Savior

The Boy on the Balcony

He's like cheating on a diet: the temptation to taste the forbidden fruit much too strong to resist, so you give in. And the giving in feels good –oh, so good- like stuffing your face with a chocolate cupcake after weeks of kale smoothies.

And it's delicious and mouth-watering and you swear that you see God himself and you never want to stop eating that chocolate cupcake because it felt so good while doing it.

But, the feeling after –that guilt, that overwhelming disappointment in yourself for succumbing to your desires and your weakness... that's... that's the part that has you binging on kale. That's the part that has you quitting the chocolate cupcake cold turkey.

But, no matter what you do – no matter how hard you try to erase your lapse of judgment from your memory, you still have the taste of chocolate on your tongue.

And it will never, ever go away.

Harry is that chocolate cupcake.

"I've been calling your cell all morning, Monkey. I thought we were meeting for lunch?"

As soon as that voice rounds the corner to the kitchen, I swivel in my spot to face the cupboards, my palms leaning against the counter to keep me upright despite my shaking knees.

I close my eyes and take deep, even breaths in order to calm down –to appear normal- despite my flushed skin. Despite my heart beating like a drum in my chest and my stomach doing flips. Despite the goosebumps that pepper my skin and the fire licking through my veins.

All because of that damned cupcake.

And despite his girlfriend standing a few feet from me all I can think about is those plump lips tracing my breast and that warm tongue lapping and sucking up the chocolate on my throat and those emerald eyes darkened with lust and his breath on my lips and-

"Oh, Layla! I didn't see you there. What are you guys doing up so early?"

That same blissfully ignorant voice has me turning to face chestnut eyes and matching hair and a mega-watt smile and I suddenly feel sick.

Sick because Harry is looking at his feet and his lips are a slightly darker shade of pink than usual and Jaime almost caught us doing something we should have never been doing –never have even thought of doing.

Because of her and forget and Him. Because it's just not right and would never and will never go anywhere, but we keep doing it anyway and that raging fire of lust is replaced by a slow burn of rage.

A few weeks ago he kissed me and he has a girlfriend.

Today he was kissing my skin and he has a girlfriend.

And I'm the other woman. I'm the homewrecker.

Oh god, I need to get out of here.

"We were... I was... we were baking. I was teaching him how to bake – baking a cake... A cake for his mom. For his mom's birthday." I stutter out like an imbecile, suddenly feeling like I am the one intruding here –that I need to leave because I don't belong here.

Harry finally lifts his head up and I can see him trying to catch my eye, to express something through them, but I busy myself with grabbing my cooking supplies as he watches on, the air heavy with sin.

"Your mum's birthday?" Jaime turns to him with furrowed brows, "I didn't know about that. Will I be able to meet her then?"

And she is looking at him like he is the best thing to ever walk this planet and her manicured nails are tracing his bicep and now I actually do feel physically sick because she is so obviously in love with him and I can't blame her.