Fat // Harry Styles

chapter six

chapter six

JUSTIN AND I had another fight last night. They seemed to be occurring more often, and that's saying a lot considering we had one nearly every day. Now I could hardly wake up in the morning without fearing shouting, and didn't ever sleep at night without being paranoid of his hands. They were always in fists now, always raised higher than they should be.

He told me last night it was my fault he was so angry. My fault he couldn't live in peace. He didn't need to tell me such things--I already knew. He never liked to be in public with me for too long. He didn't want others to see him with such an embarrassment, a disappointment. I understood. I understood saddeningly well.

I almost didn't go to the lunch I told Harry I'd attend, but with a little concealer and a reassurance that I had to play my part, I went. He needed to believe he wouldn't win to make the game easier. The object of the game was simple: avoid humiliation. Play the player and soon you'll be crowned the victor. He would give up when he realized he couldn't win. There would be no other reason for him to pursue his mission.

He called me last night to tell me where to meet and what time. He also wanted to make sure I was still going. After a quick confirmation, I had to hang up because Justin had gotten home and the pounding of his footsteps on the floor was enough evidence that he was angry. I didn't want to push him any further.

Harry's car pulled into the parking lot of the cafe moments after I parked. He got out, sunglasses perched on his nose then raked a hand through his hair. He licked his lips and he appeared mad. Did he finally understand that I wouldn't let him win?

Hesitantly, I climbed out of my own car and into his line of sight. He offered a smile but it was off, distant than it usually was. It was fake, but a different kind of fake. He was trying to fool me into thinking he was happy as opposed to making me think he cared about me. He was much better acting with the latter. Now, his mood was clear as day.

He opened the door to the cafe for me, and I stayed quiet until the hostess took us to a table for two in the middle of the room. It wasn't very full. It had just struck noon. It filled in quickly, however, and people milled all around us soon enough.

Harry was chewing the inside of his cheek, scanning the menu. It was unlike him to not start conversation.

"You seem cheerful today," I murmured with sarcasm.

He sighed. "Sorry. Was it that obvious?"

"As obvious as fire is hot."

He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. There was an odd look in his eyes, one I hadn't seen on him before. He sat up again and toyed with a ring on his middle finger. It seemed to be an heirloom of sorts. To answer my assumptions, he said, "My grandfather gave me this ring when I was twelve on his deathbed. He said if I lost it, he'd come back to haunt me." He smiled but there was no authenticity in it.

"He sounds like he was a great person," I teased.

"He was, to a certain degree. He was always pretty pessimistic and very possessive of things. It was a shock he even trusted me with it."

I stared at him a moment before tilting my head. "Is this a whole spiel to conclude you're trustworthy?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about my life to you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "You don't have to trust me to have a conversation."

I hated to admit to myself that I felt a little ridiculous. He was merely making conversation and I had just been persuaded that he was simply manipulating me. Opening up to someone is a great way to get them to trust you, but also a very stupid one. You give them leverage, which is why he practically knows nothing about me.