Cracks in Anchors

Seconds morphed to minutes and minutes morphed to hours and before either of us knew it we were entangled in each others limbs on the hard pavement, my back scraping against the bricks and her hands tugging at my curls. Her lips molded to mine like they were always meant to be there, the spaces left between my teeth being filled with her smoke-stained tongue. But I could care less; as I roamed my fingertips down the curves of her back and tried to make my fingers remember - remember her and the way her skin felt against mine and the paths my fingers could travel as she pulled herself closer to my heaving chest. I could feel her heartbeat penetrating through my flimsy button up and wished we were alone; wished we could get lost in each other without anyone knowing.

I was never one for romantics, not even to this day, but as she pressed harder into my mouth and explored the walls with her tongue, I just wanted to hold her hand. I wanted to hold her hand until it broke, I wanted to kiss her goodnight, good morning, good afternoon, good anytime. I wanted to hold her until everything was alright, I wanted to watch as she laughed and smiled and wanted to drink in her personality. I wanted to be drowned in the aura that dripped from her pores, I wanted to be her moon and stars and sun all at once. I wanted to be her past and future and memories. I wanted to be the one she yearned for at night, I wanted to be the one she couldn’t live without, I wanted to be the one she called for when she was alone.

But then she detached and all I could do was stare at her, taking in her rosy lips and oval eyes and flushed cheeks. And as we sat there, staring at one another with words tugging at our shriveled vocal chords, the bell rang faintly in the background and she opened her mouth the slightest bit.

“I guess- I guess I should get to class.”

All I could do was nod, letting my hair fall into my eyes but not bothering to swipe it away.

“Yeah, you should go to class.”

And then that was it; that was the briefness of our first kiss and emotional high. That was the briefness of our emotions being dragged out into the open, that was the briefness that started something not so brief.



“Oh for fucks sake, Harry, why can’t you control yourself?” Louis stood with his bare back towards me, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he washed a plate from the night before.

I just sighed in defeat, knowing he was right and I was a fucking idiot and should be locked up in a room for the rest of my life, and let my briefcase drop to the hardwood floor with a bang. It reverberated against the opaque walls of the flat and it reminded me of the loneliness of everything; of my shit life and my living with my best friend and kissing a student and probably loving her.

“She kissed me first, though,” Was all I could mutter as I let my eyes drop to the ground, suddenly feeling like a child being chastised as Louis’s scrubbing grew louder and words heavier.

“She kissed me first,” He mocked, his voice getting higher and child-like as he dropped the plate to the countertop, “what are we, in fifth grade?”

“Why are you fucking pissed, Lou? I’m a fucking adult.”

But maybe I was only a façade of someone I could never be, someone who could take on the world. But I couldn’t, not really, I was to weak and worn out and broken. I was too lost to be an adult; I was too lost to have responsibilities and a job and anything that forced me to be strong, because I wasn’t. But I think both me and Louis knew that from the beginning.

“I just don’t want to see you fuck up your life, alright? God damn, Harry, I want you to be happy. I want you to move on from her.”

His voice dropped and I could tell by the sag in his shoulders that the conversation had taken a deeper turn and Louis was tired and flat lined and gone. So when he turned and said he was going to bed, a sadness in his eyes I couldn’t pinpoint, I let him. I let him walk by and pat my shoulder and enter the bedroom and shut it behind him. I let him leave me to fester in my own thoughts.

And that’s exactly what I did, as I sat back on the couch and unbuttoned my own shirt and let it drape across the forgotten briefcase on the floor. I turned on the TV to some random show and didn’t pay attention to it as I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, letting a deep sigh roll past my lips.

My lips, which only a few hours prior had been tasted and pried apart by Sullivan’s. My lips, which felt soft as I ran my hands over them. My lips that trembled with the thought of our shared kiss; of the infinity that sprawled between us and the sacramental confessions that weighed heavy on our shoulders. As I drifted deeper into sleep, as the consciousness melted from my brain and I was pulled deeper into the darkness, I sighed one last time and wondered what I had done to get into this fucked up mess.

“Harry, shit, wake up man.”

I felt tugs at my shoulder and the pressure of my back being slammed into the couch, my eyes rolling under my heavy lids as I groaned.

“Just five more minutes, mum,” I said, even though I knew it was Louis who shook me and Louis who would laugh like he always did when I called him mum.

“You’re already late to work, though.”

I sat up, annoyed and nervous, ready to sprint to the closet to throw on the cleanest clothes I could find, but then decided that maybe I should just call in sick because I wouldn’t know what to do when I saw Sullivan. When she walked in with her hair falling across her shoulders, when her smile was directed at me, when her eyebrows lifted when I said something I thought was funny, I wouldn’t know what to do. I wouldn’t know what to do if we were alone, I wouldn’t know what to do if she asked me, my words would get stuck in the folds of my esophagus and I’d make a fool out of myself in front of the girl I was forever trying to impress. So, yeah, I decided the best thing to do was just get Louis to call in sick for me and go back to sleep and pretend I was a child faking sick to get out of school.

“Call in sick for me, Louis, will you?” I fell back against the cushions and brought the blanket Louis must have draped over me when I was sleeping over my head, staring into the darkness that was created and wondering what I would do the day after today.

What would I do the day after that, and the day after that, and the next? I couldn’t stay holed up in this cocoon forever, despite how hard I wished I could, because sooner or later I would have to face Sullivan. I would have to face whatever we were and what we were becoming and whatever else. I had to be a man sooner or later, not a boy.

“Okay Harry, I’ll call right now.”

I listened as his footsteps got lighter as he left for the kitchen, his heavy breathing lighter as he picked up the phone and dialed. Tired seconds passed by before I heard Louis cough away his morning voice and begin talking.

“Hi, this is Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles is feeling a bit sick and can’t be in today.”

Silence besides Louis and I’s even breathing.

“I’m his flat mate, yeah he has a fever and is crippled on the couch at the moment.”

I chuckled to myself at Louis’s typical exaggeration and heard the phone being put down in the background.

“The coast is clear Harry, you can come out of your cocoon of self loathing now.”

“Not self loathing, just uncertainty.”

I flung the covers off and rolled off the couch, standing on cracking joints as I made my way past Louis and to the open fridge.

“I’ll stay home too so I can watch over the baby.”

Louis walked closer and ruffled my hair with his lanky fingers, pulling me into his chest and laughing into my ear. I didn’t try to pull away, I just melted into his chest and turned so I could wrap my arms around his shoulders, leaning my cheek against his warm one.

And then I whispered low and soft so only me and Louis could hear.

“Thank you, Louis.”

I could feel his head shaking against my cheek, his palms patting against my naked chest, and I could feel the friendship that weighed down our core and laid over our bodies like a blanket.

“I have your back, Harry.”

And he did.