Harry's Range Rover pulled to a smooth stop in the driveway of his childhood home in Holmes Chapel, the tyres crunching crisply over the soft layer of crackling snow that had coated the ground overnight - a welcome surprise to most on the day before Christmas Eve. I stretched, feeling uncomfortably stiff and cramped in the small space of the front seat, my bump practically pressed against the dashboard, I'd grown so round. I soothed my palm over my stomach softly, comforting my wriggling boy as he nudged lightly inside me. He'd been so restless these days, and it made me uneasy. He seemed agitated rather than simply active. It made me sick with fear the thought of something being wrong with him. The thought of my little one being sick or unhealthy.
"You ready, honey?" Harry asked calmly from the driver's seat, his eyes shifting twitchily over my expression. "Just ignore the girls in the driveway, I'll ask them to leave."
"You don't have to," I shrugged, peering out cautiously through my window to observe the squealing, beaming and often crying fans that littered the pavement just beyond the lawn of the Styles household; Anne had put up a fence a few years back to stop them from pressing their noses up to the front windows.
"I want to," he assured me with a gentle smile, "You need your peace."
I beamed warmly back at the boy in the front seat, stroking my thumb back and forth across my swollen belly just above my belly button, trying to comfort his troubled kicks. Harry'd had his hair cut. His springy curls, untamed by stylists and going just a little bit wild today, curled around the backs of his ears and his fringe now only just a framing slick of hair that brushed his forehead. It didn't hang in his eyes now, didn't flop across his face quite like it used to. I liked it; it made him look younger, and yet his features had matured so that he looked nothing less than...beautiful. His nearly blue eyes twinkled at me from below that chestnut coloured tuck of his hair. His lips parted slightly, and I wanted to kiss him. I probably would when we got inside - his kisses were much more plentiful very recently.
He'd snapped back a little lately. He was more like the warm, loving Harry I used to know making me tea out of the blue, kissing me with surging passion that he tamed slightly into warm tenderness, his safe, strong arms holding me close in the night. We were speaking again, making chitchat, even laughing with each other, and he was home much more frequently. He stayed in nights and cooked pasta, and we'd sit on our white upholstery with the TV as background noise while he kissed my bump and whispered to my baby that daddy loved him. Sometimes lately when he told me he loved me, I started to believe it. Sometimes it really, really sounded like he meant it, and my heart flushed with hope for the future like it had a few months before.
But it wasn't quite as simple as that. Love never is, and my heart couldn't allow him to step back into his old shoes again and expect nothing to have changed. He'd hurt me, and he'd cut deep when he did. I'd spent months feeling entirely alone, unloved, and I'd learned to resent him for it. None of that could be wiped clean with a few well timed soft smiles that caressed my cold heart and squeezed life back into my bones, no matter how totally and completely he'd turned himself around.
I couldn't trust Harry quite the same, and if I was honest, I spent every minute of every day waiting for the old him to rear its head; for him to dismiss me like I was nothing more than a cloud of dust billowing in the air and choking him to death.
"I'll go ahead of you if you want," he offered, "Get all the bags inside and you can just take your time. I'll get rid of them before we go in if you want-,"
"It's fine, Harry," I insisted, "Really. They don't bother me."
"But them screaming at you can't be good for your stress levels," he reasoned with a concerned furrow of his dark, unkempt brows. He hadn't been to see Lou in a while and they, like his hair, were becoming a little bit wild. "Stress is bad for the baby."
"I'm a big girl, Harry, I'll live." I rolled my eyes but smiled at his concern for me. What a change it was. The abruptness of his turn around still startled me, too. It was like one day he'd been dark and quiet and keeping to himself, abandoning me at home to seek his kicks from a bottle - the next I woke up to a mug of tea by my bedside and a tender kiss to my temple, a whisper of his love before he tended to my every need.
The night Niall had stayed with me while I was sick. I thought maybe the blonde boy had said something to him, influenced him in some spectacular way that had brought about this meteoric change in him. I had never had the chance to ask. Niall wasn't round often now - Harry didn't like him being around me, for whatever reason.
He put up an argument for another short while, before finally accepting the facts I fought heatedly that I was perfectly capable of walking to the front door unaided, that the fans didn't bother me, and that I could indeed carry my own handbag without straining myself. I hopped awkwardly out of the Range Rover to what Harry had predicted - a deafening eruption of screams - before I waddled like an uncoordinated penguin across the crunching snow, the ground and every plant, wall, pavement sparkling with frost. It was dusk, the sky darkening and the Styles' front window twinkled brightly with lights of all colours, the tree glistening in the sitting room. I ambled up to the front door and pushed the bell gently. I glanced over my shoulder to see Harry struggling adorably with the two heaving cases, mine and his, unable to get the handle on one to contract down again. I allowed myself a quiet giggle at him, with his squinting eyes peering out from beneath the hood of his charcoal black coat that I'd used as a blanket while I slept on the way here. It had smelled like him. Like home.
I looked around as the door rattled and swung open, Harry's beaming mother ushering me inside with an excited squeal as Harry joined me on the doorstep. "You're here! Ah, you've gotten so big Tamara!"
I was tugged inside, the warmth of the house hitting me like a wave. Everything was so festive, the coloured lights and flashes of tinsel from inside the living room complimented perfectly by the sounds of some cheesy Christmas feeling blaring on the TV. Me and Harry hadn't even bothered with a tree in our new house in London - I didn't see the point when we'd be here for the big day, anyway.
"I know," I replied with a small smile, patting my bump through my jacket, "It's becoming very difficult to move around!"
"Well, you're glowing!" she replied enthusiastically. Her arms pulled me into a warm hug, and I was startled at first but soon settled into her embrace. I suppose she was family now, after all. My little one's grandma. I smiled at the thought, of my baby visiting here and tottering about as Anne cooed over her son's first born. It would be picture perfect if my heart didn't still feel a flash of cold resentment when he pressed his lips to mine.
She turned her attention to a struggling Harry who was wrestling the suitcases into the hallway, cursing ferociously under his breath. She flashed him a stern look as he settled the black cases to the wall and looked up, wiping his brow tiredly and kicking the front door closed behind him, blocking out the din of the faint screaming immediately. "You shouldn't be swearing around the baby, Harry." She teased him with a light smirk and Harry rolled his eyes but smiled all the while.
"Sorry baby," he apologised, pressing his front to my back and reaching around my round frame to pat my stomach in a request for forgiveness. I rested my head briefly back onto his shoulder, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. Trying to clear the memories of his empty eyed expression of the last few weeks.
"Any names yet?!" I heard Gemma call from the kitchen, an obvious tone of curiosity to her voice. I peeked up at Harry over my shoulder, seeing his lost expression as we both realised that we hadn't even talked about it yet. We hadn't found the time. Because he had never been home, and we'd hardly been talking.
"N-no." Harry stuttered uncomfortably, and I felt him gulp and heave a breath. "We haven't settled on one yet."
I turned back to face his mother, feigning a smile. My little nameless one kicked wildly and Harry with his hand on the side of my bump jumped in surprise. "I think he's gonna be a kickboxer," I sighed as he nudged me again and again. It was an unusual thing that I'd become so used to having something moving around inside me, I thought.
"Harry was like that," Anne reminisced, guiding us to the kitchen with a beckon of her hand. I toddled in - and Gemma, who was flipping idly through a magazine, snapped her head up and gave me a wide eyed smile - rubbing my tummy as I pulled out a chair and awkwardly lowered myself down onto my bum. Even the simplest of tasks were utterly difficult with my size.
"He kicked and kicked," Anne shook her head as she flicked on the kettle, "He drove me crazy!"
"Don't look at me like that!" he gasped as she flashed him a glare, "It's not like I meant to do it!"
I chuckled and gave him a small shove as he leaned against the wall next to his sister. "He's a pain in the ass."
He pouted in fake anger at me, but there was more to the look than he intended. His eyes flickered uncertainly over mine, insecurity flashing across his features. He was wondering if I was being serious, if I meant it when I said that he was a pain. I saw the fear in his expression, the thought in his mind that maybe I really did hate him because of his careless actions of these last weeks, that maybe I wasn't joking. And it was only now that I realised how he hated himself for hurting me, and how - truthfully - I hated him in a way for making me feel so alone when I needed him most. We were never going to trust each other, not really. We were never going to be in love like we once had been, and our entire relationship would always be treading on eggshells with the knowledge that I would never forgive him properly always floating awkwardly in the air like a dark cloud on a summer's day.
"Don't worry about the name, either. I decided on Harry's a week after he was born. I almost called you Trevor."
"Louis, Liam, Niall, Zayn and Trevor," I chuckled, distracted a second later as Anne planted a plate of Mr Kipling Viennese Whirls on the table, my teeth sinking into it's creamy crumbly flesh within moments. I was constantly hungry, and sugar had been my one true love throughout the last 8 months. "Doesn't have the same ring to it."
She laughed aloud at me and Harry bit down against a smirk, trying to act pissed. "I don't look like a Trevor, do I?!"
"Trevor!" I giggled, "it sounds like something you'd name a pet frog."
"Or Harriet, if you'd been a girl!" she added with a chuckled, and I threw my head back and laughed.
He grinned at me goofily as his mother set down a mug of tea in front of me, and I sipped the steaming liquid cautiously. I looked at her absentmindedly as she spoke, advising us wisely, her years of wisdom aimed at assisting her only son's success in life.
"What I mean is don't worry about names. The right one will come to you."
I nodded, glancing up at Harry who observed me through hooded eyes as he gulped greedily from his mug. He smacked his lips after he swallowed, tugging up their corners slightly at me but it didn't touch his eyes. I saw the insecurity lying deep in his green orbs, floating unfixable beneath the surface. The damage he'd done to our relationship haunting him.
"Harry's not usually around to worry about names," I sighed tiredly, unable to prevent the hint of bitterness in my voice. He clenched his jaw and I averted my gaze down to the floor, unable to see the hurt in him. The hurt that was his fault, but that I inflamed. My comment was like rubbing salt in his wounds, and I couldn't even bring myself to feel like it was wrong of me.
I could sense Anne's eyes flickering anxiously between us at the sudden tension I'd kicked up. She was probably wondering what was going on here, why the perfect love struck pairing seemed to begrudge each other. We were lying to so many people - even family.
Harry's ringtone blared out abruptly, the noise bouncing through the waves of tension in the kitchen. I started and pulled it out, glancing edgily at the display. He looked up and excused himself quietly with defensiveness in his air that I didn't like. He slipped from the kitchen, making sure to anxiously pull the door closed behind him, drowning out his voice. I would have pondered it - would have driven myself crazy with questions as to who it could be - had Anne not interrupted my thought process.
"Are you and Harry alright?" he asked earnestly, motherly instinct shining through in her. I swallowed tiredly, and it occurred to me that I could maybe confide in her. That maybe she'd be able to get out of Harry whatever he was thinking as I'd been unable to do. I thought about telling her, about getting it all out of my system and the relief that would bring.
But her shiny blue eyes were flooding with worry. She just wanted me to tell her we were fine - that her son was happy, despite the mistakes that he'd made. That her boy was going to be okay. And I just couldn't take that away from her.
"Yeah," I murmured. I flashed a wide beam. "We're great. He's just been away a little, but we'll get through it. It's his job."
She smiled with relief, nodding as she sipped her tea. "I see. Well, don't let it come between you. I think the secret is putting aside time together."
"We'll try it," I assured her eagerly though I knew well there was as much chance of that happening as there was of me giving birth to a baby panda. Her smile faltered a little, and she opened her mouth to add something else but was broken off by Harry crashing in through the door, stuffing his iPhone secretively into his pocket and clearing his throat. He leaned backwards against the wall the same way he had before, but there was something restless in his demeanour. He was fidgety, unclenching and closing his palms, shifting on the spot in a constant stream of movement.
"Who was that?" I questioned, suspicion kicking in as I observed his distracted fidgeting. His eyes flashed to my face apprehensively, and he shrugged a little.
"Nobody. It was, uh, Nick. It was just Nick."
He licked his lips quickly and his gaze switched fretfully from me to the floor and back. He was lying. And suddenly, a million and one different sickening possibilities were clouding my mind. One in particular floated to the top, and made me feel quite sick. What if it was some other girl?
I nodded solemnly, accepting the words he offered on the surface. It had most certainly not been Nick - did he really think I was that stupid? Did he really underestimate me that much?
"This is going to be a lovely Christmas. I can feel it," Anne beamed happily, "A big family Christmas - next year the little lad will be running about!"
She grinned widely into the room at large. Harry scuffled uncomfortably on his feet, muttering a disheartened 'yeah', while I sat staring at the table, blinking back stinging tears. I heard music chiming through from the sitting room. The cheesy movie that I'd noticed from the corner of my eye on the way in, now realising as the sounds travelled through the hall that it was Home Alone 2.
I remembered being curled up in my old apartment in Harry's arms last year, so vividly I could almost smell his skin against mine. The day he'd invited me here for Christmas. Back when everything had been simple - so very, very simple. When I'd wished for nothing more than for him to hold me tight, and for it to mean something- some things hadn't changed at all in this past year.
"..So have yourself a Merry little Christmas now."
Harry's POV
The room which had once been mine made my heart sting with nostalgia for my younger teenage years. I felt like I'd left home one morning in 2010 to move into the contestants house in London and it had been sealed off in some kind of time capsule, untouched by the changes around it. I could barely get my head around how much things had changed - even in the last year since me and Tamara had slept here last. I was set to be a dad now. My life had turned upside down.
I sank into bed next to Tamara's warm body, her frame clad in fluffy pyjamas, tucked up in every aspect of the word. Where the ends of her bottoms stopped she'd tucked them into her bed socks. An unconquerable fortress for a chill of any shape or form.
"You're like a little teddy bear," I cooed against her neck, pressing a delicate kiss to just behind her jaw before flipping the light switch behind me, plunging us into darkness.
"I'm huge," she chuckled sleepily in response, "there's no 'little' about it."
We spooned and I nuzzled into the crevice of her neck, brushing my nose over her skin before letting my wet open lips tend to her body, leaving a trail down onto her shoulder. I paused, listening to her soft breaths. "I love you." My voice was a merely hushed whisper that tickled her skin.
There was a long silence. Too long. I gulped back the sorrow in my throat as I realised she was asking herself if she loved me, too. That was my fault. All my fault.
"I love you too Harry." She peeked over her shoulder at me, twisting her neck slightly. Her round, wide eyes twinkled even in the lack of light, her perfect plump lips falling away from each other in a beautiful pout. She took my breath away as I looked her straight in the eye, my heart pounding in my chest. I loved her so much it hurt. It hurt because I was scared. Because I was scared I was lying to myself when I said I loved her.
"I want to make love to you," I sighed into the warm air of my bedroom. I watched her throat muscles contract as she swallowed her glistening blue orbs holding tenderly to mine. I lowered my mouth to hers, slotting her top lip between mine and kissing her softly. Her body shifted restlessly and the sheets ruffled around her, her back pressed flush against my chest.
I broke away panting, my blood pulsing with need. I wanted to feel her, nothing but her. I wanted everything I felt for her to envelope me. I wanted to feel like I loved her again and if I couldn't I at least wanted to pretend.
"Can I?" I murmured, pushing her blonde hair from her pretty face. She chewed on her lip for a moment, leaning up on her elbow to look back at me easier, bringing her arm back to slip her fingers into my tousled curls.
"I dunno," she teased with a smirk, "Can you?"
My lips tugged up in response to her playful grin as I saw the teasing, playful girl I used to know flash across her features. I kissed her softly once more, blood pumping to my crotch as she massaged my scalp with her delicate fingers, gently scratching my neck and giving me chills.
I slipped my fingers beneath the material of her thermal top, lips breaking from hers fleetingly as I dragged it lazily over her head and discarded it across the room. My big hands found her swollen breasts, a muffled moan travelling from the depths of her throat as I palmed her body greedily.
"Mmm, Harry," she gasped, tearing away from my lips, "Careful, I'm sensitive."
"Sorry," I apologized breathily, kissing her jaw. "You're so beautiful, have I told you that lately?"
She blushed under my dark eyes as I drank in every perfect feature of her face. I pressed my supple lips back onto hers, tugging gently on her pyjama bottoms. She lifted her hips with difficulty, pushing the cotton sweats down her legs and taking her underwear with them. I pulled her back against me tight, slotting her body into mine like a jigsaw. My fingers traced a path down between her legs fingertips, just tasting her wetness.
"This is okay, isn't it?" I mumbled uncertainly in the dark, licking my lips swiftly. My eyes shifted over her face, memorising every perfect line of her skin. We were allowed to have sex while she was so pregnant, weren't we? I had no idea. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me. I'd spent my days drinking my sense away, running around getting into trouble while she sat at home and read all the maternity books I'd promised to study with her.
"This is amazing," she smiled warmly, "I've wanted you too much Harry."
I gulped. Remorse filled me up. I'd neglected her so awfully. The memories of me and Lydia's steamy fuck in the toilets tormented me, and I felt like scratching my eyes out because I could see her so vividly, could see her naked body pressed firm to mine, her lips parted and moaning my name...
If there was one thing I regretted most in my short, pitiful existence, it was her. My momentary lapse of judgement that made me into a monster. I felt like I was tarring Tamara's pure body with my tainted hands, hands that had touched another with such intoxicated, unthinking passion. I hated myself for it.
"I want you, baby," I whispered. Her blue eyes fluttered in their sockets, teeth clamping down on her bottom lip in anticipation.
My hands parted her legs as she lay back into my body, her hand reaching back to run down my toned chest. My breaths shallowed as I lifted her thigh up, vaguely hooking her foot around my calf before reaching down between us to take my hard length in my hand. I pumped up and down once or twice, my mouth dry. I positioned myself and heard her whimper, begging for more.
"Please," she choked, quivering. I pinned her eyes with mine, our intense gaze holding and reverberating through every nerve in my body as I nudged my tip in, pushing until she could take no more.
Gasping and letting her head roll back into my shoulder, I ran my hand up and down her thigh and kissed her nick, tongue soothing her skin as I pulled out almost completely and thrust back in. She cried out loudly, arching a little in my arms. Her walls clamped around me and I groaned, carnal desire engulfing me entirely.
"Fuck...oh God," I gasped, the intensity of her around me making me sweat. She sighed, panting and shuddering in my grip as I thrust myself inside her; shallow, fast strokes with my hips that drove her into a hot mess. I knew she was sensitive, so my body filling hers like this probably felt incredible.
"Harry," she whined my name, pronouncing it in two syllables, voice awash with awe, "Oh my God, Harry."
"You feel incredible," I praised her, mumbling my words against her shoulder blade. "You're beautiful, Tam. So sexy. So tight around me..."
She gave a wavering cry of ecstasy as I jolted my hips sharp into her. She sounded so hot; I could have listened to her with my eyes closed and come purely from the noises she was making.
She clamped around me suddenly, walls squeezing my dick mercilessly as a sound that didn't sound quite like me ripped from my throat. "Fuck, no, Tamara! Don't please - I'm gonna come," I pleaded into her ear.
My body shuddered with pleasure as she squeezed again and again, sending pulses of heat through my body to the very tips of my toes. I bit down on her shoulder briefly, squeezing my eyes shut as I continued to push in and out of her. Everything about this felt incredible - holding her again, making love to her again. Our movements were short and jerky, her body restricted in movements by her wide bump, but I could feel my high building in the pit of my stomach, bubbling in my gut.
Reaching around her front, I pressed my free hand into the crevice between her thighs and flicked her clit with my thumb, chuckling into her neck as she practically growled at me. Her muscles clamped once again and I stuttered a moan, skin alight with fiery pleasure.
I could feel her whole body pulsing around me. She was becoming even more worked up by the minute, her moans and sighs increasing in pitch. I rubbed circles into her clit, licking her soft, warm neck.
"Let it go," I urged her near silently, "Let it go for me, Tamara..."
She gasped, eyes shutting as her body began to tremble violently, thighs spasming around my dick and walls tightening. I moaned into her neck, feeling my orgasm blind me to the world. To everything but her.
My tensed muscles relaxed gradually. Tamara let out a long breath and let herself unwind back against me. The room was sweaty and warm now, with no risk of either of us catching a cold. We were each other's blanket now, both of our bodies clammy and hot to the touch. I pulled her in close, holding her as she snuggled down into the duvet and lost herself to sleep.
"I really do love you," I murmured into her ear. I heard the smile in her voice as she replied.
"I never doubted it for a minute."
Tamara's POV
Christmas Eve
"How about Percy?"
I glowered at Harry in disgust from my comfortable position on his bed, watching him bustle busily around his room. "Harry, we are not calling our baby Percy!"
"Why not?" he grumbled in that deep, melted chocolate voice of his. I rolled my eyes, smirking behind his back. He was staring intently into the mirror on his wall as he did up his tie, neatening it until it was the ideal length.
"Because people would make fun of him. They'd call him Percy Pig."
"No they wouldn't," he protested with a shake of his head. He spun towards me on his heel, my heart pulsing wildly as I took in his dapper appearance in a tight black tie suit. He looked flawless, his creamy skin poreless under his untamed fringe.
"I would," I argued nonchalantly and he gave me a disapproving look, but smiled with humour.
He was heading out tonight, leaving me home alone on the night before Christmas - well, I couldn't complain - I had asked to stay home. It was much too cold outside and getting dressed up at my size was more effort than it was worth. He was attending the same charity ball he'd brought me to the year before, the one at which he'd ditched me for that trampy brunette before valiantly rescuing me from the pervy hoodlems in the car park. He helped raise money for attending, and I was proud of him for that. At the end of the day the boy's heart was always in the right place.
"How about Oliver?" I offered, flicking idly through the pages of the baby names book Anne had lent to us. I was lay happily on my back, taking the weight off my body of my ever growing bump. "It's nice, isn't it?"
"Oliver is an orphan's name," he interjected with a shake of his head, "Please sir, can I have some more?!"
"Ugh, right then," I sighed in frustration, scanning the never-ending list of names tediously. I flicked back a couple of pages, shifting restlessly. "I'll just go through a list and you say yay or nay, got it?"
"Shoot."
"Harley, Harrison, Hayden, Heath, Hector, Henry, Herbert..." I let my eyes trail, scanning idly, "...Issac...Jack, Jackson, Jacob, Jaden....Jake, James, Jamie - ,"
"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted abruptly, "What was that? James?"
"Yeah," I replied uninterestedly, "What about it?"
"I like it," Harry replied with a vague look, eyes unfocused as he pictured using it in everyday situations; calling James from downstairs, asking James if he'd done his homework, telling people about his son, James...
"James Styles," I rehearsed, trying it out in my mouth, "It's got a ring to it?"
"Yeah," he agreed with a toothy grin down at me. I allowed my lips to tug upwards slightly, observing his crisp frame and patting my bump carefully, "Baby James..."
"I really like it," he asserted with a beam, "James..."
"Well, we're settled until further noticed then?" I asked as Harry clambered awkwardly onto the bed, fear of spoiling the perfection of his freshly pressed suit making his movements awkward and stunted.
He pressed a huge, flat hand to the curve of my stomach, covering a good area with his palm. "Hey little man," he murmured, addressing the wriggling life inside me with a hushed tone, "Little James. Do you like that? James?"
I felt a sharp nudge and smiled instinctively, mirroring Harry's reaction. "We're settled then," he agreed. He stalled for a moment; plump lips opening and closing like a fish as he pondered whether or not to speak. "But...what if it's a little girl?"
I moaned tiredly, rolling my eyes in amusement at him. "Harry, do you have something against modern medicine or something?!"
"You never know!" he exclaimed defensively, "You heard mum yesterday, I was going to be Harriet."
"Well I'm sick of this fucking book," I grumbled, tossing it carelessly onto the duvet.
"We should just have one prepared," he reasoned, standing from the mattress, "In case."
"Have you anything particular in mind?" I queried.
He paused, thinking, his eyes swimming in his daydreams. He cleared his throat and shrugged, obviously a little embarrassed to share this with me. "I've always liked Darcy for a girl."
I could see the wariness in his eyes, the nervousness as revealing this to me. He had every reason to be nervous. My stomach wrenched immediately, my heart screaming revolts at his choice. "I'm not calling her Darcy," I replied confidently. I saw his expression falter in disappointment immediately, but it was revolting - I was not having my flesh and blood running around with such an awful title.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked sadly.
"It's terrible, Harry," I shuddered, "It sounds like something from the eighteen hundreds."
"You're thinking of Pride and Prejudice."
"Exactly!" I argued heatedly, "Have you ever read it? It's the most boring piece of shit in history, it's basically the 19th Century equivalent of The Only Way Is Essex!"
He pouted angrily, and I could tell he was about to huff. Silly, childish little boy and yet somehow it was incredibly adorable. I decided to get my pitch in now while I still could. "I like the name Peighton for a girl."
Harry screwed up his face, turning his nose up at me immediately. "Oh God, it sounds like a little stuck up brat who goes to private school and takes pony riding lessons!"
I scoffed, pissed off with him now. "All right then, we'll leave it. It's a boy anyway - baby James."
"We'll see," Harry reminded me of his scepticisms and I smiled back despite my brief anger at his dismissal of my idea. He was still stuck on the idea of holding his little princess even after all this time - it was incredibly sweet.
"Whatever," I chuckled as he scuffled out the door. I heard him pace down the hallway before the bathroom door clicked closed behind him. I flopped back onto his comfortable bed, throwing my arms up behind my head. I was exhausted, and I exhaled heavily. We'd been talking a lot more these days - a lot more. And last night, when he'd touched me again it has felt like nothing had ever changed, like nothing was wrong. I wanted to believe that it was all fine, and despite the small pang of resentment still settled in my heart. I could almost convince myself of it; I could almost forget.
I was still adamant that this Christmas was going to be perfect, whether or not I still felt bitter towards him for what he'd been like these last few weeks. I'd only ever had one perfect Christmas. I was determined it was going to become a tradition.
His phone vibrated the mattress as it lay flashing next to me. It disturbed my previously peaceful mindset, and I glared at it in annoyance. My unwaveringly contented thoughts flipped over, and it was an unwelcome reminder from the sound of his ringtone of just how distracted Harry had been by his phone all day, as well as yesterday. And that suspicious call he'd taken into the hallway after we arrived. We'd be chatting, and he'd be gazing at the screen tapping away telling me briefly and in a flurry that it was Nick whenever I asked. He was being distrustful, and my curiosity was peaked.
I lifted myself gradually, with huge effort, off the duvet. Leaning up, I glanced at the screen cautiously.
Lydia calling
I gulped uneasily. Why was some girl calling him in the evening, and especially assuming she knew he was with family? With me? Nobody from work would be disturbing him during his short time off...so who was she?
Before I had a chance to ponder further, it dialled off and the screen switched to his inbox display, the way he'd seemingly left it before the call. I swallowed in my tight throat, telling myself it was wrong to invade his privacy but needing to all the same. I lifted my fingers slowly and tapped the screen, illuminating it to me. My eyes scanned anxiously. My stomach lurched.
I can't stop thinking about you ;) xxx
Have you been thinking about me? And what you want to do to me...?
I want you inside me, Harry...
It was strings and strings of messages from her. Every one of them suggestive - every one of them hinting at...
That night at the club was incredible, we should do it again...I can't stop thinking about it...
That night?
You're the best fuck I've ever had, Harry ;)
I felt sick to my stomach. My baby nudged and I felt like crying. He was hardly replying though...why didn't he ever reply to her? Oh God, I found one, reading it with my heart thumping rapidly and eyes stinging.
Stop texting me, Lydia. That night was a mistake, okay? I'm with Tam, I love her, so please just don't.
I scanned the next few - she was vaguely threatening to release her story and Harry was arguing with her. I felt my guts wrench once again when I she referred to their 'mind-blowing' escapades and I pictured him shagging her. This god awful girl named Lydia. A slim, sexy little minx who let him do whatever he wanted with her, who purred in his ear and slotted onto his body perfectly because she didn't have a huge, gaping, unattractive baby bump to sit awkwardly between them. All those nights when he'd fallen through the door at all hours, had he been with her? Had it really only been once, or did she only mention that night because it stood out to her?
The sex shouldn't have happened, I was drunk, please Lydia I'm trying my best to make it work with Tamara & it was a mistake-
"Tamara?"
I dropped the phone immediately, glancing up and trying to appear nonchalant as Harry's curly little head popped in around the door. "We'll be off now, okay? I'll be back tonight don't wait up cause it could be late. Take care, yeah?"
I gulped back acid, burning, rotten, vile hatred and yet deep, aching heartbreak preventing my voice from coming out level. "Yeah," I squeaked.
His brow furrowed slightly at my tiny voice. He took a step into the room. "Are you okay?"
"Mmhmm," I nodded in a blatant lie, shrugging my shoulders at him. "Just a little bit tired."
He tugged his lips up at me, crossing the room to the bed and retrieving his satan sent phone. He leaned in to peck my lips and I turned my head in disgust, his warm lips meeting my cheek in slight confusion. "Sleep well, baby," he murmured in a sickeningly gentle murmur, smiling warmly before he left the room. I waited, silent and aching on the bed until the door had slammed downstairs behind them, and the car had revved off down the street. Then I heaved myself despairingly off the mattress and got to work, flinging any clothes of mine I could find into a waiting bag, the tears streaming silently and nose sniffling as I did, sobs gradually racking my body.
I took all I could and pulled the bag onto my shoulder. I brought my phone to my ear and shakily breathed a request for a taxi and his address into the receiver, hanging up with a heart wrenching feeling of distress. They would be here in twenty minutes. And I would leave it all behind - be a single mother to an unborn baby.
I grabbed a piece of paper off his bedside table, ripping it into a small shred. With a trembling hand, I scribbled the words I wanted him to see before I walked out of his life and took his baby with me. I wanted him to ask himself if it was worth it - if his sleazy night out with some slut was worth losing his family, his baby. If it was worth losing me.
I hope she was worth it.