Trust » Harry Styles

nine: confess

Confess
verb;
admit that one has committed a crime or done something wrong

Harry and I stayed in a blissful state of happiness for the next two hours, still cuddled up with each other in my bed. Who would have thought, this stranger, could actually help me, if not a whole lot, but a tiny bit.

I know, though, that this feeling won’t last. I won’t be happy forever, and he certainly won’t want to stick around me once he realises that I’m far too gone beyond repair.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You just suddenly went, quiet…”

I didn’t say anything, he’s probably mad at me now for disrupting the mood. I didn’t mean to, I naturally just mess everything up.

“What’s on your mind, love?”

“Nothing.”

“What did I say, Porsche, don’t bottle everything up!”

I sighed and closed my eyes, focusing on the way his chest pressed ever so lightly against mine when he breathed in and out, and the way his thumb was moving across the skin on my bare arm, the heat that radiated off his body, and the feel of someone else being in such close proximity to me.

I felt calmness wash over me, which allowed the haunting conversation to commence again.

“I mess everything up – this, this right here, it won’t last forever. You’re going to leave, either I’ll push you away, or you’ll have left on your own free will.”

“No, I won’t. Why do you think that?”

“Because, it’s the truth.”

And it was, and still is the truth. Everyone I’ve ever known has left one way or another, and it cannot be stopped. I’m destined to either live alone with my own thoughts or to end my misery – which would have already been done if I weren’t stopped.

“It’s not; I’m not leaving. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

“That’s what everyone says, though. You all make your damn promises and then you break them.”

“What’s happened to you, Porsche.” He didn’t ask, it was more like a command – a soft, sweet command – to tell him.

“Three years ago, when I was seventeen, I killed my Mother and my twin brother, along with my boyfriend. I was driving, even though I shouldn’t have been… but I begged my Mother to let me drive, even though I was only learning at the time; I was too busy being excited to notice the oncoming car – it was too late, we were hit… and I, I killed them!”

“You didn’t – it wasn’t your fault, Porsche.”

“Everyone else seems to think so.”

“I don’t – it was a mistake, yes, but you did not kill them. I’m not going anywhere, either, I assure you, Porsche. I’m staying right here, with you; for as long as you want me.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and held me even tighter whilst I cried. I might as well use his comfort before he leaves; he says he won’t, but he will.