This morning Harry and I went our separate ways I had work and another meeting with Evergreen Publishing after and he spent the day in the studio working with a new artist on their music. I never realize how used to him I am until we're apart. I find myself wanting to turn to either side throughout the day and tell him something but then I realize we're miles apart. We text pretty much constantly when we aren't with each other which you'd think would leave us with little to talk about once we're together but we've yet to have that issue. No matter how much of our day we've already shared there always seems to be more to talk about once we get home.
On the work front it's been a journey so far being the girlfriend of Harry Styles. The media camps outside of my job to snap pictures of me going in and out which I find to be pretty stupid since they know what I do for a living and more importantly where I do it at. I didn't see the point until one day last week when Berkley helped me out with them and the next thing I knew we were all over the internet with the headline that we were getting back together above the pictures. In truth all he did was walk me to my car and push them back so that I could leave without running one of them over but that's not what people want to believe. I'm starting to comprehend that perception is everything when it comes to the media. Unfortunately if people only see one side, hear one narrative, they're going to be inclined to believe it as the truth.
Even though it's been hard dealing with the constant eyes on us I've never experienced anything so fulfilling. It's been a new experience having someone to come home to after a day of work. Especially since Harry normally has food ready and waiting on the table by the time I make it in unless he's out late working on something or networking, then I do the cooking. His home, as scary of a feeling it gives me, has for all intents and purposes become our home. Probably ninety percent of my clothes and personal items are here even though I haven't officially moved in. The only time I see my place is when I go to check in on Ms. Johnson and to grab clothes that I left behind in my unofficial move. The way I see it, if I keep my stuff at my house and continue to pay bills there we aren't skipping any steps and jumping straight to moving in. Technically we still live apart and that technicality is what I hold onto to keep from freaking out.
Kicking off my black booties at the door they join the collection of shoes that have gotten the same treatment all week. Sooner or later every pair of shoes I own are going to be right here at this door if I don't put them away so I do that before anything else. Slipping out of my waterfall vest I rehang it but decide to keep my bodysuit and skirt on, I can't muster up the energy to change.
The meeting with Evergreen Publishing this evening was a bust and took everything out of me. It turns out they were just like Pebbles Publishing, wanting to use my new found popularity from being with Harry to push forward a book release. I guess I can commend them on being honest about it but I would've rather they been upfront when we had our first meeting instead of acting as if what Pebbles did was so deplorable just to do it in another way. I politely declined and thanked them for the opportunity and left before I told them how I really felt. I can't help but wonder if my work is actually any good since people only want to work with me because of Harry. I mean don't get me wrong my Spoodle account has been doing better than ever since the name of it was released, and all of my books have ten times the reads they normally would have but that doesn't change the fact that Spoodle reads don't pay the bills. Harry and I have been talking about it and he's been trying to convince me that I should quit my job and focus on writing fulltime since it's my dream but how can I when no one in the literary world takes my work seriously? It takes the wind right out of my sails when I think about the way Susan from Evergreen looked at her assistant Anthony when I suggested publishing one of my fictional pieces rather than a tell all autobiography about my life, skimming over the makings of me and who I am and focusing on Harry and I centrally. Granted a story about my journey to finding happiness with Harry might make for a good book but I'll be damned if I write it. I write fiction because no one can get hurt, it's make-believe. With non-fiction books things get too messy and complicated. Harry and I skate on enough thin ice as it is with that, no need to grab a hammer and shatter the barrier between what's messy and our little corner of bliss.
Although I'm bummed that I won't be a published author any time soon I know I did the right thing by walking away today. In my heart I believe my time is coming but it's coming by way of my hard work not Harry's.
As I start cooking I realize I won't stand for anyone using our relationship to further their own agenda. He means more to me than some type of get rich quick scheme and although putting him first feels strange it's not something I'm willing to run away from. I may not be willing to give him all of me but the least I can do is give him my loyalty, he deserves that much. Things with us are great but if I'm honest I've got a closet full of issues and I'm struggling to keep the door shut.
Truth is I was the type who wasn't afraid of commitment until it was a reality for me. Back when I was so confident that I could take the plunge and allow myself to be vulnerable, I had no prospects so it was all just talk, now, not so much. Things get into perspective really quickly when shįt becomes attainable.
Until now, relationships in my experience have been like a great night out that out of nowhere turns horribly wrong. It feels like you've been on cloud nine all night only to walk outside to go to your car and get mugged. All of the sudden you're staring down the barrel of a loaded gun trying to figure out what went wrong or what you could've done differently. I guess with Harry a huge part of me is worried about when we'll get to the stick up part of the night. The sad thing is I'd rather cause it by pushing him too far than for it to come out of left field. At least if it's my fault I'll have something to blame it on. I won't be left questioning why or how it went wrong, I'd know.
"Did I ever tell you how much I love coming home to a home cooked meal?" Harry asks, startling me with a kiss to the cheek.
I'd been so lost in my thoughts I hadn't heard him come in. "You have," I smile, grabbing a plate for his stir-fry as he sits down at the table, "But don't get too used to it I have to go back to my own house eventually."
He laughs as I sit his plate down in front of him before fixing one for myself. "Not really," he says picking up his fork.
My eyebrow raises as I sit across from him, inviting him to explain.
"Think about it, you're practically moved in already and it'll take the pressure off of you so that if you want to quit working and focus on your writing you can without having to worry about bills. I mean I don't really see a bad side to this, it's a win-win."
My heart drops to my knees, weighed down with all of my unspoken fears and concerns. Instead of giving him a straight answer I do what I've become a master at since we got together, deflect. "Maybe. Oh I have to tell you about what happened with Evergreen at our meeting today."
A small frown mars his face for a moment just as it always does whenever this happens but he turns it around in seconds, encouraging me to continue with my story. As I rattle off the way the meeting went my mind flits back to that look of confusion and sadness on his face and it breaks my heart a little. It's become a habit of mine that I can't seem to break. He tries to progress our relationship and I deflect to another topic or shift gears and take things sexual, anything to get his mind off of the emotional openness I can tell he craves from me. I'm just not ready for that and I doubt I ever will be. I'm not sure how long I can keep this charade up but I'm hoping my house of cards doesn't come tumbling down anytime soon.
~*~
After dinner Harry and I lounge around reading and listening to music together. He loves it when I read to him and I love the way he looks when I do. He seems so relaxed and at peace, his head leaned back, eyes closed, while I drape across the couch, my head in his lap. Tonight's excerpt was from my latest book, a mystery about a hard-hearted detective whose daughter goes missing while she visits Italy with her boyfriend. I haven't started posting it to my Spoodle account yet but once I have a few chapters finished I'll start. Harry's become something like my editor, stopping me whenever things don't make sense and giving me critiques on how to speak from a male's point of view. I have to admit it's nice having someone to bounce ideas off of before I post them to the world. He says writing a story is a lot like writing a song. You need a good plot, a narrative that grabs attention, conflict and resolution. Initially I didn't think he knew what he was talking about but as I write more with that thought process in mind I've had an easier time getting my thoughts out of my head and onto the page. He's helping me to broaden my mind and improve my writing abilities, while offering inspiration at the same time, something no one else has ever done.
We ended up dancing together to some Musiq Soulchild after I finished reading him the chapter. The feel of his hands against the exposed skin of my back sent chills up and down my spine while simultaneously heating me up inside. His fingers grazed over my skin so lightly it tickled, rising goosebumps all over me.
"You have such beautiful skin," he murmured, fingering the thin crisscrossed straps at the center of my back.
I laughed lightly, "Look a little closer Houdini. Acne is the devils work and acne scars are his minions."
He laughed then, a booming sound that shook my insides, "Doesn't take a thing away from how stunning you are."
His words silenced me and I fell deeper into his arms, lying my head against his chest as we danced. Suddenly I heard him singing just loud enough to serenade me but low enough that it didn't ruin the calmness of the room. The lyrics of So Beautiful have never sounded as saccharine as they did tonight. He sang with such conviction I know he was sending me a message. The dips and waves of his deep voice caressed my ears, forcing me to listen not only to the tone but the message in them.
Once the song ended we made love and showered before heading to bed. Harry decided to go right to sleep while I stayed up to write. He reminded me not to stay up too late since tomorrow we're having the boys over for brunch before they all have to leave for an award show in a few days. Everyone will be scattered after this weekend so today and tomorrow are really the only times we'll get to hang out.
I decide to pull up an old story and give it some polishing instead of working on something new. At any given time I have five to ten stories half-finished on my computer so it takes a second to find the one I'm looking for. I make a mental note to organize my writing folder better tomorrow but for now I skim through the summary I wrote out. It's a classic story about a guy from the wrong side of the tracks, the difference is the girl is too and knows all about bad boys and the bullshįt they bring. It's a story I started on a couple of years ago, hoping to be more like my leading lady Abby, a no-nonsense woman with a quick-wit attitude and a heart encased in steel. I took on a few of her attributes, or maybe she took on mine. The blog post format the story's told through took on a tone that felt mighty similar to some of my own older blogs. Reading through a few of the chapters I can feel the angst take a hold of my soul all over again. As it twists and squeezes around me I feel compelled to write something fresh, almost from a hindsight being twenty-twenty perspective, adding in more of my own story in hopes that once it's out it can't find it's way back.
I think we all crave the literary bad boy, the brooding, mysterious, deep, tortured soul that's only looking for redemption while still holding tightly to his edge. The type that once he finds that redemption in you he holds on fighting tooth and nail, ignoring all naysayers just to be with the love of his life. We crave those moments where he doesn't say I love you but his actions show it. Him needing to be with you to control his temper, or wanting to be around you just for peace of mind speak the words loudly. Our souls sing a siren's song for the rough, skull numbing sex, the filthy words, the strong hard body of a man we'll never fully understand. We want that guy that acts all tough on the outside but with you he's a sweetie.
But what we don't realize is that guy who constantly fůcks up in huge ways but makes up for it even bigger doesn't exist. The guy who stops his womanizing ways from the slightest amount of attention from you isn't real. I think most girls have bad boys pegged all wrong. They aren't misunderstood souls or acting out. They aren't in need of anyone to fix them. They're aÅsholes.
Each and every one of them.
He doesn't push you away and treat you badly because of something his mommy did or didn't do. He treats you like Åhit because he can - because you let him. Life is about choices and when you choose a bad boy you choose wrong, trust me I know. There are always exceptions to the rule but chances are the aÅshat in front of you isn't it.
As much as literature has helped us, it's hurt us. We build stories in our minds and try to force them to become real life. Perfect lives, the perfect bad boy, the perfect man in general, all of them are just fantasies. We set ourselves up for failure, slowly rising from the ground with scraped bleeding knees, pointing accusing fingers everywhere but backwards. It's our brains that get us in the most trouble ladies, always has been probably always will be.
We have to start living in the now. Face the fact that every guy won't be a prince because we damn sure aren't princesses. Realize that real life happens and when it does you have a decision to make. Either turn tail and run back to your cozy cubby of fantasies or pull on your grown woman panties and face it. The choice is yours.
The clattering my fingers cause from flying across the keys stops and I smile at the fruits of tonight's labor before saving and shutting down my laptop. Although it sounds pessimistic everything I wrote was the product of life experience. As hard as the lessons are there's no better teacher than life itself.
Grabbing my phone I see a text from my cousin asking me to remind her of when my niece's birthday is again so she won't forget. My brain is so sluggish from the activities of the day I have to pull up my calendar to check and nearly scream when I do. In one of the boxes a day over a week ago it doesn't contain any words only a period, it's enough to make me start hyperventilating. The punctuation won't mean anything to someone just looking at my phone but to me seeing that lone dot there is everything. I've been marking my menstrual cycle on my calendar like clockwork every month with a period for the day that I'm supposed to start and just about every time I'm able to disregard the notification because aunt flow would already be in town but this time her visit is about a week delayed.
My insides start to quicken and my breathing picks up. I can feel the panic attack coming on and try to calm myself. There's no way I'm pregnant. Harry and I have been careful, I mean we always wear protection. That's never even been a question between us he always straps up, I never have to ask. But there was that time in February where we were dry humping naked...could that have-? The thought stops in it's tracks for another to barge in. The idea that maybe the condom broke during one of our other times has my heart racing at the thought. I'm questioning everything I think I know about sex, nothing sounds right anymore. I've never had concern about my period being late before but that was because I wasn't having sex then. Now it feels like the room is shrinking and my heart is thrumming frantically in my ears.
Trying to calm myself before Harry feels my shift in energy and wake up I take a deep breath. I breathe out the anxiety and breathe in the facts. One look at my calendars will show I'm the poster child for irregularity, especially when I'm stressed. But I can always count on Aunt Flow to show up. Not that my period has ever been punctual. It's the epitome of the stereotype "CP time", coming two or three days later than it should. It very seldom comes later than that and even more rarely does it come early.
Realizing I have nothing to worry about I put down my phone with shaky hands. The anxiousness still snakes through my muscles and lingers in the corners of my mind but I won't be dealing with it tonight.
~*~
I don't think I've ever ran faster than I did minutes ago. From Harry's room to the half-bath at the front of the house, I moved like a ninja, silent and swift. If my body thought I was going to wake him up with my retching over the toilet bowl it thought wrong.
Standing up I sniff away a runny nose and wipe my eyes from the tears puking caused, one of the many reasons I absolutely hate vomiting. The other is how badly my throat hurts afterwards, it feels like it's on fire. Looking in the mirror at myself I turn to the side, investigating my stomach, poking and prodding at it like a science project.
"There's no way I'm pregnant," I whisper to myself, the word sounds dirty leaving my lips making me frown. The more I stare at myself for sights of any roundness the more I find myself pushing my stomach out as far as I can to see how I'd look. I turn from side to side, my stomach bulged out in front of me, hands placed over it like I've seen a million times on the infinite number of pictures from my high school classmate's pregnancy photos. The more I stare at myself the faster my heart beats.
Sighing I fling my hands away from my belly shaking my head. "This is stupid," I mumble as I wash my hands. Grabbing mouthwash from under the counter I give it a couple of whirls then look myself in the eye, pointing a finger, "You are not pregnant," I say, my voice even and definite. If only it were that easy.
Trudging back to the room I see Harry sprawled across the bed and know I won't be able to sleep beside him feeling like this. Instead I grab my cell phone and laptop and head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and then head to the office to sort my writing folder out.
Before I know it I'm finished with the sorting and instead am just surfing the internet until I get a few notifications from Twitter on my phone. Following the link to a blog article I see photos of Harry with a skinny brunette heading into a building. His hand is on her back as he guides her inside and the headline asks if she's his new love interest. Although I know she's the artist Harry was working with yesterday it doesn't change the fact that she's definitely more his type than I am.
With a sigh I close the entire app and decide to get an early start on brunch for the guys. Tip-toeing into the bedroom I grab a long loose shell shirt from my side of the closet and slip it on. The material is breezy but it seems to drape over my stomach in an odd way creating the illusion, or what I hope is one, that I have a bulge there. I want to throw it off in a fit but instead decide I'll tie it up later so that if it falls strangely it looks intentional due to the knot at the front.
I peak around the corner to see if Harry is still asleep and seeing that he is I sneak back out to the office. My laptop is still sitting there and as soon as I get on I hop onto google and look myself up. I'm struggling to find any pictures where my stomach looks the way it does now and it's making me nauseous. All sorts of thoughts swarm my mind but the most dominant one is that I'm pregnant. Nervously I undo the braid I kept my hair in last night. It created these cool curls in my hair that I usually love but today nothing is right.
I cannot be a mother I barely know how to be an adult.
Speaking of mothers what will mine say? She was so disappointed when my siblings had kids out of wedlock, of course she got over it but she never really did like their spouses because of it. I can't imagine her disliking Harry before she ever gets the chance to know him because of my stupid mistake of not getting on birth control. He did his part, he wore a condom but apparently my vagina is made of burlap and ripped it to shreds.
I can't believe this! What am I going to do? How am I going to tell Harry? How is he going to react? What if I tell him and he freaks out and leaves me? Then I'll be left with a broken heart and a baby to take care of. No, knowing him he'll want to get married and raise the baby as a family. I couldn't in good conscience marry him knowing that he doesn't truly know all of me, that's unfair to him. But what if I we did get married and I finally let him in only for him to end up not wanting me. It's not like it's so farfetched men get bored with their wives and cheat all the time.
I can't stop my fingers from stamping on the keys as I type in his name plus women and a slew of photos pop up each of them prettier than the last. My hands start to shake as I follow some of the links to different websites and read the comments. So many of them are about how much better this girl or that one is than me. How pretty and thin they are and how he deserves someone on his level. I couldn't have looked at this shįt at a worse time, my defenses are down.
"I could stand to lose a few," I whisper, my voice cracking with unshed tears as I scroll down the comments. I hear the whine of the wood floors as Harry shifts behind me and grimace. I thought I was talking to myself, I silently hope he just walked in.
My mother's voice runs through my head, "Never show people your weaknesses or they can use em' against you."
Her words force me to stand up and walk away from the computer and it's internet gangsters. I fortify myself. I won't lose my self-confidence now not after I worked so hard to find it. If anything I'll fake it until it becomes a reality, it worked before.
Silence makes it's presence known in the room as I stare at the window, watching Harry's reflection moving towards me knowing he heard my moment of weakness.
He wraps his arms around me, sprawling his hand out against my stomach, knowing just where any self-consciousness of mine lies. "You know you're perfect right? There's no one else I would rather be with than you Bailey, all of the time. I just want you to see that, to see that you're beautiful and I love you just the way you are and any way you are."
Those three words keep me up at night. I watch his lips' reflection soft pink pillows caressing each word as he speaks. They sound honeyed coming from him, so true.
It's not that I don't think I deserve love or even that I don't believe he could love me. The problem is the longevity of love. Will he love me today and leave me tomorrow? He wouldn't be the first. I've safeguarded my heart for a reason. No matter how much he says it I can't say it back, at least not right now. Saying it out loud makes it real, makes it true. Once it's out there there's no getting it back.
"I believe you Harry," I concede, and I truly do. This whole thing honestly had nothing to do with those models and everything to do with the inner demons I seem to constantly fight. I'd rather argue, leave, yell, curse, anything but feel this way. This...unrest within me, it bubbles over ruining everything in it's path; a destructive volcano at her finest.
"Good," he replies giving my reflection a suspicious look that turns into his dimpled grin, "Besides I like my dames with more meat on their bones these days."
He's so cheesy, but this is my favorite side of him. His lame jokes never cease to make me laugh.
"Dame? Who are you, a thirties mobster?" I laugh, pulling his arms tighter around me.
"I might be," he answers with his best New Yorker accent before returning to his own, "I thought you liked that kind of thing. Don't tell me you made me suffer through every Grandfather movie just for torture."
I laugh loudly, turning in his arms to face him, "I do like them and it's The Godfather baby not The Grandfather." I barely get through my sentence I'm laughing so much.
He only makes it worse when he tickles me in retaliation. My cheeks ache from smiling so much.
"Okay! Truce! Truce!" I giggle out, holding my hands up in the air.
He pushes a piece of hair behind my ear softly before counteracting his gentleness. My back hits the window, the cool glass chilling my spine through my thin shirt.
"I've been craving you since I woke up," he breathes over my lips. The heat from his breath licks my skin.
Dropping down to his knees in front of me his green-hazel eyes dance as he parts my legs lifting the grey hem of my top.
Remembering we're against a window I panic. "Wait Harry, someone could see."
A twinkle of mischief lights his eyes. "Then let them," he grins, lifting both of my legs to his shoulders.
While his right hand holds my thong aside, his left cups my aÅs, gripping tighter the more his tongue explores.
My head falls back, pressing so hard into the window I'm sure it'll shatter.
Parting my lower lips, his breath heats me, soothing my folds from the cold of the room.
"You'll have to make do with just my mouth. My hands are a bit preoccupied today sweetheart," he whispers. I can't tell if he's talking to me or my sex.
"I'll see heaven either way," I push out, past the nerves and apprehension that try to keep me silent.
He smirks devilishly before licking up my slá»t. I can feel my nectar dripping for him and moan loudly when he attempts to suck me dry, forcing my climax.
"Harry," I groan, gripping his hair in my hand. It's so soft and silky it slips right through my fingers.
"Grip it tighter...pull," he demands, moaning when I do as I'm told.
The growl in his voice sends waves of pleasure through me like tiny vibrations. His tongue wraps around my nub, sucking hard then soothing only to be nipped with his teeth. The combination makes my head swim and I grow slicker for him, pushing and pulling my love away as if I'm teasing him when I'm doing anything but. I'm drunk off of the feeling.
"Harry," I gasp, my limbs shaking slightly from tension, "I'm- Oh God."
I don't know how long we stayed like that, him seated in between my legs, my exposed aá¹£s smashed against the glass. But I do know he didn't stop french-kissing my second set of lips until they were swollen, red, and tired. And when he finally placed one last kiss to my pearl he carried me to the bed to sate his desire.
~*~
There was so much more food I wanted to make but Harry and I got caught up with other activities. As the boys fill their plates I sit back and wait for them to finish, my mind drifting. You'd think I would be calmer, happy even after everything that we did but if anything it made me more agitated. I'm paranoid now. Even though during our love making I'm in the moment, the second we're finished my brain goes into panic mode, the miasma of lust gone.
"These pancakes are dope Bae," Louis comments, using the nickname he and Zayn gave me.
I shake my head slightly trying to release the tight grip my thoughts have on my mind. "Thanks Lou," I reply absent-mindedly, "They're red velvet."
Niall moans loudly as he forks a bite into his mouth giving me a big thumbs up before stuffing his face. Liam and Zayn both attack the fruit tray while Harry spends his time watching me and my odd behavior.
I try to focus my brain and stay in the moment joining the conversation about their upcoming trip. Even as I try my thoughts still won't leave my possible pregnancy especially when a wave of nausea hits me. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose taking deep breaths. The boys are so busy being rowdy they don't notice and I couldn't be happier. The last thing I need is anyone making a big deal out of this, my anxiety is doing a good enough job of it already.
I just don't know how this could've happened. I thought we were being so cautious and now here I am with a possible bun in the oven and I'm too afraid to do anything about it.
"Could you please eat more quietly?" I snap at Harry suddenly, knowing he's only smacking like that to tease me.
As much as I hate it when people smack I'll admit it's more tolerable when he's doing it. My nerves are just on edge from my period not coming. I don't have the balls to tell him yet. I'm still holding out hope it's just my body fůcking with me again.
I soften my attitude almost immediately seeing everyone's concerned reactions. Oddly enough their expressions strike something in me, calming my frayed nerves. I've never had a group like this, the unease on their face isn't for Harry, even though they love him, it's for me. They know their friend is acting out of character and it has them alarmed. That level of care is just what I'll need if I am pregnant. I'm not okay with the idea by a long shot but I can try harder to put it out of my mind for at least a couple of hours and enjoy the limited time we have together.
"What?" Liam asks confusion all over his face.
"Don't worry about it. She has a complex about the way I eat. Only with certain things though right sweetheart?" Harry asks totally straight faced.
Food lodges in my throat causing my laugh to become a choking coughing fit. Louis pats my back until I get myself together.
"Of course love," I manage to squeeze out before reaching for my glass. This man is going to be the death of me.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What's up my good people!!!!
Hope yall enjoyed the chapter! Thanks for all of the well wishes guys I know I'm updating the author's note a day late but yall should be used to me being late by now lol
This chapter's Question...
Do you think Bailey is pregnant? If so, what do you think will be the sex?
This chapter...
This chapter, even though some bombs were lowkey dropped was a filler lol It originally was going to be two chapters but I decided to combine them to give a more full section of the story. We're on chapter 27 so we're over halfway done but don't worry I've got PLENTY more for yall :)
This chapter's song...
So Beautiful by Musiq Soulchild. I absolutely ADORE this song, it's been one of my favorites for years! I think it fit pretty well with the chapter.
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