The Fence || h. s.

18 || Arrogant Son Of...?

A/N: Hi. Please don't kill me. I love you all.

"Hi, so, uh, this wasn't supposed to go down this way, but I know you're Harry. As in, Harry Styles." 

I adjust my weight awkwardly as I carefully consider my next words.

"We've kind of… already… met? Tonight? At Kendall's yacht? Well, 'met' is a strong word since it's more like you kept stalking me the entire night, while I temporarily forgot how to spell out my name." 

The voice coming out of my mouth sounds strangely unlike my own. It's almost hysteric, in a way. If anyone could see me now, they'd surely think me unhinged. And I wouldn't blame them. 

"Anyways, I know this is bloody awkward, so how about we just pretend like tonight never happened? Yeah, that's right, this is probably for the best." 

I press my head against the cool metal of some random Toyota on the street. The reflection staring back at me, right here from the side window of this car, is miserable. It's what I imagine a painted picture of fear to look like: one very frazzled, annoyed, and admittedly, slightly excited woman. 

"What the hell am I doing?" I mutter as I continue my slow descent down the Malibu street. There's a lot of mumbling and wild gesticulation involved, not to mention the finger pointing aimed at my only partner in conversation: the imaginary version of H. "And just to make it absolutely clear—I was so not flirting with you tonight!" 

Thank goodness it's four in the morning which means no unfortunate witnesses to my mental spiral. 

"This was all a misunderstanding, if I knew you were… well, you, I would have kept my distance-" My excuses are pathetic at this point. "Oh, who am I kidding. You're hot, I'd bang you in a heartbeat." 

There's a strong pounding headache in my skull and I rub my fingers against my forehead to ease some of the ache. The similarities to my current stance and that of my position last night are striking. Left hand trembling, right one clutching the edge of my dress in fright. Stomach in knots, constantly reminding myself that I can do this. 

However, there is one major difference. Last night, we were Cherry and H. Only that. Now it's no longer just us, but rather an odd foursome with 'Harry Styles: The Popstar' and 'The Former Actress Recently Turned Nude Model'... Yikes.

Needless to say, H has never given me a reason to think that he would treat me differently after learning my true identity. He's shown me nothing but kindness, showering me with genuine affection and promises of friendship despite our unconditional circumstances. 

But, being the stubborn woman that I am, it's impossible for me to stop questioning myself. Some people give this condition fancy names, like social anxiety disorder or scopophobia… I just call it the fear of judgement. 

Thing is, I'm not afraid of interacting with people, as I consider myself a relatively outgoing and confident person. What scares me the most is everything they have to say about me behind my back. Sadly, in the words of my therapist, this is all due to my messed-up upbringing. There's not been a single media-free day throughout my early teens—a fact that I have my parents to thank for. It was their genius idea to throw me into the spotlight at the age of seven, and even though I have managed to temporarily remove myself from this toxic situation, it's not like all my issues were magically solved with it. 

I'm still the same little girl buried under my own insecurities, and it shows. 

As I near the corner where the street intersects with a thin passage leading towards the beach, I slip off my sandals and continue walking down the grassy path. H and I had forgotten to set a meeting point the night before, so I assumed it's our usual spot rather than the front gate of his house.