Songs for this chapter:
18 - One Direction
North - Sleeping At Last
Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron & Wine
Cleo's POV:
"Morning." Soft kisses and Harry's deep, sleepy voice are the best things to wake up to in the entire world.
The smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth is automatic as Harry brushes his lips against mine, "Hi." My voice sounds alien, so hoarse and gruff from sleep.
Harry's fingers weave intricately through my hair, "I'm gonna take a shower, if that's alright."
I nod, wandering back into the depths of sleep, "Wake me when you're done."
What feels like hours later, but is probably minutes, there are two tentative knocks on my bedroom door. At first, I think nothing of it, barely even allowing my eyes to flutter open. But then, my ears pick up the faint sound of the shower running and- shit! Faster than I think I've ever moved, I scurry around my bedroom, collecting Harry's belongings before slipping into the bathroom as quietly as possible. I plop down on the closed toilet seat and wait with baited breath to see if my dad enters my room.
Out of nowhere, Harry pulls back the shower curtain and smiles down at me, "Cleo!" His voice is light and carefree, which is exactly the opposite of what I feel as I bolt across the small space and leap into the shower. My hand comes down across his mouth with an audible smack, and I put my index finger against my lips, indicating that he should shut up if he's smart. If my dad catches him in here, he might actually castrate him, and Lord knows what he'll do to me. Probably bury me alive in the backyard - if I'm lucky.
We stand in silence for a couple seconds, as I listen for the sound of my dad's footsteps coming toward the bathroom. But there's nothing. Suddenly, Harry rips my hand away from his face and whispers, "Cleo, what are you-"
My palm covers his mouth once again as I aggressively shush him. Jus then, the footsteps I've been dreading come stomping across my bedroom floor, slowly approaching Harry and I's impending doom. With every step, my heart beats a little faster, and it thoroughly feels like it's going to burst right open. Then, the rhythmic steps come to a stop and the only noise is my pounding heart and the water pouring down on Harry and I's bodies. My shirt and socks are both soaking wet and clinging to my body fiercely. But that's the least of my worries.
Knock. Knock. Knock. "Cleo?"
My brain screams at me to be rational and respond, to not freak out and screw this up. But it's too late for that. My heart beat has become one continuous hum within my chest, making my entire body vibrate, and my voice has completely left me, hightailing to the back of my throat and lodging itself there. Harry elbows me lightly in the ribs, nodding his head in the direction of the bathroom door. "Come on," he whispers against my palm, "You can do it." He inhales and then slowly exhales against my skin, "Breathe."
And I do. In, out, repeat. Seconds go by and my dad knocks again, probably starting to wonder if I've drowned or something. His voice is less calm as it comes through the door, "Cleo? You alright?"
With one final breath, I force my voice not to fail me, "Yeah, Dad?"
I can practically hear him sigh with relief, "Just wanted to let you know that I'm going in to work early, I'll see you tonight."
"Okay!" I call, biting my bottom lip.
"Be careful, the roads are horrible today."
I intertwine my shaking fingers and squeeze them, "Alright. Love you!"
"Love you too." Twelve footsteps later, he's gone, headed down the stairs and out of the house. It isn't long before I hear the purr of his car starting and his brakes squeaking as he backs out of the driveway. My body sags, and Harry catches me, pulling me into his strong embrace. I cling to him as my forehead rests against his shoulder, slowly letting out the breath I'd been holding in. Thank God.
"That was too close," I mumble, running my fingers along the slope of his neck.
He nods, "Yeah, I was really worried for the safety of my genitals."
I drop my arms and push him softly, "He would have killed me."
"Well, good thing he didn't catch us then, yeah?" He asks, pushing my hair away from my face.
Our eyes lock and it's like that moment in every cheesy rom-com where the main character looks into the eyes of the guy that's always been there, even if not romantically, and she just feels it - that realization that she is completely and totally in love with him. That's exactly what I feel as Harry gently grips the side of my neck and guides my mouth to his. That's exactly what I feel as he pushes me up against the shower wall and grips my hips greedily. I feel nothing more or less than that as he pushes the sopping wet shirt up my sides, his rough hands leaving goosebumps in their wake, and pulls it off over my head. I'm completely lost in that feeling as Harry pins my arms against the wall above my head and lets his hands travel up my skin before intertwining his fingers with my own.
I'm a goner for this boy, so lost in my love for him that when we're together, nothing and no one else exists. Some would say that's not healthy, but some haven't experience a love like this; they'll never understand what it's like to have someone love you with everything they are.
As far as I'm concerned, anyone who doesn't support my relationship, who thinks we're too young to know what true love is, is ignorant. You don't have to be graduated from college with a degree and a steady job to find the love of your life. A once-in-a-lifetime love like this can happen anytime, anywhere, at any age. You just have to have your eyes open enough to see it and your mind open enough to accept it.
Harry kisses a line from the tip of my shoulder to the edge of my jaw where he stops and peers up at me through his eyelashes. He cradles my head in both of his hands and brings his face so close our noses are touching. We are both panting heavily, our breath mingling warm and undisturbed between us. Then Harry touches his forehead to mine and lets his eyes drift shut, "I love you."
Those three words coming from Harry's mouth means more to me than anything else on the entire planet. People tend to overuse the phrase, and eventually it loses it's meaning. But I'm not sure there'd ever come a day when I'd get sick of hearing that sentence falling from his lips. My mind reels as I try to figure out how on earth we got to this point. When Harry came into my life, I was sure it wouldn't be for long. He struck me as the 'hit it and quit it' type, but quickly proved me wrong.
When we began seeing each other, I was still so closed off and guarded that I figured he'd grow tired of trying and failing to break down my walls, figured he'd have given up and walked away to protect his ego. But here we are, my walls all but destroyed, my heart now guarded by Harry's strong hands as he cradles it, delicately, like a newborn child. Somehow, he's taken me captive, my heart and body belonging solely to him, and I'm pretty sure he's never going to give them back.
Harry pushes inside me and my body shudders with pleasure, toes curling, fingers gripping his hair harshly. With one strong hand holding my leg up over his hip, Harry centers the other one at the small of my back, pulling our bodies closer together. Water drips from his curls onto my neck and I push them back off his face, bringing his head to my mouth so I can tenderly kiss his lips. The next thrust is especially deep and I moan into his mouth, my head rolling back and knocking lightly against the wall.
"Careful, love," he coos.
Everything goes blank as Harry pumps in and out of me, pressure building in my lower abdomen. My climax is approaching steadily, and I know Harry's close as well by how intense his eyes are, by how rigid his entire body becomes. By some miracle, I peak first, my heel digging into Harry's back and my head dropping into the crook of his neck. Less than two seconds later, Harry has an orgasm of his own. His body slumps forward, pressing me against the wall and his cheek resting on the top of my head. Our chests are rising and falling quickly, bumping into one another as we come down.
Eventually, Harry pulls out and releases his grip on my leg, letting it drop. The damned thing is useless, completely numb. When I try to put weight on it, it tingles so bad that it's painful. I use Harry as a crutch while I wash my hair and body until the blood is circulating once more and I regain feeling in my foot. Harry's eyes are droopy, his skin glistening with sweat and water, and his hair is in a complete disarray.
His fingers reach for the loofa I'm clutching, but I move his hand aside, "Let me."
A weak nod is all he gives as a response, and I smile fondly up at him. Once I've squirted enough body wash onto the loofa, I go to work on his back, scrubbing in slow circles. Harry hums contentedly when I leave a lingering kiss on the base of his neck, a reaction that warms my heart. When his skin is thoroughly cleaned, I guide him forward under the warm water falling from the shower head. Together, we rinse his body before Harry shampoos his hair.
"I'm going to smell like a girl all day," he teases once the fruity suds are rinsed from his curls.
"And not just any girl, a kick ass one like me," is my response, which causes Harry to erupt in laughter.
His bright green eyes settle on my mouth as he pokes his tongue out and runs it along his bottom lip. "Baby," he murmurs, his voice gruff and slow. That word alone makes my heart skip a beat, makes my stomach do back flips, and I'm completely at a loss. You'd think by now I'd be able to control myself, be able to have a normal response to something as simple as Harry Styles calling me pet names. But I don't. I'm hopelessly in love with this boy.
I rise up on my toes and loop my arms around Harry's neck. His arms encircle my waist immediately and pull me close, causing our chests to collide. "Never lose this," I whisper, my fingers faintly touching the spot directly over his heart.
"How do you mean, love?"
I rest my head against his chest and listen to the rhythmic thumping of his strong heartbeat, "You're such a kind soul, such a genuinely good person. Never, ever change. Never forget who you are."
Harry hooks his index finger beneath my chin and tilts my face up, forcing eye contact. A fond smile quirks up the corners of my mouth as he runs his thumb along my bottom lip, "You make me the best me I could ever be. As long as I've got you, it's impossible for me to lose myself."
I roll my eyes as a reflex, "That's untrue."
"It's not. With you, I want to be the best I can be so I can bring you the most happiness possible. You bring out the person I want to be."
My cheeks heat up under his intense stare and I have to look away, "That's the person you already were. That's the real you."
Harry shrugs, "Yeah, well, the real me was hidden under a thick layer of bull shit and bad-boy attitude. I'm just glad you actually got to know me instead of writing me off because of how much an ass I was."
I laugh lightly, "Yeah, for a bit there in the beginning, I was really close to punching you in the dick."
Those gorgeous green eyes of his widen tremendously, "Good thing I gave up that stupid persona then, yeah?"
"Yeah," I agree, lingering giggles falling from my lips and floating into the steamy air. "Let's go get ready."
Harry's POV:
On what date did World War II officially end?
I read the question over and over again, staring at the words and knowing they have meaning, but nothing is actually sinking in. All of the answer choices are very similar, making my decision even harder. I scan over the dates one final time before randomly selecting one and moving on.
I've never been good at school. Ever. Back in England, I failed biology and grade ten math among others, simply because I didn't want to do the work. Motivation has always been lacking when it came to my studies and honestly, I'm not sure that's ever going to change. For the last few years, I've wondered what I'm going to do after high school; four years of undergrad plus at least two more for specific schooling does not appeal to me. There's nothing I want to do badly enough to put myself through that kind of hell, nothing that could justify spending easily a hundred grand.
The only thing I've ever wanted to do was write and sing. Growing up, all my teachers said I had true potential as a writer, and everyone has always told me to put some videos up on YouTube of me singing. I'm not sure if either of these things is my true calling, but they're the only things I truly enjoy doing. When I'm not with Cleo, I'm usually writing something, anything in my journal, picking absentmindedly on my guitar, humming lyric-less songs to myself.
Letting Cleo read my journal is her first introduction to this private side of me; she's the first person to ever step foot into this world. I've never played her a song, sung her a melody, or written her anything, but letting her read the scribbly, nonsense that is scrawled in that book is a huge step. For as long as I can remember, I've been filling up notebook after notebook with stories, ideas, thoughts - anything that pops into my head and demands to be written down. And for as long as I can remember, it is something I'm highly protective of and secretive about. There's not a person on this earth that has been allowed voluntary access into this world. Until Cleo.
Once when I was in fourth grade, I came home from football practice, exhausted, covered in dirt, fully intending on eating my weight in whatever I could get my paws on. At the time, football was my favorite thing in the world, my biggest passion; that changed when Seth died. Football was something we started doing together - the one thing that really bonded us as we got older. So, when Seth died, I lost all interest in football. I couldn't even look at the black and white hexagonal pattern without feeling ill. That night, after Seth and I pigged out on spaghetti, we charged up to our room in a race to be the first to shower. Seth always used up every drop of hot water, and I knew better than to let him go first. I burst through our bedroom door and threw my cleats down, stopping dead in my tracks when I noticed my mother.
Her wiry fingers were tightly clenching my orange writing notebook, her eyes devouring every word. Up until that point in my life, I'd never talked back, had never yelled or even raised my voice at either of my parents. But that night... That night I screamed at my mum, snatching the notebook and effectively ripping it in half. At first she was too stunned to respond, too shocked at my outburst to move. Eventually though, she left the room without a word. We never discussed the incident, never even acknowledged it's happening. My methods must have been effective because my mother never touched any of my notebooks again.
In retrospect, I assume she was scared - whether that was from fear of another outburst or of what the notebooks might contain, I haven't the slightest clue. From then on, I wasn't as careless with my notebooks; I didn't toss them wherever, didn't leave them out for the wandering eye to fall upon. They were carefully stashed beneath my bed in a wooden chest, behind smelly shoes and discarded boxers to ensure their safety. When I was fifteen I got my first job, washing dishes at the local pizza pub, and my first paycheck went towards buying a padlock for the chest.
In many ways, by letting Cleo read my journal, I have given her the key to that chest, allowed her entry into the most sacred part of my life.
The shrill ring of the bell rips me from my thoughts, and everyone around me shuffles papers and packs up their bags, prepared to head to the next class. "Leave your tests on my desk on your way out. See you tomorrow," Mr. Stevie announces, barely glancing up from his computer. My eyes scan over the last page of the test, every question unanswered. With a silent prayer to God for some help, I circle random answers and rise from my seat, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and heading toward the front of the room. I toss the stapled stack of papers on top of the already accumulated pile and turn to leave.
"Harry, can you stay behind for a few moments?"
Mr. Stevie's voice surprises me but his request doesn't; this meeting has been a long time coming. I wade back through the massive group of seniors trying to leave, to get to their last class of the day. A few of them throw me pitying looks, the ones I know giving me a comforting pat on the back. Mr. Stevie is known to be a hard ass, known for targeting students and making their lives a living hell. At first, I thought the rumors weren't true, it was just something people told me to scare me. But about halfway into the semester he started calling on me when I didn't know the answers, calling me out for being late in front of everyone, and nagging me repeatedly about homework and grades.
For a while I was committed to my studies, to getting decent grades and graduating easily. Now, I honestly don't give a shit. I don't see what good a high school diploma does if you have no intention of going to college. The career path I want to pursue is one in which a high school diploma is not at all useful and won't open a single door. I want to be a songwriter for a record label, working with anyone and everyone in the business, giving them their big hits. At first, my plan was to finish high school here and then get the hell out, move across the country to California and start over.
That plan was halted dead in it's tracks by Cleo. That girl has changed everything as I know it. Before her, I would have left everyone and everything behind, began a new life on my own with no ties to people or places. But now she's my future, wherever she goes, I go. Home is no longer a place but a person. She is home. Cleo is adamant that she doesn't know what she's going to do after graduation, but everyone knows she wants to go to art school in New York. Anyone in her position would want that. It's the perfect place for amazing artists to get their start. So now my future looks a lot like it's going to happen in New York. What I'm doing is still a big question mark, but where I'll be is easy. I'll be with Cleo.
"Pull up a chair," Mr. Stevie says once the last of my fellow students have trickled through the door and into the hallway. I do as I'm told, pulling up the rolling chair from the corner and plopping myself onto the cushion. Mr. Stevie eyes me over his glasses as I swivel back and forth, fiddling with the ring on my middle finger. After a few moments of awkward silence, he clears his throat, "I'm sure you're aware why I asked you to stay behind."
Although I'm acutely aware of the reason, I give my shoulders a noncommittal shrug, "Beats me."
"Let's not play games here. I'll get right to the point," his tone is tired as he sets closes his laptop and folds his hands on top of the desk. "You're failing my class; you know this, I know this. But you don't seem to care, and that's fine - it's your future on the line." I think he has more to say, but he stops talking then, eyeing me quizzically.
"If you asked me to stay behind to give me a lecture, you can save it. The semester's over; I've handed in my exam. I think it's a little late for the whole 'you have so much potential, I don't want you to throw your life away' speech."
Mr. Stevie clenches his jaw and sighs, "Frankly, Mr. Styles, I don't care for you. Your phony 'too cool to care' attitude is exhausting! You might have potential, somewhere deep, deep within you, but I certainly wouldn't know because you haven't shown me an ounce of it. I didn't ask you to stay behind to lecture you or give you some monumental pep talk that you'll carry with you for the rest of your life. I wanted to make sure that you're aware that unless you get an 86% on this final, you will fail my class and be unable to graduate."
My throat feels dry as I swallow, unable to form an intelligent response. Silence fills the room for nearly a minute before he continues, "I don't hand out freebies, and I'm not usually one to give second chances - or dozens in your case - but I'd hate to see anyone's life go down the drain because of my class." He breaks eye contact with me to sift through the tests that lie at the top righthand corner of his desk. He pulls one out, presumably mine, and sets it down on the empty space between us, "I'm giving you one final chance to get this right. If you'd like, you can have one more day to study and come in tomorrow morning at 8:00 am and retake the final. I know tomorrow is Saturday, but grades are due by noon and this is your last opportunity. I'm never one to tell someone how to live their life or what's in their best interest, but I strongly believe doing this is in yours."
I'm still unable to give him an answer after several minutes, so he removes his glasses and rubs his face, seemingly exhausted by this meeting, "Listen, I know you're going through a lot with your father and the accident-"
"How'd you know about that?" My ears become red hot as anger bubbles up in my chest.
"You're mother called the office to inform us why you were missing so much school. Normally we would have expelled you for that many unexcused absences, but due to the circumstances, it wouldn't have been right. I know what you're going through-"
I rise from the chair, "With all due respect, you don't know what I'm going through, and this has nothing to do with my dad. I'm not a charity case and I don't need handouts." With that, I snatch my backpack off the floor and swiftly move to leave.
"I really hope to see you tomorrow morning. If you change your mind, I'll be here."
Fuming, my body hot from head to toe, I head to my last class on the day, beyond ready to see my girl.
***
"How'd your test go?" Cleo asks out of the blue, peering up at me from beneath my arm, her small frame nuzzled into my side on the couch. We're currently in the middle of 'The Santa Clause', her favorite Christmas movie, which ABC Family is playing back-to-back for the rest of the evening. It's a little after six o'clock and it's already dark, snow falling lightly outside, sticking to the corners of the windows. About half an hour ago, I ordered pizza for us to celebrate having made it through finals, but my chest tightens every time I'm reminded that I might not be graduating. A part of me wants to tell Cleo, but a bigger part of me is screaming not to. I know exactly what she'll say, she'll tell me that I have to retake the test, that I can't just throw away my life and my future. But what she doesn't realize is, she's my future.
I force a smile, "Not bad. How was Drama?"
A stray hair comes out of Cleo's braid and she tucks it back into place, smiling up at me, "Piece of cake."
"I'm glad."
Cleo's grip on my fingers tightens, "One more semester and we're out of here. I can't believe we'll be graduating in six months."
"One of us, at least," I mutter, the words out of my mouth before I can stop them.
"What?" Cleo's entire body stiffens.
"Oh, nothing; I was joking. Sorry," I mumble with a stiff laugh, hoping Cleo will let it go.
Her fingers claw at my jumper as she pulls herself up and perches in my lap, taking my face between her hands, "Harry..."
"Cleo, stop," I deflect, pushing her hands away.
"What happened?"
Her tone is so urgent and her eyes are so anxious, I can't lie to her. I can't tell her it's nothing when it's everything, so I swallow my pride and tell her. I tell her how there's a 99% chance I failed my History final, how if I did in fact fail, I won't be able to graduate, and with my head bowed and my eyes trained on my hands, I tell her that I don't really care. I tell her that I don't really want to graduate high school because I don't need to. I'm going to go to New York with her and write music and be happy.
For several minutes she's quiet, and I'm painfully aware of how bad I've messed up. She's going to think I'm crazy for wanting to follow her to NYC, she's going to think I'm the dumbest person ever for not caring about graduating. She's going to break up with me because nobody in their right mind would date someone with such a lack of ambition. Cleo deserves someone with a bright future who will have money and nice things and treat her like the queen she is. It will be years down the road before I'm ever able to provide for her like that, ever able to spoil her the way I want to; songwriters don't make good money - not right away. And I'd be a fool to think she'd stick around, to wait for me to become something.
Tears are pricking at the edges of my vision when Cleo finally speaks up, "I love you, y'know." It's a quiet declaration of unmoving, irrevocable love. "And I'll support whatever you choose to do. It's your life and only you know what's best for you. I have so much faith in you, and I know, for a fact, that you're going to do great things. Whether or not you'll need a high school diploma to do those things... I can't say for sure. But I can say, with 100% certainty, that I love you, and I'll be by your side no matter what you decide."
Cleo's fingers dance across my collar bones and I finally look up at her, her gaze fixated squarely on mine, "I want to give you the world, Cleo. I want to be able to provide you with everything you could ever want and so much more. And maybe one day I'll be able to, but I'm not going to lie to you and say it'll be easy. Cleo, we-"
Before I can utter another syllable, her mouth is on mine, strong and sure as she presses her body tight against mine. Moments later we part, breathless, and Cleo runs her thumb down my bottom lip, "The only thing I need is you; everything else is just a bonus. The future I want is with you.
"We'll live in New York, doing what makes us happy. Me painting pretty things and you writing pretty things, singing them to me first thing in the morning or late at night. We'll live in a little shoebox apartment until we're nearly thirty, with cats - three of them, named Marie, Berlioz, and Toulouse, from-"
"The Aristocats," I finish, smiling fondly up at the most perfect girl in the world. Her face lights up and she nods shyly, tucking hair behind her ears. I lift her chin with my index finger, "Go on."
Cleo sighs and leans her body into mine, nestling her face against the side of my neck, "Well, hopefully one day we'll have enough money saved up, me from my job as a waitress at some diner-"
"And your paintings of course," I interject, twiddling with her hands affectionately as she talks.
Cleo pushes air out through her nose and chuckles, "Yes... And you from selling songs to artists. We'll have a little wedding. Nothing fancy, just an intimate ceremony with our closest friends and family. I'll wear a form-fitting lace dress and you'll wear some vintage tux you found at a thrift shop. It'll be over the top retro and cheesy, but so, so perfect."
My heart is hammering against my ribcage at the mention of a wedding. Cleo has clearly thought about this; she's pictured us being together long enough down the road for there to be a wedding, and that makes me the happiest, and luckiest, man alive.
"I'm not sure what comes next, maybe some kids once my paintings start selling and you get bigger clients. But honestly, it doesn't really matter, because every need I have, every want I could possibly dream up, you fulfill. You're my future."
Something clicks with her words. Something inside me finally clicks and I get it. I know what I need to do. I need to graduate - I have to. Not for me, not for my future, but for her and for ours. To give us the best chance, I have to be the best me I can be. I have to do everything in my power to ensure us a long and happy future. And graduating high school is a simple, easy first step that needs to be taken. I'm an idiot really, thinking for one second that I could drop out... That's moronic.
"Can you do something for me?" I ask, repositioning Cleo so she can see my face.
Her eyebrows furrow, "Anything."
"Help me study..?"
A knowing smile creeps onto her face, and she nods quickly, "Of course."
Cleo's POV:
The morning is quiet, only a few sounds breaking the otherwise silent atmosphere. There's the hissing sound the coffee pot makes as it brews, the muffled chatter of news anchors coming from the television in the living room, and the thumping noise the washing machine makes as it runs because there's a dent on one of the corners that causes it to rock back and forth. My elbows rest on the cold surface of the island as I wait for my coffee to be ready, my face resting in my palms. It's too early. Normally, at 8:00 am on a Saturday, I'd still be sleeping, but Harry had to go take his makeup test and I wanted to wish him luck before he left.
Right about now he should be starting the test, and I'm so nervous. Not because I think he's going to fail, but because I think he thinks he's going to fail. I've never been more confident in one person than I am in him, no matter what it is he's doing. He's so smart, and kind, and wonderful, there isn't anything powerful enough to stop him from achieving his goals. I just hope that Harry doesn't let his fears get the best of him. He can do this; I just hope he knows that.
The strong aroma of coffee fills my nostrils as I pick up the pot and pour myself a cup. Once I've sufficiently mixed in cream and sugar to my liking, I plop back down at the island and open up my laptop. I pull up tumblr and scroll through my dash, finding nothing too exciting happening at the moment. Because it's too damn early, my subconscious chimes in. She's right. I contemplate taking a shower and returning to bed, but I doubt I'd be able to get back to sleep.
Just then, the front door swings open and my father walks in, talking excitedly to someone. My father tosses his keys on the table near the door and sheds his coat, moving just enough so Elliott comes into view. Quickly, I shut my laptop and move to the sink, dumping the contents of my mug down the drain. It's too early to deal with either of them right now, and I hope I can make it to the stairs before they notice I'm awake.
My feet take me to the stairs as quickly as they can and I ascend them, thinking I'm in the clear. But then my father calls out to me, his tone holding surprise, probably because I'm never awake this early on a Saturday. I mutter a curse under my breath and swivel around, my mouth curling up into a tight smile. My eyes move between my father and Elliott, who's standing a few feet from the door, cautiously watching me. I can't blame her for regarding me like some wild animal; the last time we saw each other, I freaked out and stormed off.
"What're you up to, Sparky?" my dad inquires, moving towards the kitchen.
Despite my better judgement, I follow, "Nothing. What're you up to, Dad?"
He moves to the pot of coffee I left on and pours himself a cup, "We went for breakfast. If I had known you'd be up before noon, I would have invited you."
"Ha, ha." I slide onto my usual stool at the island and idly twist the ring on my thumb around. "I didn't plan on being up, but Harry had a test to take and I wanted to wish him luck."
My dad's eyebrows furrow, "On a Saturday?"
"Yeah," is all I say, shrugging.
Elliott steps into the kitchen and leans against the doorframe, "Cleo, would it be okay if we talked for a minute... Alone?"
My eyes flicker between her and my dad and back again, unsure of what to say. Spending one-on-one time with my father's girlfriend isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list, but I can't exactly say no, can I? With my heart beating at a mile a minute, I focus my eyes on the countertop and give a quick nod, "Sure."
xx
Hiii! I am the worst person ever and you have every reason to want to shoot me in the face. Honestly. But here ya go. I know you don't care to hear excuses and even though I have a million and twelve of them, I won't bore you with them.
When (if) I'll update this next, I couldn't tell you tbh but I will do my best to make that happen quicker than this update!
I love you guys sOoOooO much! xoxo