Harry didn't speak much during our journey to the club, but nobody seemed to bat an eyelid. I wondered if this was how he usually was - quiet, or if he simply picked his moments to interject. It did appear to be the latter, because he did, at times, make a statement to the group, which would cause the entirety to laugh in the desired response, or nod intently. When he spoke, everybody seemed to listen; his mere presence commanded undivided attention. But I wouldn't give it to him. When he did choose to speak, I let my eyes drift to peer out of the window, choosing to focus, instead, on the blur of bright lights that we drove past.
It was a Friday night, and Vegas was alive. Despite the time of evening, the streets were so brightly illuminated, that it could've almost passed for early afternoon. I watched in awe, as the streets were packed with lines upon lines of people, happily and energetically weaving their way around. I could hear the buzz of music, even through the windows of our cab, as performers paraded through the streets, many in costumes of glitter and feathers, and intricate detail. I couldn't stifle the smile that was fighting its way onto my lips. It was like every sense of mine was heightened; everything was alive. This was what I'd wanted.
I looked up, as the cab came to a halt, to see Harry watching me, again. I wasn't sure how long he'd been watching me; if he'd noticed how I'd disassociated myself from the conversation when he'd chosen to join it. I watched his tongue swipe over his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed a little, appearing focused. I erased the smile from my own face before I turned my head, breaking our eye contact. No. Not tonight.
I wasn't sure who had selected the club for the evening, or how they'd come to choose it, but it was absolutely packed. Harry's security surfaced from a cab of equal discretion that had parked behind ours, and they began to envelop the group of us. The line to enter this club appeared to wrap around the entirety of the crowded street - it was hard to decipher where each crowd began, and another ended. Harry walked ahead of us, members of his security moving to stand either side of him, whilst another went to stand behind Elin, Pauli and myself, who walked at the back of our group.
I noticed the men working upon the door, and how they stepped aside at the mere sight of Harry, to let us enter without delay. I couldn't help but feel a little bad as we cut in front of the large crowd awaiting entry - the fact that everybody just immediately cleared out as we were navigated by Harry's security, for the sole purpose of letting us in before them, was a foreign concept to me. I remembered how Grace and I had stood in line outside of clubs in London - different atmosphere, but similar crowds - and how we'd waited for what felt like hours in hopes of getting in; yet now I formed part of those who were let in without a moment's hesitation.
We were led straight through the crowd, amongst all the noise, and I could feel the floor shaking at the beat of the music and the buzz of chatter that filled the air. I couldn't help but peer around me, elated laughter greeting my ears, with odd shouts and squeals as couples danced to the music, friends linking arms and partying with one another, and costumed individuals, as I had seen outside, parading through. We finally stopped upon arriving at a section of our own, elevated slightly upon a couple of stairs, lined with rounded leather booths, and lit in vibrant colour like the remainder of the club.
"Mr Styles," a voice sounded, suddenly, as we'd taken each of our seats. Elin sat upon my left, Pauli on my right, and Harry sat across from me, beside Mitch and Sarah. I looked up - a man in a suit, with a glittering smile upon his face. The entrance to our area was now being blocked by Harry's security, and so this man had been let through, deliberately. He continued, "Welcome. We're so glad you could join us this evening, all of you," he gestured to our group, before he shook Harry's hand. Harry appeared to return his smile, his face suddenly highly expressive as he spoke to this man. "As a courtesy," the man paused, and gestured for some servers behind him, each clad in their own sparkling outfits and wearing their own bright smiles. They stepped into our area, and I was most captivated by the way in which their heels were so incredibly high, but they carried themselves with ease, balancing trays loaded with shot glasses, wedges of lime, tiny bowls of salt, and a very, very expensive-looking bottle of tequila. I couldn't stifle the raise of my eyebrow - all of this, just at Harry's arrival?
I glanced over at him. I wasn't sure if egotistical was the right word, but he didn't even appear surprised at this treatment. I wondered, after so many years living this way, how it wouldn't go to his head. If everywhere you went, you were greeted with such gratitude for even gracing their presence, or if you were showered in gifts and expensive tokens, treated like royalty - how couldn't you buy into it? I figured he had - he must have. Maybe that's why he had behaved the way he had done over the past few days, and why he didn't see a problem with it, or at least that was how it seemed. That was what I told myself. He was selfish, and he didn't care. That made it far easier to ignore him like he ignored me, even though deep down, I knew I didn't want to.
Harry took it upon himself to fill a shot glass for each of us, a burst of loud laughter leaving his lips at something Mitch had shouted to him over the loud pulse of the music. I'd never heard him laugh like that - authentic, genuine - almost accidental. He caught my eye as he filled another glass, and pushed it in my direction. I didn't know if I'd half-expected him to fill everybody's glass but mine, but I accepted it.
As Elin took some salt and poured it onto the back of her hand, she passed the small pot to me, encouraging me to take my own. I did so, and looked up to see that everybody else had taken theirs. Harry met my eye again, a glint of something that I couldn't quite distinguish in his gaze, as he lifted his glass between his fingers. The group turned to him, and I wondered if this was a tradition of theirs.
"To our first night here," he spoke, his eyes never leaving mine. "To the memories we'll make on this tour - I'm happy to be here with all of you. Cheers." Everybody responded to his toast by clinking our shot glasses together - including Harry reaching over to knock his against mine. Just as he brought his glass past my own, our fingertips brushed against one another's, and I caught his expression shift, only a little, but I caught it. I couldn't ignore the slight flutter I felt in my own stomach at our mere accidental touch, and I had to forcefully remind myself that tonight I was supposed to be ignoring him.
We took our shots, and with a wide grin on his face, Harry didn't hesitate to pour everybody another. I couldn't help but recall how we'd taken turns to refill our glasses at Johnny's the other day, the same unreadable glint in his eye as there was now; Harry was an entertainer. He seemed to enjoy sitting at the forefront of the group, leading the charge, but against my own inner protests, it didn't seem to be for an egotistical, self-serving motivation. Harry seemed like he wanted to make sure that everybody else was having the best time possible - their drinks filled, the conversation light and full of laughter. It seemed that even in the group of his friends, there was an element of performance to him - even now. I wondered why.
As my second shot of tequila slid down my throat, I relished in the burn it left behind, closing my eyes for a brief second. I reached for a wedge of lime, biting down on it.
Sarah stood up, clapping her hands together, "Let's get some more drinks."
Before I knew it, I found myself out on the dance floor, just mere metres from our private area with a drink in my hand. I didn't go out much, at home - I usually was too swamped with copious amounts of work assigned by the firm, and at most, I would spend evenings at Johnny's place, which certainly had an atmosphere far different to this one. But, I was university student, after all, and I did have Grace - that meant that, on occasion, I would find myself dragged to an overcrowded club, or bar, or even to another house belonging to a group of students for a very underwhelming evening. But with Grace, anything was fun. She would've loved to go to a place like this.
I finished my drink far quicker than I'd expected, tilting my head backwards to take my final sip. Elin sent me a gleeful laugh as I did so.
"Oh, good, you're done. I was about to suggest another," she took my empty cup with a wink, and Pauli joined her as they hurried back towards the bar. I turned back to Sarah and Mitch, who were dancing together, Sarah's arms thrown over his shoulders as they laughed, spinning clumsily around. I wasn't sure how many drinks they'd had, now.
It was then I noticed the absence of Harry, and silently cursed myself for doing so. I couldn't help myself. I found myself craning my neck around trying to locate him, but I didn't have to look far. He hadn't joined us on the dance floor - instead, he was seated, alone, in our booth, a drink of his own in his hand. I felt an odd surge in my stomach that told me to go and join him. And talk about what, exactly, Izzy? Don't be stupid. I wasn't sure why he hadn't joined the rest of his friends in dancing - it seemed to go against much of his prior behaviour regarding ensuring that he was much of the life of the group, but then again, contradictory behaviour was quickly becoming pretty frequent for Harry, from what I could see.
It was annoying; the weird pull I felt to him, despite him wronging me. The one thing I had tried so hard not to be since growing up, was a pushover; a doormat, even. I didn't want people to walk all over me as they had done for so many years. The number one rule when taking control of my own life, was to stand up for myself. It was rare, if ever, that I'd done that, but I wanted to, going forward. I truly did.
I used to always want somebody to stand up for me. For years, ever since I could remember, I used to hope and pray that somebody - just somebody - would stand up for me, and have my back. That this mystical somebody would put an end to all my hurt, and stand by my side; they would protect me. But it was only when I moved away - when I finally created some separation - that I realised, nobody, really would ever do that. I needed to be the person to stand up; nobody else. My pain would never really end, if I didn't. Nobody would ever care enough; nobody would ever really help. I had to help myself; protect myself. I needed to be the person that I would've wanted to come and help me when I was growing up; the person I used to dream of coming to fix things, waving a magic wand and making it all better. Because deep down, the only person that could ever really help you, was you.
I didn't want to rely on anybody else ever again. That was why I relished in distance; I'd pushed Calvin away, so far that he'd ended up leaving me. I often found myself pushing back at Grace in times where all she wanted to do was help, or even doing the same to Johnny. I pushed, because without expectation, there wouldn't be disappointment. If you didn't expect people to care, or to help, or to protect - they couldn't fail to do so.
That was how I lived. I hadn't necessarily failed to vocalise my defences to Harry; I had defended myself against his accusations, and his orders not to take this job opportunity - arguably, simply being here, across from him in this club, was the biggest defence of myself of all. I was acting against his wishes, for myself. And I was keeping my distance - my ideal, comfortable distance - refusing to give him anything resembling friendly interaction, as my disapproval of his behaviour. But was that really standing up for myself the way I wanted to? Was simply ignoring him the right way to stand my ground, or was it the cowardly way? It wasn't like he was exactly trying to capture my attention and spark a conversation anyway - I wasn't really doing anything to show him that I wouldn't let him mistreat me, or anybody else.
If I was standing up for myself, surely I would've confronted him the second that I saw Stella press her lips against his cheek? Surely I would've pulled her aside, and told her just how horrendously her boyfriend had behaved? Why hadn't I said anything? Why was I letting him do what he wanted?
And again, yes, I had vocalised a defence to him. I had stood up to him, verbally, when he had attempted to get his way that night at Ally's office. But if I was standing up for myself, why did I find myself drawn to him, so strongly? Why did I feel an urge to fill the seat next to him? Why did the mere graze of our fingertips cause my mind to race? Why was I multiple drinks in, trying to force my mind off him? Why did he have the effect that he did on me, just by standing in my presence, despite everything he'd done? I daren't admit that, really, I hadn't changed at all - I was still letting myself be walked all over; just because I was in a new place, with a new job, and new people, it didn't mean that it wasn't the same old story. He had mistreated me, yet I couldn't force him from my mind, as much as I tried. I couldn't shake the feeling of him; of his skin, the sound of his voice, the intensity of his gaze each time it landed on me, piercing straight through me. It was infuriating.
Because, really, he had this strange grip on me. I didn't want to admit it, but he did. Since starting my adult life, I refused to let anybody close enough to give them the opportunity to mistreat me, let alone would I let them get away with it. But him...
I watched him swallow the last sip of his drink, leaning back in his chair, and raising his hand to push his fingers through his hair. Harry had mistreated me, yet, for whatever reason, he was the only thing on my mind.
"Hey," a voice cut through my thoughts, and I drew my eyes upwards. Somebody had stepped in front of me, blocking my view of Harry. It was a man - a tall, very attractive man. "Have I seen you here before?" Oh, that pickup line. A stale, old pickup line.
"No, you haven't," I decided to entertain him with a response. A hand then landed on my shoulder - Elin. She handed me the drink she'd gone to get me, and then sent me a wink, disappearing with Pauli and leaving me alone to converse with this man. I took a long sip of my drink, allowing myself to start dancing along to the music again, finally beginning to feel the alcohol start to hit me. I wasn't a particularly avid drinker - by this point, I'd only had a couple of shots of tequila, and the few drinks that Elin had ordered, but it was definitely starting to hit me. I told him, "I'm Isabella."
He surprised me by taking my free hand, delicately, in his, joining me, now in beginning to sway along to the music that sounded throughout the club. "I'm Dylan," he returned. It was only then, that I caught sight over his shoulder, of the now very-empty booth that Harry had previously occupied. I didn't even have time to furrow my eyebrows, because my questions were answered in mere seconds.
"I'll take it from here," a firm voice sounded from beside us. My heart dropped, as an arm extended into the space between Dylan and I. Dylan's own eyebrows furrowed in confusion, turning to face the intruder. He opened his mouth to speak, but appeared to change his mind, when the voice sounded again. "I said, I'll take it from here."
Despite being noticeably drunk by this point, it didn't even take a second for me to identify the voice as Harry's - I'd yet to hear another voice that had such an effect on my entire body and demeanour with such simple words. I felt a shiver run along the length of my spine as he stepped into view, replacing Dylan in front of me. When I dared to look up at him, his gaze was hard, like I'd never seen it before. His jaw was set, his eyebrows arched into a frown, and his lips pursed in what looked like pure anger. I could tell by the slight glassy look in his narrowed eyes, and simply by his demeanour, that he, too, was rather drunk at this point.
"What was that?!" I snapped, unable to hide my growing frustration as I glared up at him.
"What was that?!" he returned, his tone equally harsh, and I almost scoffed. This was the first thing he'd even bothered saying to me since I'd seen him at the airport back in London, and he had chosen to cut off my conversation, and question me?
"What are you talking about?" I asked him, genuinely exasperated and confused by his interference. He was truly impossible to figure out.
"You can't be talking to random guys out here, Isabella. We're working," he raised his voice at me, and it didn't feel as if it was solely due to the volume of the music blaring around us. I wasn't sure if it was pure disbelief, or if it was the alcohol in my system that caused me to lean back momentarily, having to take a few seconds to process his words.
"Are you joking?" I shot back, my eyes widening. I turned around, dramatically pointing to Elin and Pauli, who had now both separated and were conversing with 'random' strangers of their own. This was now the third time in the past twenty-four hours that I could not even begin to fathom the audacity of him. I turned back to Harry, "You cannot be serious. We're in a bar, Harry. Not to mention that you of all people cannot be telling me what I shouldn't be doing."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he fired back, and I shook my head. I couldn't fathom what he was trying to do, or why he had insisted on interfering on my conversation with Dylan, but I was growing incredibly impatient with him now. He was so, incredibly, infuriatingly hard to read, and I couldn't stand it any longer.
I was sure I was slurring some of my words, but I didn't care. "I was having fun, Harry. He'd barely even said two words to me! What is your problem?"
He huffed, "I told you, Isabella-"
"No," I cut him off, pointing my finger at him, uninterested in hearing the same bullshit excuse that he'd just given me. "Don't you dare. You don't get to dictate what I do, here. I took this job, okay? You didn't want me to, and I did. You need to deal with it," I shouted, and if I was a little more sober, I would've been shocked by the firmness of my own words. But in that moment, fuelled only slightly by the alcohol in my system, I felt he needed to hear it.
Harry frowned, "Is that what this is about? You're trying to prove some kind of point by dancing with some guy?" What? What point would that possibly be? Why on earth was he so bothered by me speaking to a guy in a club?
"Not everything I do is about you," I snapped, furious. "I didn't take this job to sabotage you, or manipulate you, I didn't talk to that guy because of you, nor is anything I do, because of you," I grew more forceful for the final words of my sentence, watching him appear taken aback. I shook my head, taking another long sip of my drink and turning to walk away from him, seeking to create some distance. I was far too drunk to have this conversation with him right now, and I was only growing more and more frustrated. Was this really the extent of his ego?
"Don't walk away from me," he said firmly, now, and I turned back, my lips parting in shock, my eyes widening at his statement. He demanded, "Tell me why you've been so pissed off at me all day. What is this all about?"
"You're unbelievable," I scoffed. "Why have I been pissed off with you?" I repeated, "I don't know, Harry. Maybe if you hadn't treated me like shit back at Ally's office, and then, I find out that you're with somebody?" I spat out the final words, watching his expression turn to a puzzled one. "You didn't want me here because you didn't want Stella to find out what had happened between us. Admit it," I hissed, meeting his eye properly, now. I hated him and what he was doing to me. I hated that even now, with the blatant audacity and nerve of his words, I felt goosebumps on my skin, and a twist in my gut merely because of his eyes on me. I hated that I couldn't draw my eyes away from the detail of his face, the way his lips were parted in disbelief and anger at my words, slightly darker than usual, his features, though, somehow softened by the drink he'd consumed.
"Hey," a voice sounded from beside us, and I turned to follow it. Pauli, with a warm, drunken smile on his face. "I think we're all pretty much done, if you guys are ready to head out." Elin, Sarah, and Mitch were now all stood behind him; Mitch's eyes firmly on Harry, as if trying to urgently work out what was going on.
"Yeah, I'm ready to go," I said firmly, nodding at him. I dared to look back at Harry, who had yet to even look away from me, his eyes fixated on me with a look on his face that I couldn't quite figure it out. But in that moment, I had no desire to. He hadn't given me a response, and I figured I wasn't really going to get one.
Harry was silent as we all made our way out of the club, and his security swarmed around us once more. Elin watched me skeptically, as I tried to ease the tension I could feel in my muscles beginning to cloud the expression on my face, but again, she chose not to interrogate me, only laying a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it gently.
The cab ride back to the hotel was of equal silence. I wondered if it felt awkward to anybody else - it didn't appear to. I wasn't really sure what time it was, or how much everybody else had drank throughout the evening, but Sarah was asleep, nuzzled into Mitch's side, and Elin and Pauli didn't appear to be much more conscious than she was. Mitch, however, seemed to be staring at Harry, seeking to catch his eye, and I was again, forced to wonder how much he knew about what had gone on between us.
I stared out of the window for the entirety of the journey. I could feel Harry looking at me, but I didn't care. I felt like if I looked at him, I may explode with anger. My arms were folded to my chest, and I was sure my facial expression resembled thunder, but again, I just couldn't bring myself to care. I just wanted to go back to my room, now - every second spent in his presence caused me to grow more, and more irritated.
What a disastrous start to this tour. I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting - it was bound to blow up between Harry and I, but I hadn't expected it to be so soon, and in such a way. I didn't know what was supposed to happen, now. I hadn't even had my first night of working as his photographer, and it had already turned to this. How was I supposed to go about photographing him tomorrow, when I couldn't even bear to look at him, now?
We arrived back at the hotel, and we'd yet to exchange any conversation as we entered the lobby. Drunken hugs were exchanged throughout the group, everybody - except Harry and I to each other, of course - squeezing each other 'goodnight', but nobody appeared to notice, again. Everybody then made their way into elevators; Harry, Mitch, and Sarah in one, and Elin, Pauli and I in another.
I said a final goodbye to them both, as I separated from them onto the floor of my hotel room. I was still certainly feeling the effects of the alcohol, but my argument with Harry had undoubtedly sobered me up a little. I opened the door to my hotel room with a sigh, stepping inside, before I made my way over to my bed, and sat down on the edge of it, bringing my head into my hands.
I didn't understand him, at all. And even worse, I didn't understand what I was feeling about him. I wasn't sure what response I'd wanted from him, but I was still no better off than I had been this morning - I still had no answer for his behaviour, and I was still just as unable to read him as I had been this morning. He'd been relentless in staring at me all day - he'd also been relentless in ignoring me, just as I had, him, and his interference at the club had been my final straw. Why was he behaving this way? I wasn't sure I'd ever understand it.
Just as I went to reach for my phone, seeking to confide in Grace, who I hoped would just be waking up to start her day, at this point, a knock sounded on my door.
I looked up from my bag with a frown, craning my neck around. I stood up from my bed, moving toward the door, tentatively. Who could've been knocking at my door at this time of the night? Perhaps when I'd left the elevator, exchanging loud conversation with Elin and Pauli, we'd caused a disruption of sorts, and somebody was knocking on my door, seeking to complain, or berate me for doing such.
I pulled it open, and felt my heart plummet to the pit of my stomach again. The last person I would've expected, was him. He stood there, in front of me, looking annoyingly put together for having just spent a night out in Las Vegas, and it now breaching over the late hours of the night into the early hours of the morning. His hair, though slightly more dishevelled, was still sitting in an achingly perfect manner, stray strands falling over his forehead and effortlessly and perfectly as they always seemed to, and the alcohol was leading to a slight flush of his cheeks, but the colour of his eyes still seemed to shoot straight through me with the intensity behind them. I brought my lip between my teeth, forcing my composure and steadying my stance.
"Can I come in?"
I blew out a slow exhale, bringing my eyes to the floor. I pursed my lips, contemplating for a second. Yes, please, come in. But there was a part of me that wasn't sure if I could take it, if he did. I was upset with him; angry, and frustrated, but I still wanted him to be here. That was truly beginning to strike me.
I stepped aside, pinning the door to the wall to let him in. His body brushed past my own as he stepped into my room, and I could've almost winced at the contact, and the subsequent loss of it. That was the closest we'd been since we'd gotten here, and though it had only lasted a mere second, it had caused my breath to hitch in my throat.
I followed him back into my room, and he'd already taken it upon himself to take a seat on the edge of my bed. I was silently thankful I hadn't trashed it with my belongings just yet, and everything still remained neatly packed in my case, or organised upon the desk. I chewed on my lip, standing awkwardly a few metres in front of him.
"What do you want?" I asked, pressing my lips into a fine line and bringing my arms upwards to fold them against my chest.
Harry's eyes appeared to search my own for a moment, before he seemed to inhale and exhale, deeply, himself. "I'm sorry I shouted at you."
I raised an eyebrow, "That's what you're sorry for?"
"That, among other things," he said, quietly, his expression rather nervous as he peered up at me. He tapped his ring-clad fingers against his knee, and I followed the movement, watching how his nails, neatly painted with black polish, met the fabric of his jeans.
"If you're with Stella," I spoke sternly, "then you cheated on her, with me. You understand that, don't you?"
His eyes rose to meet mine, again, and he shook his head, solemnly. "I'm not with Stella, Iz."
I frowned, ignoring the lurch in my chest at his shortening of my name. "What?"
He stood up, taking a step towards me, "Is that what you wanted to hear? I didn't realise that's what's been bothering you," he said, gently, stopping with some considerable distance between us. He appeared to stop, in thought, for a moment, and I wondered what he was contemplating. Then, he took another step towards me. "Stella and I aren't anything. Not at all."
"Then.. what was that all about, at the airport?" I asked, simply, "she was all over you."
A small laugh left his lips, as he shook his head, looking away from me for a second. "She can be overbearing.."
"She was holding onto you like she might lose you," I said.
"Stella is in charge of my PR. She has been for about four years, or so, now," he said, watching my face carefully. Part of me wanted to crawl up and hide in my embarrassment, but the newer, trying-to-be-stronger, slightly fuelled by the alcohol still very much in my system, version of me, told me that I hadn't been completely out of line for assuming such a thing. His behaviour, in tandem with Stella's, painted a very particular picture.
"Is that all there is?" I asked, though I knew, now, that the fact they weren't together, meant this was none of my business. He didn't necessarily owe me an explanation for their relationship, now, because he hadn't done what I was accusing him off. He tilted his chin a little, seeming to be equally aware of that fact, as I was, but he still gave me the response.
"Her and I dated, back when we were both much younger. The year before she started working for me. We broke up after a few months."
"So why does she not seem to be aware of that fact?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
A small glint seemed to be present in his look. "She is, Isabella. But she's good at her job, and is quick to throw her toys out of the pram. If she wants to latch onto my arm every now and then, and it means she'll continue being as good as she is at her job, then so be it," he explained. I bit my lip, again, bringing my eyes to the floor. I couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed, but I still didn't regret ignoring of him all day. He hadn't exactly been trying to speak to me. "But she knows," he continued, ruling out any other suspicions I may have had, "she is fully aware that there is nothing there."
I couldn't help but feel a pang of relief in my chest at his words. To know that, in fact, I hadn't been somebody that he had hooked up with out of some weird level of spite, or as some odd action he'd taken despite his very much ongoing relationship, was certainly a relief. But it didn't explain why he'd wanted to distance himself from me in the way that he had.
I sighed, walking over to my bed, and taking a seat on it, crossing my legs over each other. I brought my hands over my face, as I felt the bed dip beside me, telling me that Harry had taken a seat of his own. I looked up.
"So, if there isn't some secret girlfriend you wanted to hide what had happened from.." I trailed off, looking at him, puzzled. "Why have you been behaving the way that you have? Why did you not want me to take this job? Why haven't you said a thing to me all day?"
He looked at me, his expression appearing to soften a little. I could tell he was still pretty drunk, as was I, but the solemn nature of our conversation appeared to centre him. He exhaled, deeply, appearing to bite on the inside of his lip as he seemed to contemplate an answer. "It's very complicated," he told me, his tone gentle, and I shook my head, unable to hide my annoyance.
"That's not an answer," I told him. I couldn't help but notice that, somehow, almost ironically, this was the calmest, and most amicable interaction we'd had since the night we'd met each other.
"I know," he returned, his eyes falling to scan over my face. I could feel my cheeks heating as they did so, but I hoped he wouldn't notice. Even despite wanting answers from him, the proximity of our bodies, only inches away as we were seated on my bed, was setting off fireworks in my mind. How? How did he have this effect on me? It was so foreign; so oddly intense. I stood up from my bed, seeking some relief from the heat I could feel arising on my skin.
"Is that really why you've been so upset with me, all day?" he asked me, now, reaching out to wrap his hand around my wrist, immediately setting my skin on fire. His touch was only gentle, but it held me, stationary, in front of him, and stopped me from creating the distance I desired, simply for the sake of my own composure, and for my own mind to stop its incessant racing. I found myself nodding, somehow so willing to give him his answer, despite him not giving me mine. I caught a tiny smile beginning to play on his lips, though it lacked humour, or real wit. "Were you jealous?"
Jealous? I felt a knot in my stomach at his question, and I suddenly felt entirely unsure of the answer. I wasn't sure how, or when, but his grip on me had manoeuvred me to stand far closer to him than I had intended, almost positioned between his legs, where he sat. My breath hitched in my throat.
"You don't get to ask me that," I shook my head, drawing my wrist back from his hand, relieved that he didn't stop me. I needed the distance; I needed my heart to stop practically thumping out of my chest. "Not after how you've treated me. It's not fair." And I meant it - I wanted so badly to be angry at him for how he'd behaved today, and most importantly, at Ally's office, but I couldn't fully commit to the emotion. With each twitch of his lips, and raise of his eyebrow, I forgot what I was even angry about. Nobody had ever had that effect on me - ever. And I wasn't sure if I liked it.
"I'm sorry, Isabella," he said, softly, peering up at me through the wisps of his eyelashes. I could've melted. "I am, really. I wish I knew what to tell you, but it's so much more complicated than you know," he mumbled. I pursed my lips, unable to even begin to contemplate what that meant, before his hand found my wrist again, but I didn't draw it back this time. God, he was so beautiful. Even now, even so late in the evening, his eyes glistening with intoxication, I was still captivated, completely and entirely, by the intensity of his gaze. The heat of his skin on mine was such a sensation, I was sure I'd remember it for as long as I lived. As I looked down on him, I could see every intricate detail of his face, the tiny freckle that marked the centre of his forehead; the mole adorning his chin, and the tiny specks of traceable freckles that marked spots along his jaw, or onto his cheekbones.
His hand, curled around my wrist, then rose upwards, bringing my hand to rest upon his face. I could've almost jumped as he placed it upon his cheek, but the alcohol in my system allowed me to keep it there, as he shifted his hand to hold it on my own, keeping my touch upon him. I realised, then, that it was that I'd been aching to do since I'd seen him again the other night. Subconsciously, it was this. The very first time I'd met Harry, it had progressed into the most intimate of interactions. I'd been able to touch him; to feel him, however I wanted, and it was the unspoken barrier that had been between us since meeting him again that had caused my body to feel so wrongly placed at all times.
His skin was warm beneath my touch, and my mind was practically screaming at me to remove it, the weight of his hand over my own stopped me from drawing back. His eyes fluttered closed, his chin tilted upwards as my tips of my fingers brushed against his hair. My heart was truly, unbelievably, racing - the sensation of his skin beneath my touch, his hair against my fingers, was something I'd been subconsciously yearning to experience again from the second I'd laid eyes on him.
"You're so pretty," he said, suddenly, breaking our silence and somehow echoing my thoughts, exactly. His eyes were burning into mine, watering slightly, a little less widely open than they typically were. I felt a pang in my chest at his words, and I wasn't sure if the compliment had come from the clouding of alcohol that we were both undoubtedly feeling. "Why do you have to be so pretty?" he almost whispered, and I wondered if he knew he'd even said it aloud. His hand fell from my own to allow him to bring it upwards to trace it along my jaw, before he caught my chin between his fingers. I was almost breathless, even at the softness of his minimal touches, but my body was so, incredibly drawn to him. I was yearning for him.
Just as every nerve in my body was on fire, my mind and my heart racing at equal speed, his eyes fell from mine to land upon my lips. I could feel my breath hitch in my throat. I knew this was a bad idea - I could feel it. Every part of me was telling me that this shouldn't happen; that this would only complicate things further, and that we should quit whilst we were ahead - create some distance, and make it easier on both of us.
But it was then, that he gently pulled my face to him, finally closing the distance between us, and pressing his lips against mine.