A/N: Hi! No warnings for this one, but it can get quite sad at times, so be wary of that. Make sure to read the letter in the previous chapter first if you haven't already (her letters are integral to the story, don't skip them!).
Shock ripples through my chest, cold as ice, filling every crevice of my body. I can't even begin to comprehend the significance of her words. It all feels surreal, so...unbelievable. An out of body experience, as though I'm experiencing someone else's life.
It just can't be true. How? How could he have pulled off having a whole secret relationship on the side? He was always with me. Always. Tied to my hip, inseparable.
A multitude of unanswered questions fill my mind—where, when, how, and most importantly, why?
Camille, she had introduced herself. A stunning French model, otherwise known as Harry's ex-girlfriend… or so I thought. Because why else would she be here right now, asking all those questions and acting like he had betrayed her, if they were truly over?
"I'm guessing you were just as clueless. Don't feel bad, he fooled us both." Her brows are furrowed in unbridled fury. She walks up to me, tilting her head in a way that's supposed to be comforting, yet seems patronising. I feel so small and insignificant next to her, like some poorly made dupe. Maybe that's what I've been all along—nothing but a cheap replacement.
"You two…" I pause, hesitating. It's so difficult to force this question out of my mouth. Even considering such a disgusting notion feels like a major betrayal of Harry's trust. But, I have to know or else I might go insane. I need answers. "Are you two still together?"
She scoffs humorlessly. No longer is she trying to hide her stone-cold expression, although her anger isn't aimed at me. "No. Turns out dumping him was the best decision I've ever made."
Her words lift a massive burden off my shoulders. Pressing a hand against my lower belly, I nearly keel over in relief. Whatever he'd done, I'm sure there must be some logical explanation. I refuse to believe that the Harry I know could be capable of such cruelty. "So," I begin in a slightly calmer tone, "if you're not together then–"
"Just because we broke up doesn't mean it was truly over," she scowls, and just like that, my stomach drops again. "He was practically on his knees, begging me to give him a chance to fix our issues, even though I told him that we are not going to work. Months of my life, wasted, only for him to go fuck another woman while I stupidly waited… God knows for what!" She shakes her head in disgust. "Figures. That's so like him. Il aime juste posséder de jolies choses." (French: He just loves owning pretty things.)
The wheels keep turning in my head as I try to make sense of the situation. "Je ne comprends pas. Vous vous êtes remis ensemble? Quand ça?" (French: I don't understand. So you got back together? When?)
"Open your eyes!" she exclaims, her patience finally snapping. "He basically kept me hostage, stringing us both along for months… Tried out his options before settling for the one that suited him best." She gives me a pointed look, indicating that I am the winner of the competition we unknowingly participated in. "If you think that's okay then go on, be my guest. Stay with him. Au moins jusqu'à ce qu'il commence sa tournée et se lasse aussi de toi." (French: At least until he starts touring and grows bored of you too.)
Her snide response snaps something in me. Suddenly, it dawns on me that this woman is a stranger. Why am I taking all her words as a given? She may as well be feeding me lies to cause a rift in our relationship. Stranger things have happened.
"You don't believe me," she observes. "Can't say that I blame you. It's hard to think that he could ever mess up, right? 'Cause he's just so perfect."
YOU ARE READING
The Fence || h. s.
Fanfiction"Cherry, is that you?" She loves late-night jogging, and his beach house happens to be on the way. Separated by a six feet tall fence, they both have no idea who the other is. Will their chance encounter grow into something bigger? Or was this biza...
