Broken Things

The tension was palpable, not to mention nauseating. My confrontation of Harry had only resulted in him pulling back, which normally would have been fine, except it wasn’t. The sixteenth was quickly approaching and while under my usual circumstances, I’d be okay with going a week Harry-free, this wasn’t exactly a holiday for me. My infuriating father, his dimwitt new wife, and his bitter step-daughter awaited me, and more than anything I needed a distraction. Since Harry wasn’t around, I found it elsewhere.

I’d been to Andrew’s apartment twice in the week, both times under the pretense of watching some dumb action film and eating frozen pizza. We made out, him groping me while I pulled away before anything could be taken much further. Mostly, I knew I was above this. Maybe a month earlier I hadn’t been, but I was now and I felt pathetic for stooping to this level.

The only other distraction I was afforded was my new job. I’d only done two events, and true to Eden’s word, it had been awful. But upon recieving my first paycheck in the mail, it was easy to overlook such things. I could finally afford such luxuries as candles again! Harry’s guest room had been smelling musty lately.

I was on one of these events, some shopping center in Hollywood, when after three mindless hours of snapping at children for sliding down the inflatable upside down I was finally relieved by Eden to take a break.

“Fifteen minutes,” she told me sternly.

“Oh, what? Like yours was so perfectly timed?” I teased, knowing Eden had a tendency of stretching her time away from the inflatables. Just surveying the area, the other attendants around us, misery was etched on all of our faces. We’d truly become sell outs, for twenty bucks an hour they could have paid us to do just about anything.

“Don’t be a twat,” Eden said, the word coming out all wrong in her American accent. As of late, she’d taken to adopting some of the British slang I’d picked up. Mostly, I thought it was her way of making fun of me, but my sense of humor hadn’t completely dissapated, so I allowed it.

“Stop saying that word!” I called over my shoulder as I grabbed a water from a nearby cooler and took my leave. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but with nothing better to do I thought I could afford to get lost.

The center was very boutique-centered, which was unfortunate for me because while I may have been able to afford $10 candles at Target and call that an accomplishment, my funds weren’t nearly sufficient enough to fork out $42.50 for a silk camisole. I was afraid that just by walking through the doors they’d charge me a cover fee.

I wandered on, not sure what I was really looking for, but I thought I might have found it when I came to a halt before an old record shop, creviced between a hallway for restrooms and a big and tall store that jutted out from the wall. It was the sort of place you had to know was there to find it, but somehow I’d stumbled upon it.

Pushing through the door, the store was warm with fans blowing from various perches. A handwritten sign attatched to the neon ‘open’ light hanging from a suction cup on the glass beside the door apologized for a broken air conditioner, but I didn’t much mind. It was stuffy, but it smelled of vinyl and musty album covers.

I slowly began to shift through them, smiling when I came across names I recognized, either because my mum had been partial to them or Harry had introduced me in our early days together. Music had been a huge element of Harry’s relationship with my mum, something I always liked to watch from the sidelines and admire, happy to be included and just as content to observe. They used to trade suggestions and vinyls every time they saw each other, which had been quite frequently with our relationship. There was always something new to hear, an artist to discover, a chorus to pick apart and search for meaning. I used to wish I’d had it in me.

My fingers fell upon a familiar white album, an illustration of a woman’s profile on the front. It was reasonably priced and I plucked it from the stack. Phoebe Snow had been one of mum’s favorites, a record she’d had in the lineup when Harry had left for the X Factor. She’d never gotten the chance to trade it with him, but I knew he’d love it and more than anything I longed to listen to that familiar crackle and static before the opening song began, feeling like a warm embrace. Just as I began to shift through more, wondering if they had Jefferson Airplane, a pair of hands snaked their way to my waist. I turned on the spot, startled.

Andrew grinned at me just before planting a kiss on my lips. Frozen beneath his touch and shocked to see him here, I was at a loss for a response. He didn’t seem to mind.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“When I texted you this morning, you told me you were working here. I thought I’d bring you lunch,” he shrugged.

I bit down on my lip, examining the bag he held in his hand. The golden arches had been scribbeld out with a permanent marker, the words Ronald’s Fine Dining written in uncertain cursive beneath it. Call it what he wanted, I was wary of chicken nuggets and frozen beef patties. But he’d tried, so I plastered on a smile and accepted it from him with a quiet thanks.

“I also know you can’t have your phone on you, so I wanted to stop by and ask if you want to go out tonight.”

“Go where?” I asked, pulling a limp fry from the bag. I frowned at it, swallowed thickly, and put it in my mouth. Okay, gross.

“A friend of mine is planning this thing at a club. And you’ve seemed stressed this week, I think you could probably use a night out.”

He busied himself by reaching into the bag and pulling out a handful of fries, stuffing them in his mouth as I looked on, disgusted. I wasn’t fooling anyone; whatever we were doing wasn’t going to continue for much longer. But my evening’s alternative plans included packing my bag, desperately hoping Harry would glance in my direction long enough for me to talk him into hanging out like we used to, and going to bed early when he claimed he had something that needed his immediate attention. With the knowledge that my flight left at 8:50 in the morning for Chicago and my encroaching anxiety over the whole event, I figured I was due a night out.

“Okay,” I shrugged easily. “But I really need to get back to work...”

“Perfect,” Andrew grinned, holding the McDonalds bag out for me to take.

“Ah... I don’t have time to eat that. Why don’t you take it?”

“I just ate a McDouble,” he frowned, but nonetheless accepted the bag when I pushed it back in his direction. He continued to happily much at the fries while I took the album over to the counter and paid for it. If he cared at all about what I was buying, he didn’t show it as his greasy fingers sifted through hip hop to find an Outkast album. I ignored him in favor of counting out dollar bills to hand to the cashier, as he eyed Andrew warily before his eyes returned to me as if to ask, “Does that belong to you?”

I snatched the paper bag from the counter and sighed a thanks before making my way to the door, not bothering to see if Andrew was following but confident in the smacking sound coming from his mouth that he was.

–

So maybe the drinking thing had been a bad idea. Unfortunately, this thought hadn’t occurred to me until I had a sudden burst of clarity on the dance floor, Andrew’s hands low on my hips as we ground against one another in some shitty club in The Valley.

“I’m getting water!” I called over my shoulder. Barely lucid, he only nodded as I pulled away, almost immediately finding a new dance partner. I paused, eyeing this careful and quick exchange before I decided it didn’t matter and began to weave through the crowd.

I was getting sober, which meant I was thinking of only two things; the way Harry had completely ignored me when I’d shown up in his living room wearing a skimpy dress declaring I was going out, and that in less than twelve hours, I would be picked up at an airport in the Midwest by my arse of a father.

My stomach begged for water, but my mind needed the alcohol. So when I reached the bar, I ordered two more pineapple juices and vodka. I couldn’t recall where I’d actually consumed them, but in no time I was hazy and blank and ready to party again.

I thought things were going well. I’d found Andrew again and we’d found our rhythm to a Get Low remix. He’d shouted he loved Lil Jon and I chose to ignore it because while Get Low might have been a masterpiece, everyone knew it was a fluke. I busied myself by shimmy anchoring myself to him with a hand on his neck, and he enthusiastically shoved his groin at me, rubbing it all over my person. I patted myself on the back for a job well done with the two other drinks I’d consumed. With any luck, I wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

It wasn’t until Ignition Remix began that things got a little out of hand. Which I should have expected, but as far gone as I was, I had hope. Turning toward Andrew, I pulled his face close to mine and yelled, “I love this song!”

My eyes fell closed as I mouthed every word, my fingers absently trailing up his neck to pull at the curls. When they found none, it should have been my first clue, but I only let my hand fall in slight disappointment. When had Harry gotten a haircut? Didn’t matter, the best part was coming up.

Then after the show, it’s the after party. And after the party, it’s the hotel lobby...

His body heat was stifling, but I didn’t mind much as I clung to him. I’d tried to breathe in his smell, but it was all wrong and I frowned, furrowing my brows in confusion. With my eyes closed, the room had started to spin a bit, but I knew Harry wouldn’t let me fall. It wasn’t until the pair of hands holding me trailed lower and lower on my person that I realized what was happening. Harry would never grope me in public. Harry wasn’t here.

My eyes snapped open and I pushed away from Andrew, stumbling into two girls making out behind me. When they glared I apologized and pushed my way through the throng of people in desperate need of a restroom. I felt sick and it was only a matter of time before my stomach emptied itself. Unfortunately, at the club the line to the bathroom was twelve ladies deep and I didn’t have that sort of time. Instead, I stumbled to the nearest trash can and heaved the contents of my stomach (which was nearly all liquid) into the container and ignored the comments and sounds from patrons nearby.

I felt awful; not just from the alcohol but from what I’d just let happen to myself. So far gone, I’d crossed a line I never should have crossed. And sure, maybe Harry and I didn’t have any explicit rules about clubbing or dancing, but I knew what Ignition Remix meant. Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic of songs, but it was the one that brought him to the forefront of my mind. And I’d just violated it with an idiot who smelled of hot ketchup and Axe aftershave. The thought was enough to have me emptying my stomach again.

When I thought I was finished, I wiped my arm across my mouth as ladylike as possible, hiked my dress further down my thighs, and decided it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. I was unsteady in my heels, stumbling every few steps and reaching out for various tables to try to find my equilibrium again. Many startled people gave me glowering looks, but I ignored them in favor of finding Andrew and leaving.

When I found him, I stopped cold in my tracks. He was attatched at the mouth to a dark haired girl fifteen pounds smaller than me. It was so sad I wanted to laugh. And so I did. And then I turned away with tears in my eyes and tried to figure out what I could do from there.

Ashley and Declan were out of the question. Not because they wouldn’t help me, but because they’d taken a trip to Big Sur for the week and were physically unable to do so. I almost briefly considered calling Eden because I was just honestly that desperate to not call the one person I knew would be here for me, but it was too early in our friendship to ruin it. And while Zayn and Niall were certainly preferable, I knew if I’d given either of them a call it would only be forwarded to a certain curly-haired boy immediately following and he’d probably be the one to show up anyway. So why not cut out the middle man?

I found myself in the que for the restroom, not because I really needed it anymore because I didn’t think there was much left in my stomach, but because the hallway was at least a little quieter and I could have really used a wee. The line moved slowly, but that only gave me time to type my password in six times before getting it right, and scroll through my contacts to find his name. I held the mobile up to my ear and listened to it ring, surprised when he picked up on the second one.

“Hello?”

“Well that was fast. Don’t want to sound too eager, champ,” I joked before hiccuping. Huh. When had I started doing that? Was I crying?

“Sawyer? Are you crying?” Harry repeated the question back to me.

Well if he could tell over the phone, I must have been. I let out a broken sob as I realized how pathetic it was that I was crying.

“What happened? Where are you? Where’s Andrew?”

I smiled slightly despite myself. If Andrew was mentioned in Harry’s house, it was usually as ‘What’s His Face’. I knew Harry knew his name, but I wasn’t in a position to be adding drama to our exisiting drama, so I let him get away with it.

“Some club in The Valley,” I choked out, answering one of his questions. It was sort of at random; I’d missed him asking the first one and the last one I wasn’t very eager to divulge.

“Which club in The Valley?”

“Um... it has to do with the weather?” I said helpfully. Harry didn’t make a sound, but I thought I could hear clicking in the background. What a dork. He was Googling. The thought was almost enough to make me giggle, but I cried again instead.

“What happened?” he repeated, tone soft yet demanding.

“I dunno,” I mumbled. “I drank too much and I have to see my dad and Ignition Remix came on, then I threw up, and Andrew’s having sex with some vixen who’s skinnier than me and I really have to wee.”

“Andrew left you in favor of getting laid by a rando at the club?”

“No,” I scoffed. “He’s still here. They’re just together on the dance floor and it’s gross. Not that I really mind, he doesn’t smell as good as you do and his hands are much rougher. No curls to tug at,” I mused.

The other end of the line was silent. I pulled it away from my ear to check if I still had service, or if he’d accidentally hung up on me. I didn’t think I was emotionally stable or sober enough to arrange for a cab, so I prayed he was still there. It seemed he still was, but I asked for good measure.

I heard him clear his throat, and then, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Think it takes thirty from your house,” I observed absently as the que moved forward.

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hung up then and I frowned at my phone, thinking it rude to not at least say goodbye first. With a roll of my eyes, I crossed my arms over my chest and willed the line to move faster before my bladder literally exploded all over the club. What a mess that would make. What poor employee would be tasked with mopping all the piss from the floor? Would I die from that? Probably. I wondered what Andrew would think then, knowing he’d been absent as I met my doom just so he could finger some cougar at a bar. Probably pretty shitty. The thought brought a smile back to my face.

It only took five minutes, but it felt like an hour. The moment the door opened and the girl who had been in front of me left, I pushed in eagerly and shut the door behind me. Giddily, I skipped over to the toilet and pulled down my underwear to sit down and relieve myself, humming happily as I did so. I felt infinitely better, maybe even enough to go get another drink and stay a while longer. Maybe I’d find some desperate business man who’d want some company. That would be pretty sweet.

I turned to flush the toilet, but made no move to get up. The room was doing that spinning thing again and I felt my empty stomach churn. It was all I could do to hike back up my underwear and fix my dress before turning on the spot and dry heaving into an empty toilet bowl.

There was noises coming at the door, impatient voices just beyond that, but I only closed my eyes and willed it all to stop. I thought I heard the door creak as it opened, then slam shut again. A moment later, it repeated that action and I thought it a weird habit for an inanimate object to pick up, slamming about rudely with no concern for the person in it. It was on the third time that I’d had bloody well enough and snapped my head up to give it a stern talking to. I was met instead with an unsteady Andrew as he stumbled over toward me.

“Hey,” he slurred, lowering himself to the floor beside me. He tried to run a hand through my hair, but it only ended up getting tangled in there. “Having fun?”

“No,” I snapped angrily. His eyelids were drooping, and all he could do was smile back at me lazily. “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to check up on my girl,” he answered. “Or... I dunno. Someone from the line found me and said I should check up on you.”

I glared at him, ready to give him a piece of my mind when he lurched forward suddenly and began retching into the toilet bowl. My gaze narrowed as I watched this happen. What a toilet hog. A gentleman would have shared. I bet Harry would have shared.

Speaking of, there was a commotion coming from outside the restrooms, my curiousity only met when the door flung open and Harry poked his head in cautiously, his long hair pulled back into a bun. He wore a grey burnout tee that clung to him and a pair of those god awful skinny jeans. I almost greeted him, but his eyes were full of fire when they landed on me. Funny, but I’d never seen green fire before. It made me think if Sleeping Beauty.

“Liam!” Andrew called unhelpfully from the toilet bowl when he’d caught sight of Harry. I would have laughed if the set of Harry’s jaw hadn’t been so dangerous. He didn’t lower himself to say anything to Andrew where he lay sprawled out on the tile, instead offering a hand to me. I eyed it warily, but when his gaze found me again I thought I should probably maybe definitely take it.

“Where are you going?” Andrew asked.

“You don’t have access to that information anymore,” Harry spat in his direction as he guided me toward the door. I felt him pause and did the same, uncertain if I could even walk without his steadying hand on my lower back. “Actually, I just have to ask. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What?” Andrew seemed taken aback, or maybe too drunk to comprehend the English language anymore. Maybe both.

“I don’t know what Sawyer was doing pissing away her time with the likes of you, but you’re done now. Because this isn’t good for her, you’re sure as hell not good enough for her, and I’m not letting this happen ever again. So kindly lose her number and fuck off.”

Harry was ready to move again, but I wasn’t sure if I was. I felt rooted in place, trying to grasp onto his words as they quickly slipped away into the fog in my mind. Impatient, Harry gave me a slight shove to get a move on and I jumped into action mechanically. He held the door open for me, his body oddly hunched as we moved. I realized there were a lot of phones here. Like, a lot of phones. And they had those bright lights on the front of them that hurt your eyes. Maybe that explained why Harry’s hand was shielding mine.

My brows were furrowed in confusion as I studied him. He was angry and upset and I couldn’t really remember everything he’d just said to Andrew, but I did remember the way he’d said them wasn’t very kind. I didn’t remember Harry as being mean. I wouldn’t have called him if I’d remembered that.

“Sawyer, I need you to work with me, here,” he sighed, glancing over at me. I realized I was doing a shit job of picking up my feet and tried to make a better effort as we neared the front doors. Harry held them open for me again and I took a deep breath of fresh air, the wind soothing against my sweaty skin.

Suddenly I remembered the name of the club as being Rain. This only occurred to me once the lightning started.

Harry was moving me forward again as I blinked, surprised at the sudden appearance of the flashing white light. It took me far too long to realize it wasn’t lightning at all, but cameras going off. And of course they were, I’d just lured one of the hottest musicians in the world into peeling me from the bathroom tile and coddling me into his car. Wait. When had I gotten in his car?

I looked over at the driver’s side as Harry pulled his door open and started the engine. There was that fire in his eyes again, and I didn’t like it. I wanted to say so, but I thought that might just make it worse, what with the lightning and the thunder of the voices outside. I wondered how he stood it all, and then I started crying again.

Harry sucked his bottom lip between his teeth as he maneuvered his way out into the street. I was trying to be discrete, but I knew my sniffling was ungodly in volume, and even if it hadn’t been, Harry would have known anyway. Harry had always known.

There was no sound in the car, no radio playing. I wondered if Harry would sing for me, but I doubted it. He still seemed really mad. This was only confirmed when I glanced over at him and his jawline was rigid. I wanted to ask if he was mad at me, but I thought he must have been. So instead I only studied him from the side, the sharp planes of his face, the places where neck bled into shoulders, bled into arms, bled into hands. I wanted to hold those hands.

“I’m sorry I’m so shit,” I finally managed to say.

Harry raised a brow, but his eyes didn’t waver from the road. I didn’t expect him to reply, because he hadn’t really talked to met at all, but he did almost immediately. “You’re not shit, Sawyer. But you need to stop treating yourself like you are.”

I wasn’t really sure what that meant, but I tried to file it away for safe keeping. I was definitely still drunk, but it wasn’t so bad here in the cool leather passenger seat of his Range Rover. The air was on high and it was easier to focus on things, as opposed to the stuffy bathroom, enveloped by the smell of vomit. I tried to recall what it was Harry had said to Andrew, but there was no bringing it back, so I felt content to watch Harry at the wheel until he pulled into his drive.

Turning the key, we sat in the car for a few moments, wrapped in silence. He wasn’t looking at me, but more than anything I wished he would. He hadn’t really looked at me all week. My fault, I reminded myself quietly. Always my fault.

“Please don’t keep doing this to yourself,” he begged, his voice so much softer. There was still that fire in his eyes when they finally, finally turned to me, but it was a slow burn I didn’t mind so much. “Please don’t keep doing this to me.”

I swallowed thickly, and he dropped his gaze from me, biting on that lip again before he pushed open his door. Unsure of what to do, I reached for mine and nearly fell out, but Harry was quicker to catch up, his hands finding my arms and helping me regain my balance. He began to lead the way to the front door.

“You didn’t tell me I looked good today,” I found myself muttering.

“What?” he inquired distractedly, fishing about on his keyring to open the front door. He smiled slightly when he’d succeeded and I remembered suddenly what not crying felt like. Harry had a way of reminding me of things like that. I remembered what other things felt like, too, as I watched the way his shoulder blades moved beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.

I’d taken too long in answering now, distracted in watching him. He turned to me, lips parted and brows furrowed. It was as if my voice had just up and wandered off.

More than anything I wanted to drop it, busy myself in attatching my lips to his like I’d done when we were fifteen, but Harry seemed so genuinely interested in what I’d just said. I took a moment to recall the sentiment before repeating it. “You told me I looked good the other night. You didn’t tell me today.”

Harry did that smiling thing again as he reached around me and shut the door, his bicep brushing against mine. It was a smile that could really only be described as cheeky, and it made my stomach burn, but in the pleasant sort of way. Not the throwing up sort.

“You don’t need my comfirmation to know you look good,” he told me.

“Yes I do,” I argued.

His smile faded and I wondered what I’d gone and done this time. I watched as his tongue darted between his lips, wetting them before he answered soft, yet stern, “No. You don’t.”

I blinked.

“And you’d do well to remember you don’t need to hear it from any man in order for it to be true.”

So we were being serious again. How was anyone supposed to keep up with this? Harry so easily flowed between sexy and serious and cheeky, and I wasn’t equipped to deal with it all in my frame of mind. So instead I blurted, “I need water.”

The right side of his mouth quirked up in that deadly half-smile. I wanted to swoon, but I was already drunk and knew I was pushing my luck. “Why don’t you head upstairs and I’ll bring you some?” he suggested. I nodded before turning on my heel and nearly tripping again. He went as far as letting out a bark of laughter as he helped me to my feet again, shaking his head slightly at my clumsiness. I relished in being the one to put the smile back on his face just as quickly as I’d taken it away.

“You should take those off,” he told me, and I paused, flushing hot before I realized he was talking about my heels. As if knowing where my mind lay, he only smirked before he headed in the direction of his kitchen.

Harry’s advice proved to be solid. The whole walking thing was so much easier without the six-inch stilettos I’d somehow been sporting all evening. I knew I would probably have blisters in the morning, and if the ache in my feet was any indication, I’d be wearing nothing but sandals for the next two weeks. What a dumb idea.

I was still swaying, but able to walk to my room, just past Harry’s and on the opposite side. I flicked on a light, but winced at the harshness of it. Blindly, I found a lighter and lit one of my candles near the bed before I stumbled back toward the switch and flipped it off. The next order of business was shimmying out of the dress that was nearly too small for me, but probably would have fit that girl Andrew was making out with perfectly. Grumbling at the reminder, I managed it and was in the process of looking for a shirt to sleep in that wasn’t dirty when the door to my room was pushed open and Harry stopped short.

He looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide as he realized I was wearing next to nothing. His overlarge hands held a glass of water and a bottle of paracetamol, his other running through his thick head of hair after taking it out of its bun. Green eyes lingered on my body for a moment too long before he downcast his gaze, muttered an apology, and turned to leave again.

“No, wait,” I called, and miraculously he paused. “It’s fine. You’re fine, I just can’t find...” my voice trailed off as I surveyed the mess of dirty shirts that lay around me. My hand lifted to my hair to scratch at the underside of my scalp as I looked around desperately for a shirt, and that’s when I realized Harry had made his way to the space beside me, averting his gaze and setting the items in his hands on my bedside table.

I turned to look at him, where he stared just as dumbfounded as I at the pile of dirty laundry. I took a step toward him, reaching out to run my fingers though his hair where it was still half-creased from where his hairband had been previously. He was still beneath my touch, but I heard the quiet hitch of his breathing and focused my eyes on his face. For all intents and purposes, he seemed the picture of ease and relaxation, except for that needy stare I still pictured in my dreams sometimes; the same one he’d worn the first time we’d slept together.

So I did what any half-naked, intoxicated girl would do while standing in the presence of Harry Styles; I pulled him to me by his shirt and planted a kiss on those pouty lips.

And for a moment, everything was so good. He was just as I remembered, tasting of spiramint gum and salt from whatever he’d been snacking on when I’d called him from the club. His hands were big and held to my hips, pulling me to him in much the same way I was pulling him to me, arms wrapped around his neck as I brought him to match my height. We were fifteen again, groping and moving together, all lips and limbs and sighs.

And then we weren’t.

Harry’s hands had left their post at my waist and found their way to my wrists, pulling my grip away from him. He took a step back, distancing us as he caught breath through his bright pink, wet lips. I froze, uncertain and vulnerable, and he mumbled something about finding a shirt before he left the room. I stared dumbounded in his wake.

Running a hand through my hair, I tried to regain my composure and pick up some of the clothing strewn about on the floor in my hasty attempt to find something to sleep in. When I stood again, I realized I was crying for the third time that night, but this one was different. I was reluctant and quiet and trying desperately to hide before Harry came back and found me like this.

What a fucking mess.

And this was me; inappropriate and crossing lines and making mistakes. But when Harry appeared in the doorway with a soft-looking white tee shirt and a gentle gleam in his eyes, I thought there might be something redeemable here yet.

He silently passed the shirt into my hands and I pulled it over my head. Harry made a move like he might help me untuck my hair, but I wouldn’t let him. I only pretended not to be crying and pulled the hair out myself before moving past him toward the bed. I pulled back the covers and sat myself there before reaching over for the water to wet my dry mouth with. I heard Harry sigh before he took up the empty space near my feet, sitting down there.

“Please don’t cry,” he requested quietly, and I wanted to scoff but I didn’t have it in me anymore. Everything hurt and I wanted to go back to before this night began and choose not to do any of this, but I’d settle for falling asleep if I had to.

“We can’t do this right now, Sawyer. You’re drunk and I’m...” he trailed off, trying to find an accurate description that maybe wasn’t terrifying to me. “I’m still trying to find our balance here. You’ll sober up and hate me and I’ll hate me more, and it’s just really exhausting.”

I scoffed, setting down the glass of water on the nightstand heavily. “If you don’t want me can you just bloody well say it and get on your way?” I snapped.

Harry shut his eyes, shaking his head ever so slightly. I thought for a moment he might laugh, but when his lids fell open again, he only gave me that look, and I shut up again. His hand reached out for mine, and I surprised myself by letting him take it.

“Trust me, there’s nothing I want more,” he breathed, and I believed him. It made my heart skip a beat. “And that’s exactly why I’m not letting this go any further.”

His hand gave mine a gentle squeeze before he stood and left the room. In my throat, a plea for him to stay lodged in my throat. When I blew out the candle and rolled over in the mattress, I thought it better that way.