Secrets [H.S.]

37.

Harry Styles 

I didn't sleep in the guest room last night. 

I sat outside our bedroom door all night. I listened as she cried for what felt like hours and it broke my heart and I wanted so bad to go in there, tell her I was so fucking sorry, tell her that we would figure this out together. I didn't though. I stayed where I was. 

I woke up this morning still on the floor in front of or room. My neck hurts so bad from sleeping on the hardwood floor, but I don't care. I stand from the floor, grabbing hold of the door and twisting the knob so I can get to the bathroom. 

I enter the room silently, not wanting to disturb her. I walk as quietly as possible to my bathroom and brush my teeth. When I'm finished I head back into the room. I stop at the edge of the bed. I walk up next to her, peering down at her. Her eyes are closed peacefully , but I can see how puffy they are from crying. I lean down, moving her hair and tucking it behind her ear. I press my lips to her temple, letting them linger a little longer. 

"I'm gonna go back you breakfast, come down when you're ready." I whisper to her. I know she's not asleep, even though she's pretending to. I can tell by her breathing. She held her breath when I touched her before forgetting she's pretending to sleep and needs to breath. I press another kiss before standing up straight and heading for the door. 

"French toast, please." I hear her soft voice. A small smile graces my face before I'm stepping out of the room and heading down the stairs for the kitchen. 

I spend the entire time cooking in silence. I'm trying to come up with what to say to her. I know I need to explain to her everything. I hate seeing her hurt and I hate being a contributor to her pain. The last thing I want is to see her in pain. It wrecks me entirely. All I want for her is to feel anything but pain and suffering. I need to figure out how to fix this. I know it will take a while and I don't care how long it takes as long as I can fix this hurt for her. 

Just as I'm setting her food on her plate, I hear her feet pad down the stairs before she's appearing in the kitchen seconds later. 

"Thank you." She whispers, grabbing her plate and pulling it in front of her as she takes a seat in the barstool at the island. Nodding, I turn towards the sink to begin cleaning up. I'm not hungry enough to eat myself, either that or I'm too nervous to even think about having food for myself. 

I let her eat in silence as I was the dishes and clean the counter. Once I'm finished I turn around leaning against the sink, my hands bracing the countertop on either side of me. Her plate is pushed in front of her and she just stares at me. 

I grab her plate and wash it quickly before turning back around to face her, "can I talk to you?" I ask, treading lightly, not sure if she's willing to hear me out just yet. I watch as she chews on her bottom lip, contemplating what she wants to do before she nods. I move to sit next to her. I sit so I'm facing her, but she stays facing forward. 

I tell her everything. Absolutely everything I know. I don't leave anything out. I'm done keeping secrets from her. I should've sat down with Emiliano when things got serious between us. I should have told him that it wasn't fair and I didn't feel comfortable keeping this from her. I should have but I didn't. I didn't do that because it wasn't my story to tell. It wasn't my mother, it wasn't my wife. It had nothing to do with me, but I still hurt her because I knew. 

"It wasn't my place to say anything. I know that's not an excuse, but it wasn't up to me to tell you. I'm sorry, so sorry that I contributed to your pain, that I lied to you and kept this from you. I apologize and you can be mad at me. I don't blame you, but I need you to know how deeply sorry I am." When she doesn't speak I continue.