Sweet | h.s.

eighteen

Beverly

I lay in the dark, scrolling through tons of unread texts. Clicking on each one, reading the exclaims, but never responding.

Ummm am I crazy or are you on Twitter pictured with Harry Styles?

From my friend Claire.

Hey, Beverly! How have you been? I think I just saw pictures of you and Harry Styles?

From a girl I used to know in college. 

WTF BEVERLY. HARRY STYLES?

From Penelope.

People I haven't talked to since high school were reaching out like we were so close. Is this what "fame" is like? Is this what Harry deals with every day?

My thumb hovers over the blue icon and I contemplate if this is even a good idea. I already came across some not so nice tweets earlier, and I couldn't even imagine what worse things they could say about me. They didn't even know me, yet they passed judgment so casually. 

I could also tell that Harry was concerned about it all. He constantly brought it up, checking in on me and making sure I was okay. I didn't want to worry him about this. None of it was his fault at all. But his expressions stayed bothered all night long. I sigh, giving into temptation and my thumb hits the Twitter icon. 

I click on the picture that was taken of us. There were a few, all very similar. I stared at myself. My brown hair was slightly messy, blowing backwards with the wind. My face pointed downward, trying not to be seen by the cameras. Obviously that failed. I scrutinized my posture, my side profile, the way the flash made me look; everything about it. Then, there was Harry.

Perfect fluffy hair, tall, handsome. 

I felt low. Self-conscious. I hated it. 

Ugh, can he stop dating models? A tweet reads.

I frown. I'm not even a model. I scroll some more. An article this time, written by a smaller news source.

Who is Beverly Gold? All about Harry Styles's mystery woman!

The article talks about my involvement with Capture, and my involvement within the fashion industry. I was shocked at how easily accessible information was; especially when I was no where near famous or even slightly known. 

Texts continue to roll in, from Mel trying to check up on me, from other friends in our inner circle, from co-workers. But only a text from Harry is enough to pull me away from the internet.

How are you doing? H.

I smile at the H he signs at the end of every initial text he sends me. It calms me down slightly.

I'm fine, you?

Doing alright. Had a great night.

Instantly, flashbacks of our kiss began to play in my head, the thought giving me butterflies. The way his mouth always seemed to taste like spearmint, the suppleness of his lips. The way his kisses on my neck sent chills down my entire body. It drove me crazy. The subtle smell of his expensive cologne made me weak every time the scent hit my nose. 

Even his voice; deep and sultry, accented and raspy made me fall for him even harder. Everything about this man was attractive. 

Me too. 

I text back.

I think back about what he said to me, that he was going to take me on a "real date." I would've been perfectly fine accepting that as a first date. But thinking back, our first date would've been dinner at his house, then. I thought it was sweet he wanted to do something more for me, but I really didn't need anything more. Being with him was perfect.