Matilda | Harry Styles

THIRTY-FIVE

"I have something for you."

I lifted my head from where it had been tilted towards my laptop. I was sitting on the bed in our hotel room, focused on editing the photos from last night's show. Each one seemed to be even more magical than the next; my heart thumping the moment I laid my eyes on the first few photos I'd taken in the rain. It felt like such an honour, everyday, to be entrusted with the responsibility of capturing these moments in Harry's life, and career.

I'd have been lying to say my focus on my work, then, was unwavering. I was fixated on last night, from start to finish; how every moment had been so incredibly blissful, and how my withholding had the ability to ruin it. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about the question he'd asked me, and everything it was undoubtedly laced with; at this rate, I wasn't sure he even remembered it. But it was playing in my head on a torturous loop, as I tried to figure out what the actual answer was. 

Last night had felt like the first time in a long time that I'd been close to tears.

Not being able to give him an answer had pushed me to feel so lost. That, in combination with the multiple close run-ins with conversations about my past, as of late, made me feel like I'd lost control.

I didn't cry - ever. I wasn't sure anybody had ever seen me cry. For as long as I could remember - dating back to when I was a young child; I was sure I hadn't cried in front of anybody after the age of eleven or twelve, because at that point, I'd simply grown numb to it all. Before, I'd be hysterical; I would shake, cry - whether it was in genuine pain or hurt, or in fear - and I'd lose control of my breathing. I'd learned that the reaction to me doing that in front of my parents was a terrifying one; and so, I'd learned to stop myself from crying at the moments I wanted to the most. I'd learned to save it for later, when I was alone, and when I was safe in my own company. But every time I would cry, it was never brief, or a relieving kind of feeling - it would be all-encompassing, and it would be crippling. I'd feel my whole body aching to give in; I'd feel pathetic, and powerless, and I hated that feeling. It reached a point, then, where I didn't even cry when I was alone. And in the times that I'd come close to doing so again, I'd find a way to cut it off immediately. The contact with my mother, recently, had been the only other thing to almost push me to that point, again, but even then - I hadn't let it happen.

It didn't help - it didn't make things easier, and I was tired. It had only spiralled from when I was younger, and I think I'd begun to fear that if I allowed myself to cry again, I'd never be able to pull myself together. I hadn't even cried the day that my father had died. Even then; even though I'd known it was coming, and even though I knew he'd been gone in a matter of weeks, months, leading up to it - I couldn't bring myself to cry, at all. I'd simply stared at him - stared at my mother, at my sister, looking for the right thing to do, and finding nothing resembling an answer.

I needed to be in control of myself - if I refused to let myself harbour those emotions, I couldn't let them control me. Crying had never gotten me anywhere.

I felt like that was, perhaps, why yesterday had shaken me so much. There were a number of reasons, but, seeing Harry cry; seeing everybody else cry in a way that they were open to sharing with one another - it threw me. It was unfamiliar, and it was uncomfortable. It was a reminder of everything I couldn't do, and everything that I couldn't relate to. Part of me ached to be in a place where I could feel, so freely - but a larger part sought to avoid everything that came with it.

I felt so guilty. That was a place I never thought I'd find myself in; to feel guilty for protecting myself against somebody else, because that was all I'd ever promised myself. I would never let somebody know me, and I would never let somebody hurt me, again. I was breaking every rule I'd set to be with Harry - I let him break down so many barriers, just in how he touched me, just in how we spent every moment together, and how we talked. I adored him so much that it hurt, and it was terrifying. It was terrifying that I felt so bad, because I'd never felt that way before - I felt like he ought to know more; like there were parts of me aching to share these hidden parts of myself with him. In every aspect, he'd never been anything but caring, and understanding, but I just couldn't take the leap. He masked it well, but I'd receive glimpses that told me my distance hurt him. I didn't know what to do.