A Shot of Reality [Harry Styles]

XXVI. Revelation

New York City, New York

Times Square

12:01 A.M, Marriott Marquis Hotel

S

I made a revelation in the hotel shower at 12:01 A.M, as I washed the sin and grim off my body. Honestly, after almost two months you would think I'd be gone of him. It was practically revolting how I still felt his hands pinching and folding every inch of flesh covering my body, how every time I would drink a bottle of water I would mistake it as his saliva aching on my tongue or even how I could still feel him stiff inside of me.

The bus driver had dropped the boys and I off at the back entrance of the hotel a few hours before; due to the fact that our hotel was right smack dab in the middle of Times Square which hundreds of screaming girls already lined up for any chance to see the boys outside of a concert hall. The boys initially wanted to the havoc ridden entrance, but their tour managing team deemed it "too dangerous," since the boys had multiple TV appearances the next day and they wanted them to "keep up their pristine looks." Squeezing a dime size of the hotel's lilac and soy shampoo onto my red palm, I massaged the amount into my hair and eventually onto my skin as my original soap bar melted into the drain from it's over usage.

There were no sounds of a T.V blaring or conversation chiming from the rest of the room, the one I coincidentally shared with Harry. It was almost as if no one was here besides me, although I wouldn't have been surprised if he had gone out to party and drink with the rest of the lads. Although I hate to even think of its occurrence, I had treated Harry like the dirt on the bottom of my shoe the whole time I was here; smacking myself for the fact on his own tour.

The horrible thing was that this wasn't the revelation that I made in this hotel shower at 12:01 A.M; while I was doing it, I knew I sounded and acted cold, heartless and dare I say, bitchy. Frankly I just didn't care, for my own selfish agenda and attitude was very fresh and very present in my consciousness.

I felt a certain evil infest my skin and course through my bloodstream as I yelled, screamed and cussed at him, even more so when I saw his face morph from its naturally calm, cool and collected state to one of exhaustion, sorrow and depression from my own doing, and I savored it. Maybe the green evil inside of me was John, or maybe it was me. Either way, I was indefinitely wrong and as I felt the words I said to him come back to me, my fists started to rap on the tile of the shower and I wept for my

"I don't have to tell you anything, considering you do the same."

"Come on, Harry!"

"And mostly, I'm done with 'this.'"

The part that hit me the worse was that I remembered feeling this way in the same setting months before; déjà vu in its worst form. Only the first time, it was someone else's fault. I had no control, no voice and no say. But this time, it was my own. John had raped me and that it was plain and humanely wrong, but it was my responsibility after to decide how I would handle myself. Now, I had the control, the voice and the say I so desperately wanted and needed that early summer night and yet I blatantly abused it. I didn't only abuse my power though. I also abused the boy, the man; who loved me to the ends of the earth and the one I would and will love, until my heart quits beating and my eyes sleep for eternity. And even then, I'm not quite sure if I would stop.

Throughout my self-pitiful pounding and sobbing on the floor of the shower, I had found the revelation:

I was not done with Harry; not now, not tomorrow and not forever.