Chiller (harry styles)

21: Wicked Lovely

Sweet thoughts and even sweeter dreaminess fill my head as he holds me, and I know I'm going to get yelled at for not being home on time, but I don't want to be. I wish to lie in his arms for as long as I possibly can, to hold and be held by the one I do not trust so much as I am curiously affectionate towards. It all ends far too soon, like the strike of brilliant lightning in a terrible storm, and when he leans away it feels like my air for breathing has been torn hastily from my body and is sworn to stay with him. I cannot find myself, the working lungs within me have collapsed, and I am hungry for more of everything he has to give. Oh, how he pulls my strings, lights my broken fires, and pushes my soul. It's madness, sadness, and, oh, it is a beautiful disaster. But I never wish it to stop destroying, to rein in its carriage from the road of mystery and passion, for that would be the torturous madness of a crying heart, one of the many blank desires within souls I do not possess.

I have got to stay away from this boy. Some way, some how, because my reason is as evaporated as clouds in the night sky when I am with him: Wishing, but wholly nonexistent.

Harry looks over at where the crumpled body lays still and grins wickedly. His smile is terrifying at once, like the wicked lovely mind of a devious angel.

"He's not going anywhere anytime soon. Not like he actually expected to walk away from it when he taunted me like that. Speaking of going places, you wanna ride to TCO with me?" He asks me, his eyes curious.

I frown, not knowing what that is and not being sure if I really want to know.

"TCO?" I question.

"Yeah." He says quietly.

He bites his lip and begins to rub my arms up and down. I shiver at the touch. How can he make me feel so funny, so strangely wonderful, this way, with just a single and simple touch? Well, simple for him. My parents hardly ever held hands in front of me. This is a fine line I've been crossing with him, and my morals and father would not approve.

Harry caresses my hand when he reaches it, and I think my heart stops. His fingers touch each of mine, dangling my dainty hand as if it is a true treasure, a delicate piece of gold. I watch him with a concentrated intensity and a dry mouth, because I cannot find it in myself to look away. And I don't wish to, either, for the sight of him and the feel of his hand touching mine is making my heart beat quicker and my desire grow stronger. I had no idea I was even capable of desire until I met him. No one had ever attracted me, ever been witty or sexy enough for me to stop and pay attention. I giggle despite my liquefying insides. It's best to incorporate some type of humor or meaning less thought when he is touching me this way, any way. Oh my gosh, he needs to stop. My stomach aches in a passionately good way, and I must try to ignore that.

"What makes you think I'd go anywhere with you?" I tease him.

Yeah, I like him. But behind my little joke is an intense truth. He scares me and the thought of being alone with him is a curiously freighting and exciting thing. I should know. I've experienced it. I want to experience it again.

Harry laughs, throwing his head back in pure bliss.

"Because I turn you on and scare the hell out of you at the same time, and you enjoy that. You've never met anybody like me, and I've never met anybody like you. We're total opposites and that is what attracts us to one another...Don't lie about it because I'm sure as hell not going to. We haven't known each other for long, and hell I wish I could stop thinking about you but I can't, and I know you can't, either. So why ignore that? Why not take that urge to be closer and closer and make some use out of it?" He remarks, not a shade embarressed or a hint of humor.

He's dead serious.

"I shouldn't, that's why. You and I are an impossible mixture." I tell him, taking a step closer when I should be taking a step back.