A chance encounter will teach two individuals, who exist worlds apart, more about themselves than they bargained for.
To the world, Harry has everything - fame, money, and any woman of his choice. But his dazzling smile and irresistible charm hide...
How do you fix a bruised sense of pride, and a scratched (if not broken) heart? A hot bath, a glass of wine (or three), and a tear-jerking chick flick. Not necessarily in that order.
While I was running my bath, and nursing a massive headache from all the stupid tears, my phone had started to ding with incoming text messages. I saw a couple from Harry, which I quickly deleted without reading. I then blocked his number. I wondered briefly if that was a rash decision, fueled by anger rather than common sense or logic. But I knew that if I gave him access, he'd charm his way back into my good graces. He had shown his true colors, and the worst part of the whole thing was how it had made me doubt myself, and my ability to see people for who they really are. The only text I answered was from Patrick, who was simply wondering why I had left in such a hurry. I replied with some excuse about being tired, and told him to have a fun night. I quickly called my mother to make sure Emily was ok. She must have sensed something in my tone, for she said, "I know you were planning to come get her tomorrow morning, but how bout I keep Emily another night? Give you some alone time!" While I missed Emily, I couldn't deny that an extra day to wallow in self-pity actually sounded really good. Then I shut my phone off and tossed it on my dresser.
After an hour of soaking in the water and enjoying a glass of the aforementioned wine, I reluctantly drag myself out. I pull on comfy leggings, a slouchy, off-the-shoulder sweater, and fuzzy socks. I throw my hair up into a messy knot and carry out my nightly skincare regimen. After brushing my teeth, I find myself staring at my reflection in the mirror. I gaze at my curves (some of them in the right place, some of them not) with an overly critical eye. Not wanting to spiral back down into a well of self-loathing, I focus my eyes on my face. My hand automatically goes to my neck, my fingers lazily stroking the scar just below my right ear. Nope. No time for that tonight. I hurriedly finish up, and then head to the living room to pick out a sufficiently soppy movie.
Grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, I'm about to plant myself on the couch when I hear someone knocking at my door. Fully prepared to tell whoever it is to fuck off, I call out "who is it?" The response robs me of the air in my lungs.
"It's Harry"
Harry's POV
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"I'm a Mess" - Ed Sheeran
I stand outside of her door for a long time, willing it to just open of its own accord. I'm a wanker that needs to set this right, but I'm also terrified, of what I could lose. Niall is right, she is what I need. How can this happen when I've only known her a week? I feel like I chased after that elevator for a reason that day. Like my body was already attuned to what would heal it, and sought it out by any means necessary.
Sod it. I raise my fist and knock three times. There's no response at first, but then I hear her soft voice call out, "Who is it?" Now or never. I clear my throat noisily, "It's Harry." There's a pause, long enough for me to wonder if she just walked away and left me here. But then I hear the sound of the deadbolt being pulled back, and the door opens. Natalie stands in the doorway, deliberately blocking my entrance. Ouch. My eyes find their way to her face. There's the briefest glimpse of vulnerability, and my breath catches in my throat...but as quickly as it appears, it's replaced by a mask of forced indifference. Shit. Steeling myself, I take a brief "guy" moment to appreciate the view. Leggings hugging her curves, topped off by a soft blue jumper, falling off one shoulder to reveal creamy skin and a lacy bra strap. Perfect. I want to fall to my knees and grovel at her feet, then pull her into my arms and never let go. The thought alone forces my hands to subtly reach out to her. I snap them back when the ugly voice in my head viciously whispers, "you don't deserve her Harry." My time to gather my thoughts is up however, when she speaks.
