Love Always, Harry

It's been a month since Willow has moved in, and despite what happened in New York, Marvel's noticed she hasn't changed her antics much. Willow is out almost every night until the sun begins to rise, and Marvel can smell the scent of alcohol on her when she walks through their bedroom door.

However, Marvel's noticed Willow stopped taking drugs, and well, that's a start at least.

It was a Friday afternoon when Marvel got the call from her boss. He had asked her to go to Tampa, to a music store called Melody Mart, and test one of the lap steel guitars before purchasing and buying it. Why they couldn't just do it over video, Marvel doesn't know, but she wasn't about to say no to a short trip in America.

It was Monday now, and Marvel went to look for her license in her room so she could go to the store in a few minutes. But she froze on the spot when she saw her elder sister holding something very precious to her.

"What the hell are you doing with that?" Marvel snapped, snatching the picture of Harry out of the girl's hands. Marvel's hands were shaking; Willow knew what Harry did to Marvel, the whole family knew. And well, Willow finding out that Marvel kept a picture of the ex that cheated on her wasn't the first thing on her list.

"You. You still love him, don't you?" Willow asked quietly, looking up with her large brown eyes. Her makeup and hair were all done up for that day, but she was only in her shorts and tank top, not fully dressed for another night of clubbing.

Marvel felt her eyes sting a bit, but blinked rapidly before anything happened. No, they weren't about to have this conversation. Willow didn't understand; she didn't know what love was; didn't know what Harry was like. Willow just didn't get it; she never would. Marvel clenched her jaw and merely stared at the picture. Harry smiled brightly back at her.

"Even after, even after he did that to you," Willow continued just as soft. She wasn't getting it. Didn't she see that Marvel didn't want to talk about it? "Marv, come on—"

"Just shut up, alright? You wouldn't get it," Marvel snapped again, putting the picture in the drawer of her nightstand. "And stay out of my stuff. I don't go through your things."

"I was just getting an extra pillow," Willow said sadly, and Marvel would feel bad if she weren't so angry, so sad, and wanting to cry.

"Just leave my side alone, Willow," said Marvel harshly before snatching up her license off the floor and stalking out the door. Only in the car did she let a few tears fall.

---

Marvel started packing that night, and the suitcases were in her mother's room, so she started to walk to there. Marvel scrunched her eyebrows together when Willow walked out the room. What was Willow doing in their mother's room? Marvel sighed, and figured she probably was just getting some makeup.

The suitcase was there from the last time she put it up there. The space where it was was about half a foot taller than her, and without getting a stool, she reached up and began wiggling it out. She and two other things fell on the floor along with her, and Marvel cursed softly at her hurting bottom. She landed a bit funny on her wrist, but that was nothing a few stretches couldn't fix.

Marvel sighed at the small mess she made. But what caught her eye wasn't the suitcase by her feet. It was a shoebox that had fallen open. And out of that box had fallen a bundle of envelopes that were being held together with a large rubber band.

Marvel raised an eyebrow and picked up the bundle. That was weird. They were addressed to . . . Her? But. Who sent them? No. No way. It couldn't be. Not him. But he. He didn't contact her after the day after it happened. He gave up.

Marvel thumbed through the corners of the letters without taking the rubber band off, just wanting to look at the dates. May 12, June 25, April 3. They were all a week apart. And from Harry Styles.

Wait. Why did her mother have them all?

Marvel was clothing the bundle in her hand as she stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen where her mother was making dinner. Upon hearing her, her mother turned around with a smile on her face, but frowned when she saw the lost, yet horrified and furious, look on her daughter's face.

"What's wrong, Marvel? Did something happen?" her mother asked, worried.

Marvel took no time to slam the letters on the table as hard as she could, the plates and silverware making satisfactory clanking noises. "What the fuck are these?"