The night of the ball, Harry and I went home and had a few too many on top of the too many we'd already had. We ended up nursing each other's wounds from the knock down drag out brawl and then I spent the night in his arms talking about the weird stuff only being drunk or high can bring up in your mind. The last thing I remember asking him was if he thinks dogs remember the names their parents give them and then I fell asleep. As crazy as the night was it ended pretty peacefully.
The media and the fans however have been everything but passive since the video of the after party scrap surfaced. It's been two weeks and I still can't log into my Twitter without someone calling me a ghetto 'insert insult here.' Of course I caught all of the blame because I'm apparently the only change in Harry's life. He never got into fights before I came into the picture but now that I'm around he is, so clearly I'm the problem. In a sense they're right, I am at fault. The difference in Harry is internal, he feels I'm worth fighting for so he does, in every sense of the phrase. I'm not saying it's right, but it sure as hell is flattering in a basic instinct kind of way.
The media's been relentless but more than that we've had constant events to attend. Those few fleeting moments home alone after the brawl was the last peaceful time we've had in weeks. Summer event season has officially started and I couldn't be more tired of it already. There's been a surplus of events this year for Harry due to the number of establishments he's chosen to back. During their break in 2016 he threw his support behind an organization whose goal, ironically enough, is to stop cyber bullying. We're due to attend an event they're holding tonight and I'm dreading it.
Don't get me wrong, I love getting dressed up every now and again but my feet are so tired of heels it's insane. Last week we had three events in one day and two on the following - I don't know how much more of this I can take. I'm trying to be a team player and hang in there but it's grating on my nerves. I suppose it wouldn't be as bad if when we attended these things I had some purpose other than standing or sitting in one spot while Harry floats around the room mingling. We walk in together but from the moment his feet touch the floor he goes into socialite mode and I get left behind. When it happened at the ball I assumed it was just... I don't know...habit - from flying solo to so many of these things before. But now, it's happening every time and becoming painfully obvious to anyone paying attention that he's purposely leaving me behind. I'm not sure of his reasoning for it but the endless naysayers online have given me a million different explanations.
As I read past a comment about me being his beard, Harry reaches over and closes the lid to my laptop where a bombardment of racist, sexist, and just down right mean remarks glare back at me. At this point nothing surprises me. For instance, I've read so many false accounts of the story behind the ball brawl that if I wasn't there I'd think there had to be some truth to them.
All of them have one constant, me being the agitator. Although everyone in our group of friends knows the truth, the rest of the world doesn't. However, the sad truth is, they don't want the real story, a lie is ten times easier. Because the truth is buried within our group, the media can bend things however they want and paint me in the most convenient light to sell magazines and gain clicks. The angry black woman narrative always sells, especially when contrasted with 'defenseless' white people; I never had a chance. America's media is truly something else.
"Sweetheart, you've been reading that rubbish for an hour. I thought we were supposed to be relaxing," Harry scolds, grabbing my laptop from my lap to sit it on the coffee table.
I don't respond, instead I fold my arms over my chest- annoyed he interrupted my destructive behavior.
"Cheer up would you," he grins, unveiling his dimples, as he pokes my side, "Hannah will be here any minute with her troop of prodders to get us ready. I just want to enjoy this time with you."
Seeing I'm not budging he sighs and grabs the laptop from the place he left it.
"Fine," he groans, as he opens the computer and types in the password, "Let's see what's got you so riled up."
I sit silently, waiting for him to see the crap I have to look at every day. I should probably just shut down my social media accounts, that's what I always used to say about others in this situation and now I'm being a huge hypocrite.
"Sweetheart why would you let this upset you? You know this is all crap," he finally states, closing the laptop with a bit more force than necessary.
"Why don't you ever defend me? Of course their comments sting but that, that hurts," I admit, surprising us both.
Harry's eyebrows raise then fall to a frown. "I didn't know you felt that strongly about it B. When it happened before you brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal. I guess I fůcked up."
My resolve falls a bit. "No, you're right. It's just...I don't know, it's different now. Before, I was just your friend and the things they'd say didn't apply to me but now-," I pause and take a deep breath, "I mean, now I'm your girlfriend and I'm being accused of terrible things - I guess I'm caring too much what people think. I know it would only make it worse if you said anything."
Harry shakes his head adamantly before pulling me into a tight hug. "If you want me to say something, I will - every single day if need be. The things people are saying to you are disgusting. I never realized how prevalent racism still is."
I shrug my shoulders, "I didn't either really until we got together. Of course I'd hear about things, shootings or KKK rallies and stuff - then there was that whole presidential scare thing with Trump; but I'd never experienced it firsthand until now. It was always just something that happened to other people. I never realized how hurtful it is to be devalued as a human by other living breathing human beings just because of the color of my skin."
He doesn't respond, I doubt he really knows how to - and that's okay.
I do however have a question for him. "Why have you never made a deal about me being black? I mean you never really even mention it."
He laughs a little, letting me go but still staying close, "What's there to mention? I feel weird about white men who call their girls Nubian or African Queen or Princess. I guess it's my ignorance or white privilege talking but I never mention your race because, although it's a beautiful part about you, it's not important. I don't see you as just a race, I see you as Bailey - race and heritage included. I have an appreciation for your heritage of course but it's who you are; the beautiful, intelligent, funny, witty woman that matters to me more than anything."
I smile at his words. He and I both have a long way to go before we can fully be seen as 'conscious' or 'woke' but I'm proud that by being together we're both striving to know more and use these moments in our relationship as learning experiences that bring us closer together.
"I think our relationship is proof that times have and will continue to change. We just have to remember that most of these keyboard warriors are speaking out of jealousy, lack of knowledge, or both," he continues, making a proud feeling swell in my chest.
Ours may not always be a healthy love but one of these days we'll thrive, I know we will. We just have to keep working at it like we're doing.
Leaning in, I place indulgent kisses against his soft lips. He sucks my bottom lip between his, intensifying our lip lock before entangling our tongues. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating against our connected lips as I straddle his lap. My fingers spread out against his chest, feeling the hardness of his pecs beneath my digits. Our hips rasp against each other in a rhythm they know all too well, bringing us into the reality of the moment. We don't have nearly enough time to indulge in one another and the realization is sinking. My heart rate is racing and crashing in my ears as he pulls away with a soft peck to my full lips.
"Is it terrible of me to say that the way your skin looks against mine makes me hard? I mean you did ask me to talk about it more," he smirks, a roguish grin.
I gasp, smacking his chest with my hand before easing from his lap. "I thought I was the potty mouth around here, that was entirely too raunchy for you, cupcake Harry."
He glares at me, retaliation clearly on his mind but the doorbell rings interrupting him. As he walks to answer the door for Hannah he raises an eyebrow, plastering a provocative smile across his lips, "You and I both know just how filthy my mouth can get sweetheart, don't kid yourself."
Memories of the terribly explicit things he whispers into my ears as we make love fill my mind, sending a thrill through me.
Hannah barrels through the door, glam squad in tow, and I can only think of one thing, "I'll be glad when tonight is over."
~*~
When I found out the other boys wouldn't be in attendance tonight my heart sank tenfold. The old people at these events are the worst and this room is full of them. Every time I encounter any of these old money fůckers they always look at me like I'm covered in shįt - I guess to them I am.
The further we walk into the room, the less hopeful I am that tonight's going to be a good night. The only ally I have in this place is Harry and I know, in this case, I can't depend on him. I never realized how much of his life consisted of public appearances. As we dressed I joked about how we went on more dates when we were just friends and how it seems the only time we go out anymore is when there's an event to attend. He laughed - even though I was only half joking - and informed me that once the season for these events passed we'd have more time together to just do us. I then had to remind him that once the season passes he and the boys will be back in the studio and then back on the road promoting their album; he didn't really know how to respond to that one.
Scoping out the attendees I don't notice any familiar faces but I spot a few people of color I could try and speak to. I didn't know classism was such a customary thing in LA until I started running in the circles of the upper crust. It's hard as hell to gain 'street cred' with these old white people, they just aren't having me. It'd be laughable if it didn't put me in such annoying and boring situations. Sighing, I try and remove all negative thoughts from my mind. Maybe tonight will be different and Harry won't leave me stranded to entertain myself. Perhaps this event will be one for the books and people will actually talk to me instead of turn their noses up.
My arm is securely locked underneath Harry's as we make our way to our table. I can feel it already and damn near predict what he'll say.
"Sweetheart I see someone I need to speak with, excuse me," I mentally mock in a poor British accent.
Each step brings me closer to my doom and I lock my arm on tighter to his, signaling I don't want to let go.
"Harry is that you?" a high-pitched voice asks from behind us.
Internally I groan. I know that tone of voice. That's the tone that says, "I see you're with someone else but I'm the inconsiderate bįtch from Christmas' Past, here to start drama in your new relationship."
Turning around with Harry, I adhere a fake smile to my face.
Sure enough, I've seen the blonde bombshell strutting towards us before. The last time I laid eyes on her she was getting a kiss on the cheek from my boyfriend at fashion week.
I scoot in ever so slightly and grip Harry's arm a little tighter, earning a confused look from him. My eyes however are focused on the woman most would think is ideal for him.
She's a pale, slender, tall present all wrapped in a red tight fitting thigh length dress. Her body frame is mostly her legs, they're miles long and her platinum blonde hair is up in an elegant yet messy updo. Tendrils fall down to frame her heart shaped face and strong jawline. Big round powder blue eyes, the same color as my dress, train in on Harry like a hawk waiting to swoop down and attack her prey.
I feel my insecurities start to creep in as I study her; my inner strength struggles to keep them at bay. I feel Harry's hand slide into mine, gripping my fingers in what I take as reassurance.
"It is you," she declares as she reaches us, acting as if it could've been anyone else.
"In the flesh," Harry jokes, holding out his free hand for a greeting.
She giggles, pushes his hand down and damn near jumps into his arms for a hug. "Oh Harry please, don't be so formal," she chastises gleefully.
He never releases his hand from mine for which I'm grateful. Especially when she kisses both of his cheeks then jumps into conversation with him as if I'm not even here.
I want to slap some color into her pale cheeks but the kung fu grip Harry has on my slapping hand is preventing me.
It's for the best I suppose. The fair-weather fans would rip me a new one for being a "Rowdy Black Bįtch" at another of his events. I can already see the headlines now, "Unidentified Black Woman Attacks Supermodel at Charity Function."
I stifle a giggle but it still escapes. Her attention for the first time lands on me. I can see her sizing me up so I do the same, all while looking unbothered by her presence.
"Tara, this is my girlfriend Bailey. Bailey this is my old friend Tara," Harry introduces happily, unknowingly stepping into the center of the ring between Tyson and Holyfield.
As ladies we understand that as the sitting queen, when you're meeting the old chick she's going to try it. It doesn't matter what age, religion, or race, it happens. It's something of a primal instinct to mark your territory. Maybe it sounds far-fetched but like I said, it happens.
So when Tara pastes on her fake smile when he introduces her I know it's on. That false grin is like her armor, donned only in times of distress and war.
Never one to follow suit, mine never left my face, only brightened upon introduction.
"Nice to meet you," she says sweetly, holding out her hand. "I like your dress by the way. Before I came over I was telling my godmother - the chairwoman of the charity that I don't care how inappropriate she thinks it is, it matches my eyes and I'm going to compliment it."
Her giggle annoys me but I ignore it and her dig about my dress. Fůck her and that old ass chairwoman.
Receiving her hand we shake and I greet her pleasantly, "Hello. I think I recognize you actually."
When her smile goes from friendly to smug I know she took the bait. You see, to her I just admitted either a- I'm a fan or b- I've checked up on and am therefore worried about Harry's exes. However, in reality I'm loading the first bullet into the chamber.
"Probably from a Victoria's Secret shoot I did or something," she grins, faking modesty.
"You're right," I snap my fingers as if she hit the nail on the head, "I remember now. It was like a year or two ago in the summer catalogue. Did you take a break from working or?"
Her eye twitches and her smile slightly drops before returning. "I've mainly been on the store displays lately. It's great because I feel like I'm in the stores constantly. We ladies love our Vicky's don't we?"
"We do. Although between you and me I haven't been in one since this one came into the picture," I smooth a wayward hair of Harry's and he gives me an adoring smile in return.
I notice another twitch on Tara's baby blues.
"He bought me Agent Provocateur one time," I continue and wave my hand nonchalantly, "now, can't get enough of it."
Her eyes squint in jealousy at that.
Little does she know I only own that one Agent Provocateur set and it's so damn itchy I never wear it. Harry always threatens to force it on me as punishment when I get on his nerves.
It may seem to be a snobbish comment but really it was a slug saying, "He spoils me with shįt he never thought of buying you."
Petty? Yes. Do I give a damn? No. If she wants to play games by ignoring my existence so she can be all over my man, then this is what she gets.
Her attention shifts between us, lingering on Harry, "Adorable. How long have you two been together?"
"About six months now," Harry answers looking into my eyes affectionately, "but it feels way longer than that now that I think about it."
I give him a genuine grin before looking back to Tara. She can see how happy we are together I see it on her face and she's hating - hard.
"Way longer? Tired of the old ball and chain already huh Hair-Bear?" she jokes, her eyes darting from his to mine.
If Harry spoke bįtch he'd know what she just said. Unluckily for her, I'm fluent.
Loosely translated, she said, "We were close enough for pet names in less than a month, he's already sick of you. It's only a matter of time before he's back."
Girl please. You don't offer your pussy to my man in front of me and expect me not to react. Now it's really on- the gloves are off.
"Nowhere near it," Harry responds with a laugh, seemingly unaware of the separate conversation being held.
"Adorable, I'm glad you two worked out your differences and stayed together. This life truly isn't made for everyone." Tara declares before directing a question my way. "What is it that you do Bailey? I didn't see you at fashion week, you're clearly not a model, so?"
I smile, unfazed by her dig, "No, I'm not a model. I was lucky and got beauty and brains, I'm a market research analyst and a writer as well. Although since I have my degree in business I very well may open a publishing house; who knows what's in the cards."
I can tell by her expression she wasn't expecting me to have anything going for myself.
"That's," she trails off, in search of a word and yet she still ends up uttering her favorite, "adorable. You know a girl could get jealous Hair-Bear. You never brought me to these events when we were together."
Rude dismissive snatch; and there she goes with that pet name again. Trying to reinforce the legitimacy of their fling, but I've got something for her aÅs.
Before he can answer I take my moment. "Don't feel bad, I mean what you guys had was so brief and you know Harry, if he brings you to one of these things it means something serious," I pause as if I realized my mistake then shrug my shoulders as if I was just helping her out.
Translation; "You were a booty call that he tried to keep on the low. Stop trying to make it seem like you dated, you didn't. He didn't take you out girl, he took you down. Get over it."
My slugs weren't overly concealed and honestly I didn't want them to be. Subtlety isn't really my style.
Finally, I get to see some color stain her cheeks. It's not as rewarding as if I'd slapped her but it's an easy second place win.
"Right," she says, her voice tight as she extends a hand for Harry to shake. "It was nice seeing you again Harry. Bailey."
I smile at her as she leaves, this time it's genuine. I feel a little bįtchy but it's worth it. I bet she cut all of that Hair-Bear relationship bullÅhit.
"Why do I feel like you two were having a conversation within a conversation?" Harry asks with a small laugh as we continue to make our way to our table.
I giggle, as he pulls my chair out for me. "Baby, you just witnessed how girls have a pissing contest. You're lucky you didn't get hit with the fictitious streams."
~*~
I've spent the better part of an hour looking for someone to talk to. That sounds so sad when I think about it, but it's true. Everyone is either engaged in conversation already or they're too stuck up to talk to me for more than a couple of minutes, if that. Instead of making another lap around the room I leave out and go to the restroom. I've been worried my hair would come undone from the bun my stylist put it in so I need to make sure I'm not walking around with hair that looks like an abused cinnamon bun on my head.
After checking my appearance in the mirror I step into a stall to gather my thoughts. I haven't had any more run ins with Tara but I definitely saw her talking to Harry once he left off on his own. I won't lie and say I didn't watch them closely and as sad as it is to admit, they looked good together. I watched them introduce one another to at least four different people and hold pretty lengthy conversations with them before having a short one of their own. An ember of jealousy sparked in me as I watched Harry prance around with her, introducing her to people while I stood in the wings watching like an ugly stepsister.
I'm trying very hard to be supportive and to let him do his own thing but this is getting ridiculous. It seems like I'm being played and the feeling is sparking terribly familiar emotions in me. I've tolerated this at every event we've attended and needless to say, it's getting old. Where do I draw the line between supportive and doormat? The two are usually synonymous by my definition and although I've worked hard to change that I can't help but see the relevancy right now. If I speak up, I feel like I'm being unnecessarily difficult but if I don't I feel walked on.
Voices fill the room, echoing against the walls as a couple of women enter into the restroom. Initially I mind my business and prepare to leave the stall, that is until I hear Harry's name come up.
"He's so charming," one of the women gushes, applying nude lipstick to her clearly filled lips.
"And handsome," the one who brought Harry up interjects, "He's such a flirt too, did you hear how he was talking to me? I swear I was seconds away from slipping my panties off for easy access."
I hold in a gasp and the urge to snatch her brunette locks. The loose one continues on about how she'd ride his face and how young studs like him are why she even comes to these events. She even goes as far as to say she's willing to get a hotel room so they can slip away from his date.
I take that as my cue to exit the stall and walk over to the sink. The shocked expressions I expected to see once she realized I heard everything never come and it dawns on me that they have no idea who I am. They probably think Tara or whatever other woman he's parading around is his date and that realization has me nauseous.
Pulling out my phone I text him that I'm leaving and use my app to order an Uber. I'm done here.
~*~
Of course I made it all the way home and was in the shower before Harry even realized I was gone. He texted and called frantically and when I didn't respond he showed up at the house.
I hear him calling my name from the front door but don't say a word as I lie in bed. I'm tempted to pretend to be asleep but I know we need to talk. If I'm going to keep going to these events with him he's going to have to do better. I don't know what gets into him but it's like he becomes a totally different person and I hate it.
"Bailey?" Harry calls anxiously, swinging open the door, "There you are sweetheart. Do you have earbuds in? you didn't hear me calling you?"
I close the book in my hands and sit up straight in the bed. "No, I heard you."
He frowns, laughing slightly, "Well then why didn't you answer me?"
"I wanted you to know what it feels like to be ignored even though you're in the same space as me," I state matter-of-factly, uncaring about my petty behavior. This must be the side of me he wants.
Frowning again, he starts to undress and walks into the closet. Just as soon as he walks in he flies back out, still frowning, "What is up with you tonight?"
I raise an eyebrow at the attitude in his voice. If anyone should have an attitude it's me. Instead of answering him verbally I shrug my shoulders indignantly, hoping to piss him off further.
He scoffs, shaking his head as he turns to go back into the closet. Coming back around the corner just as fast, he's a little less dressed and a little more annoyed. "Why are you acting so childish Bailey?"
"Am I?" I ask innocently, aggravating him more.
"Yes!" he exasperates, throwing his hands up, "First it was that shįt with Tara, then you leave the event without telling me, you don't answer your phone-worrying me to death, and then you act like this once I get here. What's wrong with you tonight?"
"Why didn't you introduce me until after she acknowledged me?" I ask, answering his question with one.
A puzzled look crosses his face before he answers, "You mean Tara? She was talking nonstop from the time she came over, I didn't' want to be rude and interrupt her. This is silly. Why are you asking me this?"
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit along the edge. "I'm just trying to figure out why you do the things you do. Like now you're mad about the way I handled her disrespectful aÅs when before you thought it was funny, what changed?"
He still looks confused, as if he's unsure of if he's walking into a trap or not. "Tara's godmother, the chairwoman of the charity, she asked me about it. I guess Tara said something to her but it was pretty embarrassing."
I nod my head in fake understanding. "Right, well I'm sure you did enough asÅ kissing to win her back over."
Grabbing a t-shirt from the drawer he pulls it on before asking, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means what I said Harry," I reply in a relaxed tone. The angrier he's getting the calmer I remain even though I'm seething underneath.
He huffs, stepping out of his slacks. "I've never met anyone who can be so damn disrespectful."
His comment lights a match to the fuse of anger brewing in my chest. "Right. Because you're a perfect model of respect."
He starts to say he's not perfect but I cut him off.
"You come in here calling me childish for not wanting to deal with your bullshit and giving you back exactly what you give me. If you're mad because I put blondie in her place then oh well, at least I didn't fight her. You act like you're some kind of patient angel but the second you had the chance you tried to knock Paul's head off, that's no different than what happened tonight. She got disrespectful so I got disrespectful back, simple as that."
"Paul provoked me and you know it so stop that. This is a different situation entirely. You were trying to lay some type of claim to me unnecessarily. Tara and I are friends, that's it."
I roll my eyes and throw my hands up n annoyance, "There you go with this impossible double standard. You fight for me and it's supposed to be noble but I fight for you - something you've been asking me to do by the way - and I'm the bad guy. I'm disrespectful. Wow Harry, wow. If anybody's been disrespectful tonight it's you."
"Me?" he asks heatedly, poking himself in the chest. "How?"
I'm at the edge of my seat on the bed as I rage, "How? How about your complete lack of respect for me when we're at events. You flirt relentlessly and constantly leave me at the table while you flaunt other women around. That's disrespectful. You literally do this shįt at every event and I'm tired of it."
"If I do this all the time why do you still come? You never turn down an invitation Bailey," he snaps back, standing with his arms folded in boxers and a t-shirt.
"I'm trying to support you but I might as well stay home. I could be on fůcking fire and you'd still disregard me. You want to know why your fans think I'm arm candy or a beard? Because outside of these walls, if we're not alone, it's like I don't exist to you. You see right through me. We're never seen in public together, you don't defend me in the media, you take me to these places with all of these stuck up ass people who already don't like me from the door and then you leave me there so you can go and mingle," I assert, deciding not to hold back.
"That's a part of my job Bailey, I can't babysit you all night. If I didn't mingle there'd be no point in me going."
"Harry, don't be condescending, I'm not an idiot. I understand you can't be with me the entire time but if you're going to leave me alone all night it's pointless for you to even bring me. Especially when I can easily see you chopping it up with other women, bringing them around to meet people with you," I insist, standing to my feet. He's clearly on one tonight.
"Fine then, I'll stop inviting you since you hate it so much. I'll be sure to go by myself to every event from now on so we can give the media more to talk about," he replies, sounding washed.
"Right, because the most important part of this argument is that I don't want to keep up appearances anymore. Jesus Harry," I murmur, turning around to get back into bed. If he's going to play dumb then we're not having this conversation.
"I never said that, stop twisting my words. I have no idea why you're even angry," he explains sounding more confused than angry as he heads to the other side of the bed to place his watch on his nightstand.
"You keep abandoning me and then you make me feel like an idiot for feeling abandoned. Do you know the way people act towards me at these things when you're not around? It's like I don't exist. It's bad enough when they treat me that way but when I only see you when we arrive and when we leave, there's clearly a problem there Harry. You're so MIA at these things you didn't even notice I left early let alone know why I came home tonight."
I see the realization dawn on him that I'm right, he has no idea.
"Two women walked into the bathroom talking about you with such vulgarity I was embarrassed for them but that's not the part that made me leave. When I came out of the restroom, it was like I hadn't come out at all; they didn't know who I was. They didn't know you were there with me, they thought Tara was your date because that's who you felt comfortable enough with to take around and introduce people to - not me. To know that it wasn't that you couldn't make introductions but that you didn't want to with me... that made me feel so small Harry. It feels like you're ashamed of me and it hurts," I confess, forcing the words from my mind to my mouth. It's hard being vulnerable like this but nothing gets solved from having a closed mouth.
He's silent for a while and takes a seat on the opposite side of the bed - his back to mine. "I'm sorry Bailey. I never want you to feel like I'm ashamed of you. I just know how meeting too many people makes you anxious and wanted to save you the trouble. I swear I didn't realize it. Time just gets away from me and the next thing I know the night is over and we're coming home."
"I just want to know that I'm a priority to you," I admit, hating how desperate the words sound.
"I could say the same. It's hard to know where I am with you Bailey or what you want from me when I don't know what I mean to you," Harry replies, his tone begrudging.
I've never heard him sound so bitter. I didn't realize he harbored resentment but I guess he's only human. The feeling in my chest is like when you're at the top of a rollercoaster and it starts it's descent. It's that flip flop feeling that knocks off your heart's natural rhythm and sends it into a labored pace. It's the feeling of having your stomach and heart change places within, one falling while the other rises.
My heart feels weighted and yet it feels like it's floating at the same time as I speak, "I guess we both have things we need to work on and maybe we need to do them separately for a while.
I'm too much of a coward to turn around, I can't look at him. I have no clue if we're breaking up or not and worst of all me and my big mouth set it in motion.
Just as I get ready to bite the bullet of embarrassment and take it all back, my phone rings. My dad's name pops up on the screen, sending a panic through me - he never calls this late.
"Hello," I answer, feeling like I'll have a heart attack at any minute with the speed it's going at.
I listen as my dad assures me everything is fine with him and my mom, however one of my classmates isn't so lucky. As he tells me about my old friend Brady and his untimely death I find myself wiping tears silently. We hadn't talked since the summer after graduation but my last two years of high school would have seriously sucked without him. I always imagined at our ten-year reunion that we'd reconnect and pick up where we left off somehow but knowing that'll never happen is hitting me hard. After informing me about the funeral details he tells me he loves me and ends the call
I relay what I just learned back to Harry and tell him I'm going to go back to Texas for the funeral. I also let him know I'll probably stay for a while and then we sit apart in silence.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
What's up my good people!!!!
I hope yall enjoyed the chapter! I'm a little late but not as late as last time lol
As always, the chapter is unedited so please forgive any mistakes!!
This chapter's Question...
What do you think will happen next in the story? And whose side are you on with this argument?
This chapter...
Shit hit the fan lol I feel like this is something that needs to happen within the story and it's about to segway into my FAVORITE chapter. It's going to be a good one and a long one so prepare yourselves lol
SN: The outfit is showing up in the editor but not in the actual story for me -_- Idk wtf Wattpad is doing but as per usual they're fucking up. So just in case I'll place B's outfit here:
This chapter's song...
Say You Love Me by Jessie Ware. This song is just SO Harry and Bailey. I heard it months before this chapter was even an idea, in fact it's what inspired this chapter. It's such a good song and I loved it the second I heard it.
As for new follower S/O's...
This time we have:
unincornsprinkles5, Zendaya1010, fictionlover_909, Tajj1125, kekecorn, dorlisha, emiliadarling78, ssimpkol167, BrooklynCarter0, mmelony_, jazzly_99, itsmeee04, fourteenandcounting, adaeze0222, Alise_gorg_, anneciaskeete, Gummybear_maddness, yanna_109, Tatjana_ph, and __Daiisy__!!!
Thanks so much for following and I hope I don't disappoint!
Invite your friends to read and follow and leave me some feedback in the comments!! I love hearing from yall!!!!
Until Next Time,
WBN