Harry Styles Imagines

Two Ghosts.

I'm just trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.

My phone is ringing for what feels like the thousandth time today, I exasperatedly sigh before answering, "Hello."

"Hey, um, it's um Harry." I didn't look at the caller ID, so many people reaching out today; designers, publishers, managers. My book was coming out and I needed to finish some last minute changes before sending it off to be printed.

"Oh, hello. Nice to hear from you, lad." I try to sound casual, but I am worried he can hear my heart pounding through the speaker. He is silent for so long, I think he's hung up. "Uh, hello? Harry? Are you there?"

"Yes. So sorry. I just wanted to let you know you left a page of your book here last weekend when you were getting the rest of your things. I figured it was important since finishing day is tomorrow." I slap myself mentally for forgetting such a crucial piece to my already convoluted puzzle.

"Oh gosh, I'm such a nutter. Thank you, Harry. I'll be round in a bit. Just need to grab my keys." We finish the conversation with awkward 'goodbyes'.

I wonder what page I left. For goodness sake, I hope it wasn't anything about him. My book was about my life story.
I had a blog a few years back. It was private, but Harry caught me writing once and demanded I make it public. A publisher wanted to share my poetry and short stories in a collective book not long after. It was a difficult decision, considering I was already under so much scrutiny dating the Harry Styles from the biggest boyband in the world. I was worried people would think I was leeching off of him; people can be condescending and make their own judgments, so no matter what I did I was going to be given hatred and threatening messages.

The book is so personal, so much of me is dissolved in these pages.

•

"Hey, so sorry. I had a call with the publishing company." I don't even look at him before walking into our once shared space. "Oh gosh, I just barged in. I'm such an idiot." I palm my face, shocked at my own stupidity. I still don't look at Harry. I take my shoes off and lay my purse down on the couch, something I got in the habit of whilst living together. When I do look at him, I can tell he's been crying. "Are you alright, sweet?" I cringe at the nickname I once called him.

"Did you mean what you wrote?" I freeze.

"You weren't supposed to read that?" I defend.

"And why not, you left it in my house, remember?"

"But they aren't your words to read, Harry. Those are mine. My personal stories. My heartache. Not yours!"

"It'll be public in literally three weeks! You didn't expect me to read it?" I pause before reciprocating his horrid remark.

"I didn't expect you to want to support my work, no." I answer honestly and he takes it as a blow rather than a genuine answer.

"I'm that much of a dick to you? You think I'm that much of a worthless asshole, that I wouldn't read your book?" I nod, too ashamed to open my mouth. "I know I sound crazy and I can hear the manipulative people mocking me for my inability to get a clue that he just didn't love me and used me, but they can all leave, because love is different for some people. To me, love is sacred. Love is kind. Love isn't manipulative and it sure isn't using someone for what's between their legs. I'm far more deserving of love. I deserve to be loved for what's between my ears and what's beating underneath my skin. So, this is it. This is the love that I got. This is the love that I no longer want to hold. I'm letting you go." He reads my page out word for word and I've never wanted to rip something to shreds more.