“Fucking shit.” Harry breathes heavily and laughs a bit, finally untangling himself from on top of me and then lying next to me on the silky bed.
We both lie there in comfortable silence for a bit, he glances over in my directions a few times while catching his breath. I ignore his gaze and remain staring at the photo of the happy couple on the vanity facing the bed.
Ever since I had first been hired as the medical consultant following him on tour, wed shared a certain bond. I knew it as love, or at least it was on my side. He knew it as something else.
Sometimes I wished I could put myself in his brain. Wished I could open up his thoughts and dissect whatever he was thinking, did he love me? Did he love her?
I knew it was wrong to agree to be the reason for infidelity in a relationship. I knew it was wrong to hold onto whatever piece of him I could grab, to destroy another girls relationship by sleeping with him.
And while all of these things were true, I knew especially that it was wrong to volunteer to be the side girl in a relationship. I knew the second I left my hometown to be closer to the boy I was hopelessly in love with that I was doing too much. I knew when I waited hours outside of his studio just to ‘coincidentally bump into him and hand him an extra cookie I had received that I was desperate.
“Me?” I ask him. He looks over at me while his head still lies on the soft white pillow, grabbing some of the blanket to cover his lower half.
Regardless, I let myself crack a smile and enjoy his presence
“That day.” I knew what he was referring to. It was a night after the first show during the European leg of his tour, we had all decided to go out for drinks to celebrate the launching of a new era. However, Jeff had last minute gotten sick, leaving both him and I behind, me taking care of him while the rest of the crew went out to celebrate.
It was the night Harry had met her, the instagram model with chrome hair and blue eyes. The girl who adorned picture frames https://yourloansllc.com/installment-loans-ar/ on the walls of his condo, the girl who he posed on red carpets with.
Whether he legitimately wanted a relationship with me and regretted choosing her, or whether this was just a strategy to keep me from leaving our string of hookups in a knot
I let myself grab onto his slightly tacky, sweat filmed skin, and I let myself get lost in his scent. I lie in the bed where I knew he lied with her the night before, breathing in a mixture of her and him and me, and I concentrate on the fact that he may actually love me, even though I know its not true.
He wraps his strong arms around my significantly smaller frame, rubbing small circles around my back with the tip of his thumb, something that was strangely addicting.
It was moments like this that I fell in love with, the smaller details that he contained. I knew that he liked his coffee, but tried to drink tea when it was possible. I knew that he bit his nails when he was nervous, I knew that his biggest insecurity lied in his music, and I knew that he hated conflict, in any form.