Inherent

I end up with my back pressed to the wall out in the hallway, chest heaving from fright, and my vision blurs to go along with the terrified confusion afflicting my mind. It’s hard to focus on the person sat casually on the sofa, but I see blonde hair and leather.

“What the hell,” I manage to gasp, scrambling to get away, but I find my limbs don’t want to work in an effort to escape and my lungs have trouble just trying tobreathe,at all. This person, who scared the living daylights out of me, is momentarily silent, and all I have to focus on is the sound of my own panic: heart in a frenzy, breathing forced and shallow, and clouded vision.

“Now, if I was a real intruder, I could have hurt you as soon as you turned your back to the living room like an hour ago,” she explains lightly, as if some master in the art of breaking and entering.

The woman from The Castle, who was arguing with Harry. Lucy.Oh, no. Oh no, no, no.

Despite her twisted explanation and reassurances, I find it impossible to calm down, and tense up as soon as I catch movement from the living room, eyes wide yet taking in hardly any detail past all the fright. I hear the thump of hefty boots across the old hardwood floors as she stands.

What is she doing here?It’s no secret she saw me spying on her with Harry at his club. What if she is here to shut me up for whatever shady reason, even though I heard next to nothing? Oh, god. What if I die at the hands of some crazy biker chick?

She coolly saunters around the corner, settling against the frame of the archway on her elbow to smirk at me in satisfaction. I can hardly look her in the eye, but today the first thing I notice is not how gorgeous she is, standing a half foot taller than me, and totally model-worthy. Much of that beauty is hidden under an ugly blackened bruise on her cheek and a swollen, cut lip. It doesn’t dawn on me straight away to wonder how she went about getting that, seeing as how she seems so strong, but I’m more focussed on the reason she is even here in the first place.

Weeks ago I didn’t exactly have the time to take in much of her appearance but now, with flitting cautious eyes, I try to steal a glance at her while simultaneously wondering if I can bolt to the door.

The door.

I knew I locked it this morning, and I’m nothing more than a reckless fool for not thinking on it more. Lucy’s long, strikingly pale blonde hair is streaked with brown, cutting through the innocent image the colour would otherwise project. Her features are defined, cheekbones high and accentuated with a long, sloping nose and plump ruby lips, eyes a darker shade of blue than mine and ringed with intense smoky eye shadow. Aside from the obvious contusions, she is all flawless skin and smirking confidence.

“Funny,” I mutter, trying and succeeding at not stuttering on the single word. My heart’s frantic beat is felt throughout my entire chest, in my ears, and my head pounds even more than before. My attempt at sarcasm isn’t much, but Lucy’s appearance shocks me so much I am barely able to form any coherent speech at all. “You look like an intruder to me.”

I jump when she laughs and reaches up, though only to run a hand through her hair and not to reach for a weapon, as I fearfully assumed. But somehow, maybe at the grace so some higher power, I manage to look her straight in the eye throughout the disturbance, and something in hers shifts as she closely observes my crouched form.

Watching her with equal intensity, my hands slowly splay against the wall in an effort to find some stability, legs feeling as though they might finally give out once and for all. I watch her empty hands in case she does actually have a weapon. After all, for what other reason could she be here?

Calm down. Just calm down.That might have been a slightly rash conclusion to draw, but there doesn’t seem to be a more rational explanation for why this person chose to break into my home, to do god knows what when I only laid my eyes on her twice and never even had said as much as ahelloto her.

Jesus—had she wanted some simple friendly conversation, she could have saved me the near heart attack and just, you know… knocked, not waited in my living room while I didn’t even know she was here. I curse myself for not putting it together sooner, with the front door. Ever since Harry became so upset about it, I made sure to lock it every day.

There is an obvious point she intended to make with this. If Lucy wanted to, she could easily harm me. She wants to make at least this much crystal clear. The thought is so alarming it induces another painful convulsion in my heart. The organ tenses so hard I fear it will never unwind and create another regular beat again.

“This is a friendly visit,” she claims, like she is capable of reading my mind. Well, from my stiff, defensive state against the wall, she can probably assume as much. We spend another few tense moments staring each other down, Lucy evenly, me unbreathing. Instead of using the time to attempt to appear intimidating, I contemplate how long it would take to run straight out the front door, if Lucy would catch up with me too soon, or if I would simply faint from the added exertion.

No matter how ‘friendly’ Lucy says she is, there’s no way I will let my guard down. Because, I recall, if Harry dislikes her as passionately as he appeared to back at the Castle, then she is terrible, terrible news.

The only thing that comes to mind is the night after Harry and I went to the Cardinals game and he had physically outwitted me so, so easily. The fact that I refused any self-defense training is beyond idiotic on my part; because I know that most likely Lucy is well versed in the art of beating the crap out of someone.I mean, just look at her.

Her confident, threatening air does nothing to help her case either. Though on this thought, I wonder if she has spent a whole lot of time with Harry and if he too has rubbed off on her. This act of hers certainly reminds me of him, when he is angry but trying valiantly to hide his emotions. Her icy cool aura is so similar to how he sometimes acts.

“Then why are you here?” I force myself to ask the dreaded question, expecting some horrendous response along the lines of ‘I have come to kill you’. Instead Lucy wears an easy, inviting smile. A totally deceptive smile, if I have any sense. There doesn’t seem to be any immediate threat, though, which is odd since shebroke into my freaking house.I straighten against the wall in hopes of appearing at least a little less terrified.

Instinct has long kicked in. In my right hand my phone is tightly clutched, and I don’t even remember having grabbed it from my pocket, but my fingers are poised and ready to call the police as soon as she makes any sort of dangerous, violent move. Briefly, her eyes flit to where I hold my phone at my side, easily knowing my intentions.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble,” she tries to assure me again, sounding surprised. Surprised I would be so quick to call for help? Maybe she thinks I am used to this, but I am certainly not. My phone stays exactly where it is. I don’t budge from my place against the wall, stood straight and glaring. She sighs in relent. “Curiosity got the best of me, okay? I just wanted to meet you.”

“Why?” I shakily demand.

Her explanation is lacking at best, and Lucy seems to think so too because she spoke wonderingly, as if she can’t understand why she would want to meet me either, like she can’t figure me out, like I am somehow a mystery to her.

I don’t even want to think about how she knows where I live or that she might know my schedule to have broken in before I got home from work. I can’t, because it would only cause me more panic, and I need to appear as calm. But the possibilities are already too much to bear while already upset. For the sake of my health, I can’t over think this. Not at this very moment.

Crap. Now I really, really hope I remembered to take my medication this morning. If not, like I earlier suspected, it makes this situation all the more dangerous.

Pursing her lips, Lucy shrugs in a nonchalant way to my nervous questioning. But she stares at me harder, and I know something is coming. I hold my breath.

“What makes you so special. Why he chose you.”

Everything about her appears to be open, totally non-threatening, including the soft tone she uses to continue her explanation, admits the reason behind her curiosity and break and enter.

Right away, I know who she is referring to—Harry, but the words ‘special’ and ‘why he chose you’ don’t seem to register in my mind, not in direct correlation to me. It certainly doesn’t feel like he chose me, not now and not that Friday night at his club, when he wanted more secrets to be kept when I was ready to reveal all of mine. Not when, ultimately, I was the one to push him away.

Is that what he did, though? Did hechooseme?

And why was I too blind to see it?

“You’re not going to find any answers here,” I inform quietly, brokenly, and no longer am I capable of brazenly looking her in the eye.

Not evenIknow why Harry was ever crazy enough to take any interest in me, to take such a huge chance after I warned him in the first place.

Lucy’s eyebrows rise in disbelief, probably having not expected me to be so accepting of her totally illegal intrusion after all. But honestly, after everything that has happened today nothing really comes as that big of a shock to me.

My logic now is… how can it get any worse? On top of the grief I already face, I have loved and lost.

“Harry and I, it’s none of your business.” Regardless of my defensive, hard response, the anguish in my voice is as clear as the exhaustion under my eyes.

Shifting her weight against the wooden frame, she appraises me with a surprisingly neutral gaze.

“Something’s wrong,” she guesses. Too accurate—I don’t reply, and she rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on.Really?I can only guess what happened.”

Instantly I clam up, realizing who this is and how she came to be standing in front of me, unwanted in my home, and that I should not allow her to read my emotions so easily. It is just so very hard to accomplish the unreadable mask I have seen Harry wear on occasion, not when he fills my mind along with claims that he chose me, that he wanted me all along regardless of everything I put in the way, that there is no way I could ever bespecial.

And again I remember that Harry seems to hate her, while I am here acting as if we might be old friends or acquaintances. This is wrong; it’s wrong for me to have not called for the police as soon as I spotted her, and it’s wrong for her to be here at all, confronting me when I have done nothing to her.

My mouth feels numb as I speak, as numb as the words I pronounce. “That’s personal.”

Lucy laughs, the loud melodious sound making me jump pathetically, but she shakes her head as she offers what appears to be a genuine, pleasant smile. “Please. Don’t be so blind. Whatever it is that’s got your panties in a twist, it’s clear you won’t be able to stay away. From what I’ve seen, you two… act like you’re meant for each other.”

You don’t know anything, I want to say, but it is stuck in my throat. Likewise, I find it curious how she paused atyou two…as if she might have simply saidyou two are meant for each other—she just doesn’t want to admit it to me. Or perhaps to herself.

Before she can continue with whatever speech she might be working on, I blurt out a scrambled, accusatory sentence. “From what you’ve seen? … Have you been watching us?”

“Not really,” her smile falters only for a moment, but enough for me to sense that she may not be telling the whole truth. “Only enough to see the obvious.”

And to find out where I live, I realize with a thick swallow. It’s smart of her to omit this stalker-like fact, because I’m closer to fainting than I have been in a long, long time. After all that has happened today, it almost feels preferable to faint rather than deal with this. With her, and everything she claims to know about Harry and I and how we are meant for each other.

Her astonishingly warm eyes and still present smile throw me off until all I feel is absolutely bewilderment, throws me off my initial opinion I drew on Lucy—that of an arrogant, surly, vindictive woman. I begin to suspect that maybe underneath all the leather jackets, blaring motorcycles and cocky smirks that she might not be as tough and mean as she attempts to portray.

Past the double-edged front, I see a real person. With maybe even a conscience.

“Look,” she sighs, blinking, and the warmth which softened her steely blue eyes has been lost. “All I know is that he has kept you around longer than any other girl, and last time I checked he’s pretty much set on keeping you. If I were in your position, Julia, I wouldn’t sit on that too long.”

Past the point of denial, my neck cracks as I shake my head with the force only heartbreak can bring. Since when does she know so much about Harry? What am I missing? Andwhyis she telling me any of this?

“You don’t know—you don’t know what you’re talking about.” My nervous, shocked stutter is apparent, but Lucy doesn’t jump to attack like a shark at the smell of blood in water. She merely shakes her head in disagreement, but I can’t allow myself to take comfort or hope in any of her claims.

For all I know, she could be making up this entire thing. Just to get to me.

After I saw Harry so angry earlier today I can’t help but to think that he hates me. He hates me, and everything Louis suggested and urged me to do would just be in vain. With the distinct, painful feeling that Harry has given up on me, I suspect that Lucy really might be here just to mess with me—but why? Why would she come to my home just to play these mind games?

Nothing makes sense, and now I am afraid to even talk to the one person who would have answers for any of these questions—Harry. With the way things have been recently, there is the very real possibility that he might not be truthful with me anyway. After all I have done to hurt him, I wouldn’t blame him. Couldn’t bring myself to.

Lately, all that seems to be in sight are dead ends everywhere I turn. Each day my outlook becomes less hopeful and even more depressing, and I’m starting to feel like more like the shell of the person I was before Harry came along and pushed his way into my life, and then simultaneously brought long-buried life out of me. After all this time, I feel that perhaps I didn’t try to push him away hard enough in the beginning that my warnings didn’t get through to him.

Look where we are now: exactly where I dreaded we would be, all along, when my fears seemed so irrational. But now they are reality.

Lucy purses her lips at my having not spoken a single word since she laid all of this on me. “All Harry ever wanted was someone to love. Someone good and pure… like you. He deserves someone like you.”

Damn, I would beg to differ. Amongst all my jaded thoughts and brokenhearted, dismal hopes, I am the furthest thing from what Lucy seems to think of me. Clearly, she doesn’t know what she is talking about. Finally mustering the courage to speak after all the mindboggling assertions she has made in the past minute alone, I straighten eve more and attempt to portray the same impenetrable front that this mysterious woman so easily projects. “Why are you really here?”

The question falls to silence. Her smile twitches as if she finds it difficult to keep up her seemingly rock solid façade, the questioning of her surprise visit seeming to sober Lucy completely. With regret, she almost nervously glances down before regarding me again. It’s the first time she breaks eye contact with me, and fear quickly replaces whatever bravery I fooled myself into feeling. Now, when she stares at me with a barely present, fading smile, I see her eyes have lost all the kindness previously present, and this is when I know for sure that she didn’t come here just to play with me.

No, she came here for a reason, and I don’t expect for it to be any definition of good—far from it. As transparent as she seems right now, I know Lucy is still trouble. She practically reeks of it.

Rather than finally give me an explanation like I deserve and desperately need in order not to keep myself up at night, dwelling on every part of this sudden, unexpected confrontation, she sighs again and produces a subdued, somber response which leaves me more apprehensive than ever.

“I came here,” she pauses to take a deep, composing breath. I don’t move a single muscle in anticipation. “To suggest you get over whatever has had you throwing a fit. You… you’re going to need him.”

Before I can even begin piecing together her cryptic, danger-embedded advice, she looks away again, blinks rapidly as if to clear her mind, and then only glances back to me once more. “I’m sorry.”

Lifelessly, I watch in dazed confusion as she pivots on her heavy motorcycle boots and leaves, stalking past me and through the front door as quickly and quietly as I’m sure she entered; she manages to hold her head high despite having just apologized for no apparent reason—something, even while having only just met her—I can easily tell she never does.

But she surprises me once more, pausing in the doorway to gaze back at me with a shocking amount of remorse, one hand lightly rested on the doorknob as she cranes her neck to the side. “Keep your doors locked.”

The door shuts firmly behind her with those last obscure parting words, and I am left with a mind too exhausted to think straight, whirling in shock and confusion. I take two stumbled steps backward as soon as I realize I’m alone, and I shakily unclench my hand which had at some point fisted around my phone, as an uneasy quivering feeling settles low in my gut. All I can think about is her sudden, unwarranted apology and all the ominous advice.

You’re going to need him.

Keep your doors locked.

What does Lucy know that I don’t?What the hell is happening?

Such an emphasis on home security only began when I met Harry; the thought should scare me further away from him, but I heart wrenchingly find it doesn’t cause me to love him even a little less.

In fact, Lucy’s visit only makes me need him more, need him for comfort, security, protection from the unknown people from his past. But so much more than that—is he in trouble? Is that why she came here, as some sort of backward warning to Harry? I remember with clarity how they conversed that night at The Castle. At the time she seemed like she could be a danger to Harry, and now today has nearly confirmed it.

Should I tell him, that she came here?

Or would he get impossibly angry, like I witnessed once before… angry with Lucy… and I’m afraid he would do something he might regret in such a state, as much as I trust him with myself. After he found me at the bar and made me follow him upstairs, I had certainly seen a different side of him. And though the bruises along the inside of my arm from Alex have healed, and though I still blame my coworker for that, I remember how tight Harry gripped my arm, when he all but lost control of himself.

Stood inert in the hallway, as if Lucy never left, I tell myself that I am just freaking out as the result of today’s stressful events. I know Harry, past all the anger witnessed in these past weeks. I know he would not hurt anyone; he would not hurt an innocent.

I should tell him.

Then I think about his evasive answers and again, sometimes unpredictable temper, I know I might never figure out both him and all the things that make him tick—and I accept that, for all I don’t know, for all he may or may not be. Because I love him, and he was the one to push through my barriers and acceptme.

Now, I want to do the same for him. What I realize he has done for me right from the very start…

Love him unconditionally.

He deserves at least this and so, so much more.

And we both deserve the truth.

Now with Lucy’s appearance, Louis’ visit earlier today along with Harry and his explosive display outside the book store at the center of my clouded, panicked thoughts lined with possible danger, I’m not quite sure how I can fix the mess I created. But dammit—I am going to try.

Longing for normalcy after I pace the length of the hallway upwards of five times, having long ago heard Lucy’s motorcycle rumble away as she left, I lock the front door as she instructed and go so far as to obsessively check to make sure it is secure about three or four times, pushing and pulling on the door with more force than necessary. Finally I let go with a soft cry, the urge to sob so strong it is hard to hold back like I do so often now.

I waver—my thoughts, my vision, my body, they all sway with the mass amount of stress and heartache placed on me so quickly and without warning, and my breathing comes shakily as I stumbled toward the living room, not really sure what I’m doing until I collapse onto the sofa in a quivering, shallow-breathed, fluttery hearted mess. I dazedly recollect each of today’s distressing events; try to read into what Lucy said, what she could mean.

AmIin danger?

Oh, god. I need Harry. I need him so much it physically hurts.

From Alex’s bitter, merciless spectacle to Louis urging me to make up my mind already, and now this, with Lucy. Her apology and warning. It is all too much. And Harry knows about hardly any of it. He knows nearly nothing of how much pain I have been in since I left that night. Good god, absolutely none of it makes any sense, especially while I am so exhausted in every sense of the word. Now, however, I am buzzing with adrenaline from having been scared out of my wits by Lucy. Sadly it does me no good in finding a resolution to any of these problems. It would be impossible for me to curl up on the sofa and try to forget for a short while that any of this has even happened, my go-to form of defense and comfort when things become too much for me to handle.

Lucy, for some reason, seemed genuine. Or rather, much more truthful and honest than she seemed the last time I saw her, when she appeared to be egging on Harry’s wrath down in that dark hallway of the club, finding pleasure in his torment. What’s more is that nothing in the way she acted or the things she said tell me that she is playing some sort of twisted, cruel game. If she really wanted to get to me, all she would have had to do was make a few claims about Harry no longer loving me, even though we never really confessed it to each other. Or that he stopped caring, or that he left me. All she had to do was confirm my fears and yet she tried to give me hope, outside of the one warning.

Such a huge change in demeanor, along with her quite urging to remain safe and locked away, could not have been brought about by any positive turn of events—or the growth of a good conscience.

From the dire looks of things as I recall all that was claimed and perhaps what remains unsaid, either Harry, myself, or the both of us are in danger. Why else would she tell me to keep my doors locked?

My knees jump and my socked heels bounce off the floor, a product of the mass amounts of anxiety, and I brace my elbows against my legs, digging into my thighs as I lean forward, head between my hands. A sharp, sudden burst of pain causes me to gasp and clamp my eyes shut in a fruitless effort to rid myself from the pain blooming in my chest. It lasts for seconds, perhaps over a minute, longer than I can remember it lasting, and it still hasn’t subsided when I open my eyes to see my vision blur at the edges. The realization of how far gone I am only serves for the initial panic I just now felt to grow and multiply, along with my pulse.

All are too familiar signs, ones which shouldn’t ignored, that tell me I am under far too much stress for my fragile heart to handle.

Time slows down and yet again I hear the familiar heavy thrumming beat of my frantic heart, at the very center of my ears, beating against my eardrums. It is so overwhelming that it’s all I can focus on—not even the possibilities of what Lucy could have meant pull me back from my physical reaction to all the stress, totally concentrated on each one of the terrifying hiccups and stutters the organ makes in its plight to keep up with all the panic I am thrusting upon my overwhelmed body. In this moment, one I know all too well and have come to dread, where not even my life is guaranteed, I think of Harry.

I think of how much I love him, how much I miss him, how I ruined everything with my secrets, that it is all because of the very reaction taking over my body right now, and how I would be alright if I just heard the sound of his voice. If I had a piece of him to hold on to, to bring me back from this like he has done for me so many times.

On their own accord, my shaking hands reach for my phone, digging it out of my back pocket where I stowed in not moments ago. A strangled whimper erupts from my throat, Harry’s name on the tip of my tongue, longing to leave my lips, but I bite it back. Just barely so. Fitful and with no other options rather than to let this happen, I allow my tremoring fingers to dial the long-memorized number.

He said once, a long time ago, that if I ever needed him, all I had to do was call. I need him, I need him. It’s all I can think.

I figure, settle with myself that I just need the reassurance that he is within reach, and then I’ll be alright. All I need is to hear the sound of his voice, and then that’s it. Then I can hang up. I don’t even have to speak. Later, if he calls back, I can make up some lame excuse. That I accidentally called him—something. At the point I don’t even think ahead, I just know I need this. Him.

Or I could just ignore that call, as I have been doing.

Or… or, I could tell the truth. That I need him, so freaking much.

If nothing else, all I need to know is that Harry has kept his promise—that he will always be here for me, no matter what may have taken place, or how hurt we may be. I need to know he is still Harry, in at least one form I loved since the instant we met… however begrudgingly on my part, through all of my fighting, tears and stubbornness, I fell for him. And now I need him, as much as it hurts.

The two short rings don’t even register to my hearing, but Harry’s voice does. It draws me back to reality and closer to life than a shot of adrenaline to my veins would.

“Jules.” It took all of three seconds for him to answer; the amount of relief clearly audible in his rough, drawn voice gives me hope and allows some relief on my part, too. He’s still there. His accent wraps around my name, each syllable and vowel, so gracefully that it totally diverts my attention from my heart. The sound of him, calm and not angry like I have heard on the last two occasions, sends a tingle down my spine and for my heart to lessen its constant stutters. I close my eyes again, though not with such a force that it makes my headache worse, like just a moment ago.

So stunned by my immediate reaction to Harry as soon as I hear the sound of his voice, I cannot even come up with a reply… a greeting, or even some form of explanation for my call after having avoided this very occurrence for so long now. After two weeks of zero communication. In an instant I come back to reality, no longer inches away from allowing my heart disorder to take my consciousness. I realize exactly what a mistake it was for me to do this, something so rash, something I didn’t even think about before I just acted. Breath hitching, the relief I felt a split second ago is replaced with panic, though not the same sort I felt when my heart was on the verge of malfunction, or when I thought someone dangerous—or at least someone who posed a threat—was in my house. In fact, I don’t spare its fitful beats another thought.

Harry is all I can think of now, how much he means to me, how much just him picking up the phone means to me. And I think about how I have never told him any of this, that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how much I love him. For the first time ever, I feel like blurting out the proclamation on the spot, right now.

I love you, Harry.

But my lips don’t move, as though my mind is not connected to my mouth, and I am rendered incapable of speech.

I miss you, Harry.

I think about how much I just want to run straight to him. To forget all that has happened, including today.

“Julia.” His tone, after having not received a response, morphs my name into that of a rough, apprehensive command. With another jolt of shell-shocked reality, I somewhat snap back to the present and sit up straight, headache and heart totally forgotten.

After having distanced myself from him for so long now, weeks… I call him in a moment of distress and weakness, and I have no idea how to explain anything. Any of what I feel, how scared I am. I can’t tell him anything that would make up for the mess I created out of our relationship.

It was never rocky until my secrets came into play. It was never Harry’s fault, I just fully realize, and the shame and guilt I feel for blaming him, ignoring him, leaves me absolutely speechless and broken. Terrified now, too, because he is on the other end, listening to every single one of the shallow breaths I take, and my deafening silence.

Oh, god… what have I done? Well, for one, I have just made things infinitely more complicated. If nothing else, now,Iam without doubt the one throwing around mixed signals. Slowly, with purpose, I untangle my tense limbs and lean back to and try to think calmly, rationally, inhale and exhale at a steady rate, aware that he hasn’t hung up on me and hoping against my own judgment that he won’t.

Even though I have no idea what to say.

I take comfort in the fact that he is still there, in the reassurance and support which I haven’t felt in weeks. And then, suddenly, the fear dissipates almost totally, leaving me with a clearer mind than I have possessed in a long, long time.

“I know you’re there,” he says through a frustrated sigh, and it is all too easy to picture the confused frown he is surely wearing. I open my mouth to reply but he beats me to it, again, and I listen in resignation as he lets loose all of his exasperation, worry infringing on every barked word he speaks. “Answer me. If you don’t, I’m coming over there right now, and this time I’m not bluffing.”

Okay—his new plan does scare me a little. Because Harry’s physical presence contorts me into even more of a mushy in-love, totally forgiving, blind, happy mess. Which I love, but right now if I want to speak, I need the ability to think straight.

He knows as well as I do that if he comes over here, today, that I will end up spilling everything from how worried about him I am to Lucy’s latest visit, and then he will kiss every single one of those worries away. And quite possibly deliciously heated—just like after our somewhat disastrous lunch date.

With what I pray is a hold over how telling I know my voice can be, I sigh into my phone—in defeat, relief, and comfort. More than anything, I just want him.

“Harry.” Saying his name out loud, finally, speaking to him like I have so wanted even if only through one word, allows some of the tension to fade within my pent up system. I may not know what to consider us, our relationship, but I selfishly need even just this small amount of contact. Need it more than my heart needs medication to function properly. Because that is just a temporary fix and Harry has always been permanent. Permanent to my happiness, permanent in my love for him.

The thirty seconds it took for me to speak since he answered felt long, but waiting for his response feels like it takes longer than it does for the earth to rotate.

“Baby,” he murmurs, causing more tingles to draw up and down my spine and for goose bumps to erupt over my arms. Even after so much time apart, he still manages to stun my senses to life and make me feel the most wonderful of things, things I never before allowed myself to feel.

Before Harry. Before I really knew happiness, love, acceptance. Whatever possessed me to jeopardize what I have with him through half-truths and secrets… I regret. I regret it all so much.

He sounds restless, yet somehow at peace now that I have answered him, relieved. Relieved that I’ve finally shown some form of life or that I even called him at all, I’m not sure. Perhaps both—but nothing else matters, now. All I know is that I don’t want to worry him anymore. Lucy is gone. Harry kept his promise despite all that has happened. No longer do I feel so absolutely lost or in danger. How can I when I have him to protect me, be it from someone else or myself?

Just as quickly as I felt my heart spiraling out of control, I manage to calm and the hand I subconsciously placed over my heart allows me to feel its steady beat as it too begins to slow down to a regular pace and rhythm, at ease with my body finally, much like I am now. If only temporarily.

“Hi,” I say quietly, dumbly, not knowing quite what to say… or rather, what to pick from all the things I am bursting to tell him. I have to hold it all back, keep myself in check. I can’t do anything else crazy today.

“Hi,” he mimics me, drawling it out slowly and with amusement. It feels like nothing bad at all has taken place between us, and I wish I could live in this one peaceful moment forever. To any observer our conversation—or lack thereof, with just names and whispers repeated softly, would make no sense. But to us, it’s as if we need these moments to calm. To be reassured. “Are you okay? Do you need me?”

Yes, yes. God yes, I need you. With everything that has happened, though, admitting as much right now in the midst of one of my panic attacks and while things are still on the verge of falling apart wouldn’t be the smartest idea I have ever had. If I were to blurt out anything at all, even just starting with how Lucy barged in here today, someone he obviously despises, there is no doubt he would refuse to wait and hear the details over the phone. He would come straight over, and I’m still not sure if that is a good idea.

So I choose to bite my tongue and save us both the added heartache, stumbling to come up with a viable excuse for calling him after distancing myself for so long. “I um, I’m okay.”

What a joke. That has got to be the biggest lie I’ve told yet. I don’t mind this, just this once, but I am aware that Harry knows better by now. He knows me better than I know myself, and this realization further strengthens the fact that I need to stop ignoring him and start trying to figure out what we’re going to do to make things better.

“I just—what happened, today? At the store?” A soft hum echoes at my on the spot questioning, one which tells me that he has at least partially calmed down from the panic I idiotically induced. One that also says he isn’t angered by my nosing… which is good, because I belatedly recall what happened the last time I asked a similar personal question. He takes a few seconds to answer, however, and in that time my mind runs wild, an air of hesitation between us. Harry is smart, though, smarter than I am in these situations, and he realizes that secrets and lies are what got us where we are right now.

Apart.

Now, I feel even worse for lying to him about the real reason why I called… because Lucy broke into my house, scared the living daylights out of me, and then we had an odd sort of heart-to-heart which was even more unexpected than her even being here in the first place. It all made me realize what Louis tried to get through my head not even hours ago. I love Harry. I need to be with him, more than anything.

Just as I am about to interject and tell him that he doesn’t need to explain, because whatever it is god knows I will still love him anyway, the words lodge themselves in my throat and I swallow thickly, instead opting to first hear what he has to say about his helter-skelter behavior earlier in the day.

“Something set me off, baby. And my first reaction was to see you. I just needed to see you. And I’m sorry if I scared you,” he explains himself without an ounce of deception, and the yearning in his soft raspy tone leaves me that much more at odds with myself.

I sniff, uncaring for once of the tell-tale sign that I have been crying. With my free hand, I wipe away the tears I didn’t even know I shed. “You didn’t scare me. I—” my voice breaks. “I miss you.”

Nothing else matters in comparison to voicing this admission. In some way, though still hurting and afraid of being hurt again, I need to tell him how I feel. Raw emotion shows through in the few words I choose to speak, all my walls and defenses down for the first time in weeks. I forget all about Lucy’s dramatic visit and the reason for calling in the first place, for Harry to calm my restless heart, the only person who has ever had this effect on me. I focus on the fact that I miss him so very much. I miss the Harry I had before that night, at the club, the one I fully trusted with my heart, the one person I was so close to revealing everything to.

That Harry still exists—I know that for certain. I am speaking with him right now, but the trouble is I don’t know if the other side of his life might present us any more problems. I would accept all of them, readily, because it isn’t as if I don’t come with a whole set of my own… but we just need to be truthful with each other.

“I know, Jules,” he purrs soothingly, and the last of the tension leaves my shoulders, allowing me to finally relax fully back against the sofa’s backrest. I close my eyes, after weeks of remaining on edge, and finally breathe easy. His deep, silky smooth voice has always held this influence on me. “I miss you so much it hurts. And I am the sorriest man on the planet. I shouldn’t have—”

Sucking in a sharp intake of air, I hastily interrupt. “No, no.”

“Hmm?” He asks, not sounding bothered at all by my apparent rejection, vaguely confused by the conviction I put forth. He is simply happy to be talking to me, and such a thought is heart-warming; the most hopeful one I’ve had in a long while.

“Don’t be sorry…” I trail off when I can’t explain myself any further without opening up a whole new vein. Lately, more apologizes have come my way than I can count… most of them forced, fake, from people Ishouldn’ttrust. Like Alex… and then there is the perplexing notion that I probably don’t deserve any of them. More than ever, I feel as though I have been the one to incite every single bad thing that has happened in my life.

But Harry, Harry doesn’t need to be sorry. Not after all I have kept from him, all I’ve done to him. If he did anything wrong, I would forgive him in heartbeat. I’m just so afraid of it happening again.

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” I say again. “I am.”

Still, I can’t leave him hanging yet again. He deserves an explanation, after everything.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs quickly. “Because I feel like a total jackass for how I acted, Jules… how I treated you.”

Memories of the night swim through my mind, of seeing him in the hallway, with Lucy. Of him being so enraged, and then when we were alone again up in The Solar. Perhaps an apology might be in order for at least that behavior, but not for avoiding my questions, and not for getting angrier when I pushed. Not because he didn’t want to share the obviously tense parts of his life with me, when I haven’t even had the courtesy to do the same for him.

“I deserved it,” I explain in a soft, pained whisper.

Oh, crap. What am I doing? I only called with the perhaps somewhat creepy intent to hear the sound of his voice—just to calm down—and then hang up. For the first time in a long time, I let my feelings get the best of me.

This, though… today, of all days, it might be a good thing. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t even be conscious right now.

“No,” he says in return, sharper, and his refusal of my explanation immediately zaps me to attention. My eyes snap open and I wait, unmoving, for him to continue. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for anything that happened that night. I was upset and I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have.”

If only he knew the enormous secret I am harbouring. He wouldn’t be so apologetic for wanting to keep aspects of his own life private then. I bite my lip, holding back from verbally disagreeing again. Obviously, this is something I will not be able to change Harry’s mind about. At least not right now.

“I don’t want to argue about whose fault it is,” I cave. Because arguing would make me feel worse and he doesn’t need to be any more upset than he already has been. I want to savor this moment, not fight with him.

Then, suddenly, I recall what got me so riled up in the first place, before I stumbled upon the blonde biker chick taking up residence on this very sofa as if she lived here.

The next six months of Grandma’s care, all paid for.

“Frank Sinatra.” It hits me just now, as if talking to Harry spurs my memories of the singer and our first night together, how we danced to his music, and I realize he was probably waiting for me to get it all along, or else he would have picked a totally bogus name for the payment.

“What was that?” He asks, knowing not to change the subject. I ignore the fact that I did just that, but unintentionally.

“You … you’re him. Francis Albert S. It was you,” I state in disbelief, accusatory, even though his selflessness and generosity are truly astounding, and they certainly don’t go unnoticed by me. Silence echoes through my phone for perhaps half a second too long, seeing as he had been instantaneous with all of his replies thus far.

To make the best of it, he doesn’t even bother to deny my assumption. Instead, he only sighs, as though sensing the shift in mood and upcoming battle. “Jules.”

“Harry,” I echo, attempting to sound cynical, but it comes out desperate. Desperate for an explanation, because I feel like I owe him so much—more than just money, and now this…

As soon as I brought it up, the moment was ruined. I feel stupid, selfish for doing so, but right when the two dots connected in my mind, I had to voice the realization. This is something so incredibly important to me. I couldn’t just let something like this go, could I?

“It wasn’t…” his voice dies off and then, in the background, I hear something crash and I jump slightly in my place. Already a wreck of nerves because of what just happened with Lucy, I listen intently and place a hand over my chest to calm down, swallowing at the subsequent thump Harry’s phone produce as he sets it down.

“Harry?” Now I’m worried, setting aside my annoyance for a moment to loudly call out his name in hopes that he will hear me. Before I can start to panic all over again, though, there is another rattle on his end and then he is back.

“It was the least I could do,” he speaks calmly, as though he wasn’t just interrupted. I frown.

“No,” I mumble, brow creased in concern, and try to remember what we are talking about. The payment. “The least you could do is respect the fact that I am perfectly capable of supporting myself and my grandma.”

This is one of the clearest verbal thoughts I have had all day, and it’s too bad it is only to argue with him, but I can’t even be sure he catches it at all. My frown deepens as a scratching static sound comes through, like he might be purposely muffling his phone. When he returns another second later it is only to gruff out an abrupt farewell, which starts out unfeeling, and morphs into the sincerity I long to hear. “I’ll call you back. But not to argue about money, because I won’t be taking any from you.”

“Harry!” I all but shout—the last thing I want is for him to hang up, not on this somewhat sour note. This is not what I wanted at all, and I feel like a bitch. Not when it took what felt like a near-death experience for me to actually call him in the first place. But Harry, I assume, has already pulled the phone away from his ear to press ‘end’… and what I catch just before the tell-tale click ending the conversation sends a wonderful kind of shock running straight to my heart. “I love you.”

Seconds, perhaps even minutes, pass, and I spend an unknown amount of time simply sitting here idly on my couch, jaw slack and mind blank, my phone stupidly still held up, as though he might magically come back and repeat what he just said.

Wait. Wait, wait. Did hereallyjust say that, or did I force it out of my imagination as a coping mechanism for him hanging up on me, a way to reassure myself that I still mean something to him? At this point, anything is possible.

But I heard it—maybe a little muffled, and maybe he didn’t know what he meant when he said it, but I know what I heard… and though we may not be any closer to solving things than before this phone call even took place, I haven’t forgotten about the anonymous donation and settle on one thing I have known for a fact all along. Something I have come to terms with during the painful time we have spent apart: I love him too.

With this thought in mind, I collapse back into the sofa and lay my phone next to my relaxed leg, shaking my head as I stare at the device. Now filled with hope, I know one thing only.

When Harry calls back, I’m going to answer. I will not ignore him again. I even get up from the sofa eventually, stride to the bathroom with a motivated, hopeful spring in my step, and take the pill I most likely missed this morning. In the mirror, I peer at my reflection and tell myself that I am good enough. That I love Harry so freaking much, and I am not about to let secrets, meddling friends, ominous warnings, or my stupid heart get in the way of it.

I’m going to fix all of this.

Notes

LUCY

LUCY WHAT THE HELL

Hahaha, her mood swings might be worse than Julia's. And all the mysterious stuff she said, good god. But holy crap, I can't say much, because it will all be revealed soon enough :)

What did you think of the short conversation Jules and Harry had? I hadn't planned this scene and it just sort of came out of nowhere while I was writing, but I missed Harry too much and at least they have finally talked. Which they really needed to do! Now, another question might be what forced Harry end the call so abruptly...

Also, bet you guys weren't expecting me so soon hey? And with a much longer chapter? I didn't want to leave you hanging with that last one!

The next chapter and most likely the one after that too will be in Harry's point of view, and I am so excited for you guys to read it. If you'd like it posted sooner, drop me a comment and tell me what ya think!

xxx