Layla
I continue to pace back and forth within the sheets, feeling cold and warm at the same time. The hours in the night come and go, yet a certain man never arrives. I try his cell once more as the clock hits half past four, causing me to worry even more once he doesn't pick up the call. I stare blankly at the ceiling, watching the fan circle around and around in order to be rid of some of the suffocating air in the room. Sugar sleeps on the now empty side of the bed, waking for a brief moment, allowing me to see an ocean filled with curiosity and ambition. She can sense the sadness on my face as she steps forward, licking my nose in order to provide some relief.
"It'll be okay sweetheart, he'll be home soon," I whisper, rubbing her belly until she falls back asleep.
And as a new hour arrives, I decide to reach for my phone again, searching the web for an answer. I never do this, despising that anyone has the ability to simply explore social media for our whereabouts and other personal information. Yet, this time, I fear for his safety as he hasn't answered a single call all day. Unfortunately, the first photo that appears on my feed once I look up his name, is just as I feared. He's spotted with her, drinking at a lavish after party. Photo after photo, he's lost in temptation, enjoying seduction in a glass. I don't allow such glimpses to decrease the amount of trust I have for such a kind man. He wouldn't ever hurt me, that's a fact. He's simply enjoying a night with newly created friends. I only hope he knows what he's doing as people in Hollywood tend to wear many faces.
As I toss and turn, I hear a slight and continuous knocking, causing Sugar to bark in response. She marches towards the front door as I groan, burying my face underneath the pillow to hide the newly present sunlight that threatens to exist from within the curtains. As she doesn't decide to stop at any given time, I force myself out of the bed, wiping away the sleep from my eyes. And when I look through the small peephole of the door, I witness a rather exhausted musician on the other side. I open the door without a word, viewing his current drunken and sloppy state. He gives me a half smile, filled with regret and guilt as I keep my arms crossed over my chest. He doesn't attempt to step inside at first, chewing on his mouth, glancing down at the tiles on the floor. The smell of tequila and whiskey is made present, as does the evidence of cigars, causing me to sigh in disappointment. He fell for the temptation. They tried to darken and burn the lights of my rainbow. They tried to dim his color, providing me with nothing but a wash of grey.
I speak first, breaking the uncomfortable silence that dances between us. I despise it. It's never supposed to be uncomfortable for us because he's home for me. "I was worried about you. You didn't answer my calls," I say, exhaling heavily, witnessing the way he looks back at me.
"I'm sorry, my phone died. Then it got too late and I didn't want to wake you. I forgot my key before I left, I'm so sorry."
"I was denied entrance, you know. I tried to come to the concert."
"It was all a big misunderstanding. Belinda feels awful about it."
"Does she?"
He's thrown back by my sharp words that roll off my tongue. I don't like the way she stole his attention and focus tonight. She lead him down a dark pathway, filled with certain desires that he has always found a way against. And I'm not a fool, I know this was no accident. She intended to keep me off the list to have him all for herself. That's been made perfectly clear. The man that stands in front of me is far too kind to ever realize how cruel some can actually be in this world. He takes a courageous step forward, reaching for my hand. He's warm while I'm currently cold, fearing that others may try to taint his light. I fear others may try to steal his heart.
"Nothing happened Layla..."
"Please, please don't say that to me. You're saying that because you're scared I think you may hurt me that way. But, I don't think that. I'm not thinking that. I would never think that."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like I'm a stranger standing in front of your door in the middle of the night."
His words hurt as well, rendering me speechless. I frown as he simply remains pained by my reaction. "I'm only a little disappointed."
"In me? You're disappointed in me?" he asks, a slight hint of irritation made present in his voice.
"I was worried about you Harry. I don't want you to get hurt. You don't even know her, but you're out partying with her and her friends until early morning. This isn't you."
"Don't judge me Layla. It was only one night."
"I'm not judging you. I care for you Harry, when are you going to realize that? I know her type, I've seen it happen. I saw the way she was looking at you."
"You met her once Layla. I'm telling you nothing happened."
"I know that. I'm only saying that she may have other intentions. I just want you to be careful."
"I am careful. It was one night of fun. That's all. Don't make it into something that it's not. She doesn't mean anything to me, she's not you." I don't have the strength to proceed forward, despising every second and every moment when we argue like this. It shouldn't be like this at all. He's normally always sharing a smile or laugh with me. His anger is never directed towards me. When I look away from his eyes, he tilts my chin up gently, forcing me to look back at him. "I promise you Layla, it meant nothing. It was only a few drinks."
"You sang with her."
"She's a fan of the song, thought it would be fun. I thought you were coming."
"But I didn't. She made sure of that."
"That's not fair. You don't know that for sure."
"Harry, I trust you with my entire heart. Please, please don't break it. I'm begging you, please."
"Hey, baby, please don't say that. Please, I'm so sorry if I upset you tonight. I would never hurt you, ever. You know that, right? You know that you're the one for me little darling."
"I know, I've just seen this sort of thing happen. And I'm not a moron, I know women are always craving for your attention. Sometimes, it's just so hard to remain..."
He stops my words before it can proceed any further with a lovely and much needed kiss. I don't care that he tastes like tequila and cigars. I don't care about that because after everything, he still returns home to me. I know of his past. I know how people tend to walk all over him, using him for various needs. And I want to see the best in others, yet I fear it may not be the case with Belinda Sky. I only hope that I'm proven wrong in the future.
Thanksgiving comes around the corner quickly, providing the familiar joys of cinnamon, pumpkins, and apples. This year, my mother and baby Aurora are joining us for a rather festive and interesting dinner. I allow holiday tunes to be played all over the apartment as I pour in some shredded cheese into the macaroni. Sugar remains by my feet, licking up any fallen leftovers. Stepping into the kitchen, Harry looks over my shoulder, tickling my face with the small stubble of hair that envelopes around his mouth and chin. I try to suppress the laughter that threatens to be released as he keeps his arms around my waist, pulling me deeper into the depths of his warm chest.
"My mother will be here soon, you're distracting me."
"You won't let me have a bite of any sweets, the least you can do is give me a bite of you."
"No, your hair tickles my face," I say, attempting to free myself from his grip.
"I thought you liked it?"
"I do."
"I thought you liked how it felt on your skin, hmm?" he asks quietly, trailing his fingertips down below, wanting to slip underneath my skirt.
"Stop teasing me Harry Styles," I utter helplessly, stepping away from how good he feels and smells, knowing that my entire efforts will go to pure waste as the pasta begins to burn.
The man next to me continues to chop up some veggies, creating a beautiful salad filled with our favorites. Multiple boxes of different assortments of pizzas are placed on the counter, a rather odd tradition, considering most American families have other foods on their table on such a memorable day. "Tell me again why you eat chicken fingers and pizza on Thanksgiving?" he asks me, taking a bite of some freshly cooked french fries.
"It happened the year before I got discovered by Grace. My mom burnt the turkey and she didn't have time to make anything else. So, we ordered cheese pizza and chicken fingers because she knew that was my favorite. It's silly I know."
"It's not silly at all. I like these kind of traditions. Why stick to the norm? That's boring."
Our ridiculously filled table is set with plentiful amounts of food, ranging from pizza, chicken fingers, macaroni and cheese, veggies, and salad. We ordered a few cakes and pies as well, wanting to satisfy all sweet and decadent cravings. Awaiting my mother's arrival, we rest up on the couch, just me and him in each other's arms. He tastes the cherry gloss on my lips, humming in response as he rests his temple on my own. Once again, he smells and reminds me of lavender, the salty ocean from Cannes, golden honey, and fruity berries. He traces my skin with his gentle fingertips, glancing down at the peach sapphire that rests on my left hand. Today is the day to break the news as my future is sitting right next to me. He's my entire world, found in a serendipitous moment.
"I love you, little darling," he whispers to me.
"I love you," I reply instantly, enjoying the way he indulges himself in my lips and touch. Today is the first time in weeks that I've truly had him to myself. He's so occupied with work and writing that I rarely see him, considering I don't return back from filming until late in the evenings. He spends his time either in peace and solitude, putting pen to paper, wanting to create memorable art. He wants to prove me wrong, yet he will never know that it pains me as he gets closer and closer to another woman. He doesn't know that it hurts me deep down, seeing him on magazines with her as they grab a bite to eat after a long day of making music. He doesn't know that it hurts me secretly when he speaks about her with such fascination, describing her talents, and the way she understands him. I try to be supportive, truly. I don't want to hold him back or be the jealous type. Sometimes, he wants to be a social butterfly and there's nothing wrong with that. He deserves to find inspiration elsewhere. He deserves to share his talent and time with others. I only hope the beautiful and colorful man that I fell in love with isn't broken in the end. I only hope that he continues to shine bright and sparkle for I can't stand the thought of him becoming grey.