❝This is wrong Harry,❞ I pant as he rips off my top, exposing my bra. I soon give into him as his arms lock on my waist, lifting me onto the kitchen counter.
❝Be quiet baby, we dont want to wake Louis up.❞
//
Absolutely no translations or resposts...
A nice song to listen to while reading this chapter is Remedy by Adele. It suits the mood pretty well. :)
CHAPTER 36
Claire's point of view
The cold marble floor intensifies the loneliness I feel. I have not been able to sleep for the last few hours, so I've given up and decided to watch the sunrise, wanting to see the warm glow spread across the landscape from the living room.
Just when I thought I saw a way out of the mess that has been thrown at me for that last few weeks, I was proved wrong. I must have starred the marks for several minutes. When I realized that I couldn't bare to look at them anymore, I hurried out and I nearly went out the door. Again.
But I am done running.
I have to start facing what others do to me, and what I have done to others. I don't want to be weak anymore. I can't be this fragile person that cracks whenever met with adversity.
I can't stop thinking about how they got there, and who put them there. When they put them there. The purple prints made me nauseous, imagining Harry taking pleasure in someone else.
I guess I have no right to feel betrayed, or to be mad. I haven't wanted to admit it, but I did the same to him. In a way, what I did was worse. Because it was Niall, the one person Harry didn't trust with me.
I don't want to get ahead of myself. I don't even know what happened. But it is pretty self-explanatory.
I'm suddenly blinded by the glow, radiating through the window. I cover my eyes, curling up on the couch and hugging my legs. What I would give to go back in time...
I told Harry I still loved him, partly because I had to convince myself. I couldn't keep denying it. Ugh but now I'm right where I started, so fucking confused.
I walk back into the bedroom, sitting down beside Harry, watching him sleep. His eyelids flicker, and I wonder what he is dreaming about. He frowns, so I stroke his hair, traveling my hands down to his face, feeling the stubbles of his shadow on his jaw, to his chin. Sometimes I still can't believe he loves me, and that's why this hurts.
He loves me, in the cruelest way.
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I dump ice into the water, pop some Advil on the plate beside the sandwich, and I deliver it to Harry's room, who just started to wake up.
"Hey you, I made breakfast," I say. Well, it's technically lunch since it's 2 PM. He slicks back his messy hair, looking at me for a few seconds before realizing I'm actually here. It's likely that he doesn't remember anything from last night, but I act non-chalant. I hold the plate in front of him, but he pushes it away and gets up from bed in a flash. He stands tall before me, looking down at me, ignoring the pain of his hangover. He stares intensely into my eyes, and my breath hitches at the reminder of what it's like to be looked at by those beautiful green eyes.
