oh, anna [-hs]

cherry

a/n OOOOOOF here we go team this one is really going to hurt.

also just fyi this chapter has a LOT of flashbacks, which is just the nature of how this story has to be told. bear with me and I apologize but also it's ART so appreciate it and let it do it's thing :)

love you xoxo

65.

HARRY'S POV

I wake up alone in the hotel room.

I don't remember falling asleep. I remember drinking, a lot, and crashing onto the bed. I remember staring at Cherry on her end table. I remember playing with the keychain, rubbing it between my fingers. And then I remember crying. Now I'm awake and I'm still alone.

I'm trying so hard to not watch the footage. I know it'll just make me more upset, and I can't keep punishing myself. 

The sun's high now, glaring down at me in bright white light. I give it a middle finger and press her pillow over my eyes. Big mistake, it still smells like her. Suffocated in cinnamon and regret, I start sobbing again.

Wes was right. He was right about everything in the end. He looked me in the eye on that fire escape, and he told me exactly what would happen. And it did.

I wonder if she's with him right now. I wonder who's comforting her for my mistakes. Him? Emma? Some oblivious stranger? Will their eyes scan innocently over all of her tattoos? Will they ask her what they mean? Will she throw them off of her and storm out of the room?

Emma never hurt her like this. She would've been much better off falling in love with her and not me. She knows it too. For a second she considered it.

I stare so hard at Cherry, I start to see double. My eyes burn, begging me to blink. Everything blurs in and out of focus. My heart wildly pounds.

I flip around on the bed and look out the window instead.

I see her in my imagination. In a daydreamed haze. She's sitting on the chair in the corner, her legs crossed over each other. Her chin is resting in her palm. She smiles at me, shaking her head back and forth.

"What are you doing," she whispers in my ear. I blink slowly, desperately trying to preserve the picture of her my brain has conjured.

"Anna." I haven't spoken out loud since she left last night. My voice is thin and dry.

"Have you been laying there all day?"

I blink and start to lose her. The edge of her frame smears, the image of her fades. I let my head fall back on the pillow, and I feel tears puddle in the corners of my eyes and slide down my cheeks.

"I'm yours."

I snap up, reach for Cherry, and violently flip open the viewfinder. My hand hits the library button so hard, I worry I just broke the camera.

It takes a second, but then the footage crackles and fuzzes with a crappy digital quality.

And there I am.

NYFW. A darkened, anonymous silhouette stands tall in the vision of the camera. It stares up at the model in wonder. And then it sways and walks out of the frame.

My heart stops. Maybe this was a bad idea. Before I can turn it off, the next clip is automatically playing.

The old apartment kitchen. Emma's figure bends over their stovetop.

"Is this good?" She fights a smile.

"Shhh, don't talk," Quinn's voice commands from behind the camera.