When I get home I don't bother to make dinner like I usually do. I don't have it in me to eat. Instead I head upstairs to retreat to my room. I can hear music coming from behind Celeste's door at the opposite end of the hall, light filtering under the crack, but I don't bother to let my presence be known. I know that if I go in there I'll cry again and I can't take that right now.
The only thing I want to do is to take a shower, to rinse every bit of this day off of me. The white marble feels cold under my feet as I make my way through the bathroom to my steam shower. I turn the water on as hot as it can go and strip the clothes off my body. While the water heats I take a good look at myself in the mirror above my sink. My face is a mess, mascara streaked down my cheeks. I look hollow, my eyes sunken in, no life behind them.
When I was younger I was always the loudest in the room, always loving to be the center of attention. Even as I got older, my mom would describe me as happy-go-lucky type, the kind of person who could light up a room. And I even saw that in myself most days. But now it's hard to believe that same person is staring back at me. I feel like the shell of a human.
I back away from the mirror slightly and turn to get a view of my body from the side. I'm easily the thinnest I've ever been, almost unhealthily so, but I know that it still won't be good enough for some people. There was a time that I would have killed for this body, and now that I have it it feels all wrong. Like I lost all this weight not so I would feel better about myself, but so other people would feel better about me. I don't even recognize myself.
I step into the shower and let the heat cover every inch of my body, working out the tension of the past week. I wash the makeup off my face and shampoo my hair. I scrub my body raw, and by the time I step out my skin is a light pink. I find a pair of sweatpants and throw on an oversized tshirt I stole from my dad years ago.
I peek my head through my door and see Celeste's light has been turned off so I sneak out of my room and down to the kitchen to make some tea. I steal a blanket from the back of the couch and wrap it around my shoulders as I settle into one of the living room chairs. I tuck my legs up and begin scrolling through movies when my doorbell rings. I check the time and it reads 11pm.
I take the blanket with me and look through the window to see Harry on my front porch, his hands shoved into the front pocket of his black hoodie. He's the last person I want to talk to right now, but I don't have the energy to turn him away. Instead I open the front door and slip out, closing the door behind me, making it clear that he won't be invited in.
"Um, hi," he mumbles, not even meeting my eyes. He stares at his feet, nervously rocking back and forth.
"Harry it's eleven at night, why are you here?" I ask coldy. I'm beginning to wish that I had never opened the door. I contemplate turning back around and heading inside when he finally speaks up, "I know that I have no right to ask anything from you right now, but I need you to hear me out. Please. I won't ask for anything ever again if you don't want me to, I just need you to listen to me right now."
He looks up at me with such intensity in his eyes, like he needs me to see how serious he is. He speaks the words strongly and it piques my interest. I've already played out the worst case scenarios in my head, so I'm just shy of confident that whatever he says won't destroy me. I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and lean my back against the door. I don't answer, but I nod my head giving him the go ahead.
He takes a deep breath before he begins, his voice shaking, "I like you Lilian, and I know you must have felt that kiss the way I did. Camille really hurt me, so bad that I thought I might never recover, but you proved me wrong," I flinch when I hear her name, tired of hearing it so much this past week, but I let him continue, "When she saw pictures of the two of us she started reaching out to me, telling me that she missed me. I would never take her back but I hated feeling like she still had some hold on me. I met her in public because I wanted to be someplace neutral when I told her that she was too late, that I met someone else. I don't want to be your fucking friend Lil, and it kills me when you call me that. And I understand if you don't feel the same way, and if you don't then we can pretend this never happened. But I need you to know that I didn't meet with her because I wasn't thinking about you, I did it because you were all I was thinking about."
My chest tightens at his words and I don't even know what to say. I can feel my anger dissipating, but I also feel confused. I was so angry with him earlier, it feels wrong that that anger can so easily leave me. I feel like I could melt at his feet right now. He hurt me so bad, but I hurt myself worse by not letting him tell me the truth before. I spent days cutting him off because I had just assumed that I knew where his head was at.
"Um, I just- I needed you to know that. I'll let you get some sleep," he casts his eyes downward and begins to turn back towards his car. He sounds defeated, even though he never gave me the chance to respond.
"Harry," I say softly, stepping away from my place at the door. He looks back to me, a worn look in his eyes. I hadn't noticed it before, but it looks like he hasn't slept in days. He stands frozen while he watches me come towards him. I bring my hand to his face, feeling his stubble under my palm. He leans his head into my touch, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. He takes a deep inhale before opening his eyes, staring straight into mine.
I run my thumb across his cheekbone, "you didn't let me tell you how I feel."
"Because I have a feeling I won't like what you say," he whispers the words, but still stares intently down at me. I inch myself closer to him and I can hear his breathing now, slow and even. Feeling more sure than I have since I met him, I raise myself to my tiptoes and lean in. Harry hesitates for a moment, his forehead against mine, before he presses his lips to mine. He's soft and gentle, our lips barely touching. I can tell he wants me to take the lead, scared he'll push too far.
I tangle my hand into his curls and pull him closer to me, deepening the kiss. He responds right away, grabbing my waist and pulling my hips to his. Our lips are feverish against each other and he holds up my weight for me as he walks us back towards my house. Our kiss never breaks as we move so my back is pressed against the door. I wrap both of my arms around his neck, trying to get as close to him as I can.
He's the first to pull away and I have to fight to catch my breath. He rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed. One hand is pressed against the door above my head and I'm trapped underneath him.
"I changed my mind, I liked what you had to say," he jokes lightly and a laugh escapes my lips. More than anything right now I feel relieved. Relieved that I hadn't imagined what I had felt before, and that he decided to force me to listen to him.
"Will you stay the night?" The words surprise me as I say them, but they surprise Harry even more. He stands up straight, his brow furrowing, "are you sure?" he asks.
"I think I need it or I'll convince myself that I hallucinated this," I tell him honestly. He lets out a soft laugh before pressing a quick kiss to my forehead, "lead the way."
I lock the front door behind us and begin heading up the staircase, feeling Harry following right behind me. As I lead him into my room it feels like I'm seeing it for the first time. There's much more pink than I remember.
Harry looks around the room, soaking it all in while I begin pulling off the decorative pillows and tossing them on the floor. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and pulls back the white comforter before taking his hoodie off to reveal nothing underneath it. It takes everything in me not to stare.
I crawl in bed next to him and lay my head on his chest. He wraps both of his arms around me and runs his hand through my still damp hair. I've never had a guy just lay with me like this before. Cuddling was something I only got after sex, assuming the guy wanted to stay. I almost feel sad for myself.
"What are you thinking about?" Harry asks, still running his fingers through my hair. I don't want to ruin it by telling him that him not having sex with me is the nicest thing a guy has ever done for me, so instead I bring my hand to his chest, tracing the bird tattooed there.
"What is this?" I ask, still following the lines of the faded bird. "A swallow," he begins, "they symbolize traveling. I got them when I was 18 and traveling with the band. I was only home for five days in two years."
"What about this one?" I ask, pressing my finger over the small "A" on his left arm. He looks to see which one I'm talking about before telling me, "A is for Anne, my mum."
"Do you miss her?" I begin thinking of my own mom, someone I only see on holidays and times in between filming. "All of the time," he says softly.
"I miss my parents too," I whisper. Harry pulls his hand from my hair and places it on my bare back where my shirt has lifted. He draws circles on my skin and begins explaining all of his tattoos to me. I only remember the first four that he explains before I'm lulled into sleep.