Lonely Nights // H.S

16.

'What's past is past'

*

"You look nice."

My eyes meet Harry's in the reflection. He stands tall, some boots on his feet that add some height, while I meet his shoulders. In the mirror, we almost look normal. The kind of people you'd see in photos on Instagram, smiling and happy, holding hands and stealing kisses. If we walked down the street, no one would second guess the pairing, because we look like we're together.

This morning, we had sex again, and in the shower we couldn't keep our hands off of each other. It felt natural and honest and like exhaling after holding our breaths for too long. His hands on my body like they were meant to touch those parts of me. Places I can't bear to look at sometimes, places I wish no one else would look at either, but then his hands find them and they're gentle and I can't imagine not giving them the attention they deserve.

It's quite strange how easily it's happened. How one day we were talking and the next we were kissing. Yesterday, I spent the morning panicking over what we would say or do or feel, but now it all feels so perfectly normal that I can't see why I ever worried in the first place. When you're younger, you often have moments like that. When you're about to get your ears pierced, or go on a rollercoaster, or take a driving lesson. Things that terrify you at first, but once it's over your feet touch the ground and your body is still there, and for once you feel at ease.

The more time I spend with Harry, the more I resonate with this. The feeling of freedom, of letting go, of finally settling after wondering when you might find a place to call home.

It's not lost on me that this is all a façade, something we've created for ourselves to hide the shame and guilt we're feeling. And there's lots of that too. Even in the night I woke in a fright, realising who's bed I was in and how wrong this all was. Harry was already awake, grappling with the same anxieties. We spoke for a while after that.

He told me that he's never done something like this before, that he'd never even wanted to. I told him I never thought someone would want that with me, anyway. It turned into a discussion about insecurities surrounding relationships, Harry often scared that he'll say the wrong thing or make a simple mistake before someone runs off, while I find myself convinced that no one would look my way to begin with, because I'm never the first choice, only a steppingstone.

He said he felt bad about this. I said he shouldn't. But he insisted, and I understood, because in truth I agree. It's the same scenario, I think. He is set to marry another woman, and I am just someone that watches from afar. He kisses me when he wants, touches me when he feels like it, fucks me when the time is right, but Prue is always waiting. He'll always have Prue. After this, I'll return home, and I'll be alone. I won't have someone to just call or text when I want company. I can't turn up at his door and kiss him when another woman already has that privilege.

I found myself crying when I told him this. A lot of tears that had been building up for a while but had only come out in brief intervals. When someone asks you if you're okay, even if you're clearly not, that question seems to set off the alarms and suddenly everything inside of you crashes and you can't hold it in any longer. A few stray tears turn into a slow stream that leads into a river and a lake and an ocean. You could fill a whole dam, really. Drown a city. That's what it feels like when I get overwhelmed in these situations. When I lay in bed and judge myself for everything I've done, everything I feel, everything I've been told about myself by people I assumed cared about me.

In that moment, Harry asked what I wanted, and I couldn't answer. Of course, I want him. I want his good days and bad days, the quiet in between and the chaotic ends. I want to wake up to his kind face every morning and feel the warmth of his body. I want to kiss him freely. I want to hold his hand as we walk down the street, and go out for dinner, and spend Sundays on the sofa while we watch shitty films. But I would also have him in any scenario. Whether we're committed to each other, or pursuing something in secret, I don't care anymore. I just want Harry.