You Wound Me, Styles

The little snippets of conversations I had with Harry for the past few days were erratic; one minute we were laughing, the other we were sad, and another we were furious at each other's company.

I was beginning to question why I was brought to Ireland in the first place.

During my fifth night in Ireland, I was finally goaded into going to one of One Direction's private concerts.

There were fewer crowds, and the audience was only rippling with pleasant murmurs.

It was towards the near-end of their performance when Harry sang an a Capella version of "Isn't She Lovely?" by Stevie Wonder.

I couldn't help but notice how his eyes lingered in my direction. He gazed at me for what, one or two full minutes? I wasn't keen on counting as I had held my breath.

However, my ego deflated when I found out that beside me sat Caroline Flack.

Of course he would be singing to her.

Following Stevie Wonder's song was another cover; it was "For the Nights I can't Remember" by Hedley.

This time I was sure he stared at me with those piercing thorn of greens.

I faked a smile, though I felt my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest very rapidly.

Harry smiled back, then looked away, his soft curls bouncing.

My palms ran cold, and I was sweating like a whore at church. My heart also wouldn't stop pestering me with its heavy thumps.



Pretty soon, and everyone might have seen this coming, Caroline broke up with Harry.

Poor Harry was wordless for hours and when I offered him my most treasured food, he declined.

I knew then that the situation was bad, and I felt the need to comfort him, somehow.

I patted his curls, murmuring, "Erm, you can cry if you want..."

Nothing. He blinked once, and his eyes were slightly more watery than before, but it didn't seem like he was crying yet.

I stroked his soft hair again.

"There, there, curly."

He cracked a ghostly smile that was quickly waning. It was success in progress at least.

"I'm sure she feels just as bad, Harry."

He shook his head. Boy, those curls really were a jungle.

"She apologized," he'd told me, "for using me for fame."

His voice had cracked, so raw and brittle.

He inhaled a lungful of air, then stayed still again, just like those statues with leaves covering their shlongs.

Gently, I mussed his hair one last time.

"You're the last person who deserves these types of treatments from girls, Harry."

That was when he chuckled fully, wrapping a heavy arm around my shoulder.

"Thanks, Rosie."

He pecked my cheeks and stood up, abandoning me in my frozen form.

As soon as I was sure he was out of earshot and eyesight, I let the slightest of tears plop down, down towards my chin, down towards my collar, staining its trail.

I was so very frustrated with myself.



"Good morning, sunshine!" Gemma chirped, all smiles.

"No!" I shouted instinctively and buried myself in my duvet.

"Time to get up!" a familiar slow timbre of voice said. Harry.

I was sure Gemma had started a conspiracy against me. I heard a strumming of an acoustic guitar, all off-tune and unkempt; the notes screeched their way into my ears.

I exposed enough of my fingers into the outside air, showing a peace sign.

"I mean you no harm," I mumbled.

"Arabelle, don't you know what day it is?" That was Gemma, I reckoned, unless Harry suddenly started sounding like a woman.

"Mm," I moaned, whining.

"It's your birthday!" The two Styles said in terrible unison.

I uncovered my face to show them how petrified I was, absolutely crushed.

Today was June the second.

In the end, Gemma insisted that she had these errands she badly needed to run, and all that was left was me and Harry.

I requested to go to a coffee shop, and Harry didn't even try to cover up his famous face, just marched outside with me in regular clothes.

A few fans discovered us along our way, and they asked for pictures and autographs.

Harry would smirk, and it was so unnatural that I was concerned.

His expression was all fake, his words seemed too coached, and he just overall wasn't the Harry I knew anymore. It was like everything was only for show.

Sometimes I tugged at his sleeve, because I had qualms seeing how he had to feign this way.

Eventually, we'd somewhat used humour to satisfy our day. Harry and I goofed around in stores, leaving pictures of his face on display phones in gadget stores. We even once bought ice cream and handed it to a total stranger, who could barely speak because it was the Harry Styles. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and got away with it.

We ran around like kids, laughing, and it was a pointless day overall.

Once we'd reached exhaustion, we lolled around on a bench, breathing heavily and smiling very widely.

"I kinda miss this," I smiled.

"I do, too."

He looked at me, and I recognized that look. It was the same way he'd looked at me before, all preoccupied and thoughtful.

Since we were so close to each other, I found t appropriate to just lean towards him. Closer, closer, until I was inches away from his lips.

But he turned my cheek away with his hand and gave me a kiss on the cheek instead.

"I don't think of you that way anymore, Arabelle."