Harry Styles' desperate lips meld somewhat awkwardly onto mine, his hands firmly keeping me in his control. I can feel his hands trembling slightly on my skin, his lips quavering with a nervousness I can literally taste.
His hands tentatively travel down onto the back of my neck, pulling me even closer to him. The subtle graze of his tongue over my bottom lip sends an uncontrollable spark through my veins, and I feel a growing urge to kiss him back, to wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss. But I restrain myself.
I know I should at least pull away. My head is literally screaming at me to push him away, to throw him off of me, but my speeding heart dictates otherwise finally understanding the reason for its habitually sudden flutters.
I have feelings for Harry Styles.
I'm not sure when it exactly started, but somewhere along the way, he made the heart in my chest beat faster, he made the thoughts in my head all about him, he made me ... feel things I haven't felt in a long time.
He suddenly pulls away, breaking the kiss, a sharp breath falling from his pink lips, the caress of his touch still lingering on mine.
His eyes flutter open to meet mine, his brows low and full of concern, his fixed gaze confining an obvious enchantment. His large hands softly remain on my neck as his thumbs cautiously brush against my jawline.
"I'm sorry," he says, surprising me. His brows furrow even lower in resentment as he removes his hold on me.
"What -- " I don't even know what to say at this point. I can't yell at him nor sympathize with him for his actions are none that deserve a lecture. "Why..."
He doesn't respond right away. He takes a few steps from me, his back facing me as he runs a hand through his hair.
"I - ," he turns halfway to me, half of his face already enough for me to see his apparent frustration. "I was disappointed."
Disappointed in what? The kiss? I mean, I didn't kiss him back, but I thought it was pretty good.
"I didn't get to kiss you," he says, lulling me from my thoughts. "Ever since this morning ..." He wanted to kiss me this morning? The fact that I know he wanted to kiss me since causes an exhilarating sensation to swell in my chest. "And I didn't get to kiss you while we were dancing. I was really disappointed."
I remain like a statue, analyzing his gestures, his facial expressions for any sign of regret. But I can't decipher anything if he's not looking at me straight in the eye.
"Do you regret kissing me?" I ask.
The question causes his eyes to dart to mine, his eyes widening with surprise. He takes a step closer to me, abridging the distance between us.
"No," he answers honestly, his mesmerizing eyes revealing a softness that strangely makes me ache. "No, I don't regret it."
His assurance is relieving.
"Do you like me?" I dare to ask. Again. I needed to know.
He doesn't deliver an instant reply, delaying the answer to my question. His silence is enough confirmation for me though.
"I could have had another room," he begins, his deep tone sauntering in my ears. "But I chose not to. Does that answer your question?"
At first it confuses me. It's a neither yes or a no.
He could have had another room? All this time, he lied to me and forced us to share a room together. Why would he? Because he liked me? He liked me even before we ran into each other here?
"Elaine," he says, looking at me intently. "I don't know when it started. But whenever I see you, whenever I'm with you, I'm just drawn to you."
I'm speechless at his confession. Am I hearing this correctly? Harry Styles is drawn to me?
"Do you want me to get another room?" He asks, taking another step towards me, his reach only an arm length's away.
Though I want to look at him, I can't muster up any courage to. I'm left so confused, so unsure of what's going on that I need some time to process this.
To answer his question, I slowly nod, though every cell in my beating heart is bellowing at me not to. I need some time to think - to take this all in. Everything's happening so quickly that I'm perplexed about my own feelings.
I know I have something, I feel something for Harry, but I need to figure out what it is before I do anything rash or impulsive.
Too afraid to look him in the eye, I keep my gaze steady on the carpeted floor.
I see him nod in understanding. He walks past me over to the other side of the room, grabbing his duffle bag and throwing his guitar case over one shoulder. I feel his eyes settle on me, and I try hard not to return the gesture, but I cannot help myself. I have to look at him.
Our eyes lock for the briefest moment. A moment in which my breath defiantly stops. A moment in which I know that I am unequivocally feeling the same way he is.
But that moment quickly vanishes as he shuts the door. Though I move to sit on the edge of the bed, I don't remember walking the short distance. A numbing silence fills the room as I replay what just happened in my head. My hands hover over my lips, gently pressing them as I close my eyes, recalling the thrilling feeling of Harry's lips on mine.
I did the right thing.
Right?
You're supposed to avoid him, remember Elaine?
I hate situations in which I doubt myself. I hate how he makes me question my own actions. I like being decisive but these past few weeks, I've been indecisive and insecure about everything.
...
The next morning, I lay in bed til around noon. Every now and then my mind drifts off to my ex roommate and I would try to shake him out of my thoughts. But then he'd creep back in making me wonder where he is, what he's doing, if he's okay.
I've gotten so used to the routine of waking up to him that when I woke up this morning and didn't see him on the couch with his legs over the armrest, I felt an emptiness luring around me. One that is all too familiar.
But he wasn't the one who abandoned me. Did I abandon him then?
No. Because we're not involved. How could I leave someone I didn't have any relation to?
Three hours later, I finally decide to get out of bed and shower. Once I'm fully dressed, I find myself being drawn to the couch, vividly remembering Harry Styles playing his guitar for me. The magical melody rings through my ears clearly as though he was still here playing. Something in the split of the couch catches my gaze. Almost immediately, I recognize the shape of the brown object.
It's his journal.
He must have forgotten about it when he left.
I move over to the couch, slowly pulling out the leather book. It looks kind of worn out, the edges coming undone a bit, exposing some of the material underneath. My fingers run along the fragile spine, noticing a black pen placed in between some pages.
Not just any regular pen, but my black pen - my favorite pen. The black pen he used to write on the hundred dollar bill he gave me. Granted only the cap is showing but I would know that cap anywhere. Taking the pen out, I observe it further, twisting it in my fingers.
The resemblance is uncanny.
That black pen is all I have left of my biological father. When he would sign papers and my completed homework assignments, he would always use the same one. I remember asking him why and he replied, "Because Ellie, it's my special pen. It brings me good luck."
"You believe in good luck, daddy?"
"Yes, I do."
"I don't believe in luck."
"Why's that honey?"
"I believe everything happens for a reason."
"Well this pen was the reason I met your mother," he tried to convince me.
"You met because of a pen?" I asked, slightly disappointed in how their love story began. I was expecting something more romantic.
With a long thought, he handed me the pen and I wasn't sure why he was giving his special pen to me. I did, however, feel a little more grown up that he entrusted me with his special pen. "It's okay if you don't believe in luck. Because you're right, Ellie. Everything does happen for a reason. If I hadn't met your mother, I would never have had you in my life. And I only hope that you get to have the same luck I did."
I guess it's not completely illegal for Harry to carry the same pen as me. It's just a bit weird. Out of all pens out there, we shared the same one.
I should return this to him. Standing to my feet, I don't make it a foot, realizing I have no clue as to where he even is. Sighing in defeat, I let myself fall back into the couch, raising the book in my hand, glaring it as though Harry Styles' face is there.
The face on the book teases me with a grin that insinuates a sense of uneasiness.
I'm going crazy.
As if on cue, a knock drums on the door, causing me to jump from the sofa. I don't even have to guess who it is by the door because I can already feel my heart picking up its pace.
My guess is right when I open the door.
There, he stands, his hands behind his back, as he looks right at me, his lips pressuring into a flimsy smile - one that doesn't convey any joy. I don't want to admit it to myself, but I know that somewhere, a bolt of sparks has awakened in me from his simple presence.
"Hey," I greet him first.
He smiles to return my greeting, not saying a simple "Hi" or "Hey" back which bothers me. It doesn't take much effort to say a one syllable word. What irritates me even more is how his smile is replaced with a bitter grimace so quickly.
"I came to retrieve something I forgot," he flatly tells me.
"Okay." I open the door wider for him to walk in.
He treads toward the direction of the couch, stopping halfway, noticing that his journal is open.
"Did you?" He asks, turning to me, his tone distressed at the thought of me rummaging through his private thoughts.
"No!" I immediately object, understanding how he's piecing the situation. I hope he doesn't get the wrong idea, but I know I'm too late. I can already see the hasty assumption forming through his scornful glare. "I didn't read anything. I swear."
I approach him slowly, like a lion stalking its prey, hoping he doesn't storm off with the misconception.
"I saw it and I wanted to bring it to you but I didn't know where your room was and I was going to put it back where I found it. And then you knocked and it frightened me so I threw it on the couch and it must've opened on its own." My words are rushed and rattled, trying desperately to prove my innocence to him. "Please trust me," I beg, remembering the specific moment in time when he told me he did.
His facial features never soften at my plea, his brows furrowed low, his expression full of nothing but pure aversion.
"You've always been good at this," he starts.
"What are you talking about?" I ask, but he storms off as soon as he snatches his personal journal. A picture slips from between the pages, falling to the ground face up.
"Wait," I say. He rotates around sluggishly to see why I told him to stop. As I draw nearer to the image, my eyes focus on the person in the photo. Picking it up, my eyes widen in shock as I realize that it's not a random person on the image.
It's a photo of me.
Even though my face isn't showing, I know that it's me. That's the exact outfit I wore that day. The day we first met in the Eye of London.
My eyes break from the picture, sweeping over to Harry's blank stare. He doesn't seem to be wavered at me seeing the picture he's been keeping in his journal.
"What is this?" I ask, showing him the photo, growing more and more restless as he lets the stagnate seconds to be filled with silence.
"My friend, Lou, took it," he says suavely. "And I thought the view out the window looked nice. Do you need any more clarification?"
Oh. Huh. For some reason, I'm disappointed in his explanation. I know I shouldn't have any expectations, but I couldn't help but think that maybe, he kept it because of me.
"Don't act so disappointed," he retorts, his sharp, insulting tone cutting me deep. "I'm not going to be tricked by your moving performance."
Rising to my full height, he still somehow towers over me. "Harry, I didn't read it. I know that my argument is weak and that the evidence might imply otherwise, but that's the truth."
His eyes narrow, a deep scoff leaving his lips before closing the small space between us in two strides.
"Prove it then," he challenges, his defiant gaze piercing me like a bullet. "Prove your innocence to me."
A/n: Cutting it off here because chapter's getting kind of lengthy. Please vote and comment! If we get to idk, maybe 15 votes by tonight, I'll promise to update again tomorrow asap? Though I care more for comments so 15 comments? My comments don't count. Hehe
I'll be super duppper happy! Good deal? (: Love you!