwards over my stomach, reaching around under my t-shirt to untie the straps of my blue bikini. No sunbathing for me today, I thought with a wicked smile.
It was mere minutes until we were both unclothed, and I was astonished at how skinny he really was - it made my stomach swirl with guilt and hatred, but I ran my hands along his toned chest anyway, ignoring the way his collarbones jutted and his ribs poked out just the teeniest, tiniest bit. He kissed me again, tongues colliding passionately as he flicked his thumbs over my breasts, my breathing coming faster and quicker by the second. It felt good. It felt good to let go.
"Fuck me, Harry," I sighed against his ear, clutching his waves back from his face - he looked so damn sexy when he had his hair pulled back.
"I will, don't worry," he chuckled lightly back to me, rolling his palm down my abdomen to graze my clit roughly through my thin bikini bottom, and I squealed, simultaneously being reminded of the first night I'd ever been with him from his words, some indistinct memory of something similar and flirty he'd moaned at me that night. Back then, I'd never imagined it would come to this - never predicted the pain of having my heart beat for nobody but him, and the terror and threat that would pose to my security. Back then, my trust complex had not been quite so strong - what had really happened to me to make me this paranoid? The only answer I had for myself was that maybe I was a little bit crazy. Maybe there was something wrong with me, mentally. Hopefully, I thought darkly. At least then I had a real reason.
My groans and cries came thick and fast as Harry laid me back gently, his fingers slipping in and out past the soft fabric of my bottoms, alternating between stroking soft, slow circles on my clit and dipping inside me. He knew all the right spots to hit - he knew me so well.
I kissed him roughly, rolling him over so his small frame fell back against the sheets, before taking my place between his legs. I wanted to do this for him, one more time. I'd always enjoyed having Harry in my mouth, and I was going to experience it once more.
I pried his clinging boxers back from his hard length, which poked out slightly from the top of his shorts, pushing the hem away from his lightly haired stomach. I felt his hands brushing my hair back from my face as I looked up, catching my lip between my teeth and smiling teasingly, watching how his eyes followed me, glittering with hot anticipation and a happiness at the fact that I was paying him attention again; the fact that I was touching him, feeling him just like it had once been. Well, maybe not exactly like is used to be, but as close as possible. It felt like the past two months had never happened in these moments, with my heartbeat racing and my mind full of nothing but him. The way I wanted it - but the way I was afraid to remain.
My tongue glided up the lower side of his length, and I took him all in my mouth, grinning involuntarily at the hushed, embarrassingly high pitched noises he emitted. His breath was short, forehead quickly becoming clammy and I observed him subtly, taking in with a quiet sadness every tiny thing about him, drinking in the essence of Harry. The way the dip in his collarbones deepened when he threw his head back, the vein in the side of his neck, how his curls hung around his face and his lips parted temptingly in response to my every lick and kiss.
I rose from him after he was sufficiently out of breath, and he pressed a fraught kiss to my mouth, arms pulling me vigorously into his lap, and within moments we were moving in perfect harmony, sighing into each other's necks, kissing softly as he thrust his hips lightly against me as I lifted myself up and dropped down so he slid into me effortlessly, hitting every spot perfectly the way only he could.
He flipped me over so he dominated me easily, thrusting into me sharply, gaining a sudden squeal of delight, and for the first time in a long time, I moaned his name as he fucked me. It was something I'd banned from myself, saying it was bad, too dangerous, leading him on...but it felt right, just this one last time. And as we both reached climax, me coming slightly before he did, his name tumbled uncontrollably from my lips, falling and feeling like the most beautiful two syllables in the English language.
We collapsed together in a sweaty mess, his body curved over mine, knees still planted firmly on either side of my waist though his head flopped forward, forehead meeting mine in the middle. A quick, final kiss, his lips warm and moist on mine, and red from his teeth's harsh assault on them. We panted, both trying to regain composure, but I hoped it would take me a while, because the longer I could lie here breathing in his arms, the longer I could put off telling him I didn't want to see him anymore. The thought broke my heart, it really did. But it needed to be done. He deserved better, and I couldn't be with him anymore. Not with the mess my head was in right now, and not with the paralysing fear deep inside me that he would hurt me beyond repair.
He rolled off me, pulling me down to the sheets in the warmth of his warms. I could feel the bones of his shoulders against the side of my head, but I said nothing, still happy to be with him. There was perfect silence for a while, and I marvelled at the sunshine streaming in onto the wooden floor. I heard Harry's heart beat in my ears, and without really knowing why, I started to cry. I was going to miss these days, these moments. I was going to miss him.
"Why are you crying?" he asked quietly, his long fingers brushing a few teardrops from my eyelashes, his brow furrowing in confusion.
I shrugged, shaking my head as I shut my eyes, willing the tears to stop so I could at least tell him with dignity. "Nothing. I'm not good enough for you. That's all it is."
I felt him tuck my hair behind my ear gently, tightening his grip on my body, holding me firmly against him. I was sure he hoped to comfort me, but it only proved to make my tears flow faster; he was so wonderful, so thoughtful. I was breaking his heart, simply because I was scared. Fear of being hurt had become the baine of my life.
"That's not true," he whispered soothingly, "You're perfect. You're wonderful."
"No," I choked, shaking my head furiously against him as I began rocking with sobs. "No, I'm not. I've hurt you so much. I've ignored you, you deserve so much better..."
I sobbed and cried into his shoulder as he remained silent, and I knew he agreed. That hurt more; knowing that he knew I was wrong for him.
"Is there somebody else?" he whispered near silently.
I nodded stiffly, my voice catching in my throat.
"Who is he?"
"You don't know him." A lie. "But I promise Harry, he means nothing. It was just a fling, because I needed to know that I'm not enough for you, and hurting you made that feel real..."
He swallowed hard, his hands clutching at my hair like straws. "That's why you've been busy..."
I could hear the ache in his voice, and it broke my heart. "I'm so sorry, Harry."
There was a deathly silence, only broken by my rattling, muffled sobs and cries. Harry's hands tipped my chin up so my puffy, tear streaked face looked into his green eyes that were clouded with pain.
"We can forget it ever happened," he murmured, a shattering glimmer of hope in his voice. "We could be so good together. I'll never hurt you, not intentionally. You know that?"
I felt my heart wrench at his words. That was exactly what I didn't know.
"I just..." I began, trailing off weakly, trying to build the reserve to say what I needed to, "I just have a lot of things about myself I need to sort out right now. As cheesy as it sounds, it's really not you, it's me..."
I knew how pathetic I sounded, but I held his gaze, feeling sick at the sight of tears welling in his eyes.
"We can take a break," he muttered pleadingly, his voice becoming desperate and begging, and in that moment it hurt to know how much he wanted me, needed me. It was tearing him to pieces - I was tearing him up.
I shook my head tiredly, pressing my lips timidly to his long, graceful neck that I'd always admired so much. "I don't think we can, Harry."
I could feel it building up inside him, and I knew it was about to spill over. He was emotional as it was, and his face was soon sodden with tears, eyes red and lips plump and pink. "Please, Tamara..." he pleaded, his voice a mere breath in my ear as he clutched to my hair desperately, trying to hold onto me for as long as possible. I assured him there was no way, as much as I wanted it. I needed to be alone for now - maybe forever - and there was no point in him waiting for me, making himself miserable. There was no point in carrying on a charade. It was better to make a clean break. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.
He held me tightly, kissing the skin just behind my ear softly as he cried into my hair. I'd not anticipated that he would take it this badly; he was hysterical.
"So this is it?" he whimpered soundlessly, the words vibrating in his chest. I nodded weakly against him, tears dripping down so they tickled my ears, and I knew I would miss him horribly, desperately, terrifyingly.
"It's for the best," I whispered back, smoothing his curls down on his forehead. "I promise."
Then, for the first time ever outside of the context of sex, our lips met. A soft, sweet kiss that felt like everything I'd ever loved about him. A gentle, quiet embrace, his hands dragging through my hair lazily, fingers dancing along my spine, as mine felt their way through his waves, my thumb stroking firmly over his defined cheekbones, his cheeks sunken from his weeks of hurting and aching.
It was for the best. He could move on a find someone who was good enough for him. Someone who could love him back. He would be happy, and that made me feel comfort.
As the sun set over the city, Harry gathered his clothes quietly while I watched from beneath my sheets, having pretended to fall asleep hours before. I heard his soft tears splash to the floor below, before I clamped my eyes shut, seeing him turn. His lips pressed tenderly to my forehead, and he sighed sadly.
The door opened and slammed. And he was gone.