In My Arms

The moment the door slammed in his face, Harry knew he’d made a mistake. He’d just let the best thing that ever happened to him walk out of his life, no doubt forever. He’d fucked up.

He sank down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. They’d been arguing a lot lately; he knew he wasn’t listening to what she was trying to stay. She told him she was tired. She told him that she couldn’t handle the fans hate toward her. He just brushed it off like she was venting about things she couldn’t really change. He had a love/hate relationship to fame. He was doing what he loved, but now the cost was real. His sister hated the fans. The fans hated Lizzie. And now, he was alone.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Styles.” He pounded his fist into the pillows; he was a jealous bastard. The look in her eyes when he’d accused her of sleeping with Chris…God, she looked crushed. It was like he’d physically slapped her. The hurt, the betrayal, the disbelief that he could think those things about her; in that pause between heartbeats, she’d looked like a lost little girl. Her wide blue eyes, wet with tears—and then, like that, she was gone.

Harry laid down on the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. Lizzie was his best friend. What they had together was like nothing he’d ever experienced: they laughed together, they had mind blowing sex; they laid in bed and had long, serious conversations about inconsequential things. They knew everything about each other. Sure, it was a purely physical start to the relationship, having sex the same night they met, but it had grown passionate fast. He knew from the start they were meant to be together. He knew she’d never cheat on him.

But she’d accused him of cheating, too. This bullshit about the blonde model he’d hooked up with in some kind of orgy with Zayn and Niall; there were nights that he had a hard time remembering because of too much pot and alcohol, but he knew he’d never cheat on Lizzie. He distanced himself from that kind of shit. He had a girlfriend, the perfect girl. He was going to marry her.

Now, that dream was over.

He fumbled for his cell phone. There was only one person he could talk to about what happened; one person who would tell him what to do. She answered after two rings. “Harry? Hello, love, what’s going on?”

“Hi, Mum.” He burst into tears; for a moment, he couldn’t speak. “Mum, I fucked up. She’s gone.”

Saying the words out loud made them real. She was gone….and it was all his fault.

Notes

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