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XXIII - Tomlinson

XXIII -Tomlinson

It all felt like a dream.

The way my skin felt like it would combust at her gentle touch, the way it felt to have her tug at my hair, to have her nails rake down my back, her gasps, her moans, the way she held my gaze, the way she was too tired to stay awake after, it felt so unreal. But it was, it was as real as it could be.

And it felt even more unreal when she agreed to being my girlfriend. It was all in the whim of the moment when I lifted her and spun her around. I thought she was squealing in happiness until her scared voice sounded through the room, demanding me to put her down.

I was being stupid, and the guilt is eating me when I see her on her knees puking her guts out. I quickly kneel beside her; one hand rubbing her back and the other holding her hair back. I say there, continuing my actions trying to soothe the pain she must be feeling.

What the fuck is she doing to me?

The sound of her throwing up finally stops when she sits straight, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. Her eyes are glimmering with the thin sheen of tears and I end up feeling guiltier. I offer her a hand and we both stand up.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"'S alright." She shrugs, "it's not like you did it on purpose."

"You okay now?" I step closer, tucking a loose strand begin her ear.

"Yeah, 'm better." She smiles that gorgeous smile. I lean in to press a quick peck but she leans away with a disgusted frown, "Ew! Louis, I literally just threw up."

She nudges my chest pushing me away. I chuckle raising my hands in surrender, "I forgot." I reason, "I'll just leave you to it. Although if you want me to join you in the shower, you only need to say the word." I wink at her and I can see the tiny of pink on her cheeks when she pretentiously rolls her eyes at me. She may try to act like my words didn't effect her, but I know they did.

"If rather pass."

"Your loss." I tell her before walking out and into my room. I quickly find something to wear before walking over to the bed.

I lie on my back facing the ceiling with a wide grin that hasn't faltered for a second. She makes me feel like a fucking teenager, with that bubbling feeling inside of me.

I run my fingers through my hair before resting my head on my forearm letting the hazy feeling sink in. I could get used to this you know.

The past few weeks have been rather... eventful. My entire life made a three- sixty degree turn. From being promoted to meeting Rory and then finding out that I might be a father...

Holy shit! I'm gonna be a father. Somehow amongst all the Zayn-Rory drama I'd managed to disregard something of such grave intensity... I'm going to be a father.

And I still feel as blank as ever. Am I excited about it? I guess so. But I'm more nervous. I want to be a good father, I want my child to have the world at its feet. I can only hope I turn out half as good of a father as my dad was to me, or Max is to Rory. I know he's mad at her, but he's still one hell of an awesome dad.

I need to tone down the swearing for the sake if my child though.

My grumbling stomach is what leads me to the kitchen. I pour myself some muesli and milk in a bowl and grab a spoon and start munching on it whilst I sit on the couch when I hear her door open and shut. I flick mindlessly through the TV channels when her door opens again, and this time she walks out fully dressed in a pair of jeans and sweater but of course her hair is dripping wet.