Remember Me [harry styles] ✓

38 - Questions and milo

"The script was written and I could not change a thing, I want to rip it all to shreds and start again."

The last time Harry dropped me at the airport, the thought of having to say goodbye to him was as painful as actually having to do it. I remember my palms were slick against the leather interior as we'd both grasped for extra time together that we didn't have.

Now, sat as far away from one another as humanly possible — I've never felt more suffocated and more desperate to leave a vehicle in my entire life.

The car has been stationary for a good five minutes now, and generally silent apart from the sound of Elliot playing Candy Crush in the front passenger seat. I'm almost grateful that he's chosen to stay put. Perhaps his presence will prevent Harry from digging the hole he's landed himself in any deeper.

"Juni, please talk to me."

Perhaps not.

I turn to look at him, fingers tightly clutching the bag in my lap that's jam packed with goodies from Ayae — various hair product samples, a glitter embellished scrunchie and one of her many positive thoughts pin badges. We'd left the venue together after last night's saga, skipping the group Chinese and instead having heaps of chow mein and lemon chicken delivered to her hotel room. We'd not said a word about Harry, or her. 

"Juniper, please." He tries again, and my chest constricts at the sound of him not using my nickname. The nickname he gave me. "I don't want to leave things like this."

I can't seem to stop the humourless laugh that falls from my lips. "That's right, because it's all about what you want, isn't it?"

Harry balks and instantly pales. A part of me resents this overwhelming need to be cruel to him, but then equally, another part simply just resents Harry full stop. I want to lean across the cream interior and shake him. I want to yell in his face and sob against his tour hoodie, and I want him to get on his knees and grovel. But is there really any point any more?

Harry's right hand drifts across the car as if reaching for me, and I watch it wearily. Can I honestly say I'm happy with him touching me right now? As if sensing my unease, at the last second, he pulls back. "I'm so sorry." His words are barely audible. He sounds broken.

"So am I." I bite back, hot tears pooling and betraying my I-don't-give-a-fuck face. "I'm so sorry that I ever thought this was a good idea."

Elliot clears his throat and hurriedly exits the vehicle - the Candy Crush app still open on his phone - with the driver following his lead in hot pursuit. "Please don't say that." My best friend says breathlessly. "I messed up, Juni. I messed up and I will fix it. I will fix it."

"No, Harry." I shake my head; rattling the contents in my arms. "You messed up again. And I have absolutely no reason to trust you anymore." I feel my lower lip wobble and can't help but think of myself, standing out in the courtyard last night, declaring my love for Harry and him not reciprocating. The burning question on the tip of my tongue now is why don't you love me?

Harry's eyes widen and then suddenly he is clambering across the car so that he is sat right in front of me. He places both of his hands on my shoulders; curling his digits so tightly that his rings dig into my flesh. "What can I do?" He all but begs. "Tell me how I can make this better."

I've never understood this situation — in film, in books, in music and now in real life. In my real life. The guy does a bad thing, the guy gets caught out and the guy is then desperately sorry. Is he sorry because he's genuinely sorry, or is he sorry because he was found out? Is he really sorry? Would be be sorry if he'd never been busted?

Would Harry have ever told me about Camille?

Would he have carried on seeing her behind my back?

"I don't know." I reply honestly. I can't even look him in the eye. "The only thing I know right now is that I want to go home."

Harry drops his hands and they hit his jeans with a gentle thud. No one likes to see their best friend defeated — not when it's your job to pick them up again. But not this time, I just can't. It should be me falling to pieces in this car, not Harry, and so I can't find it within me to sympathise.

"Are we ever going to be ok again?" He whispers; eyebrows mashed together in a frown that, for the first time, I don't want to smooth.

"Again," I sigh. "I don't know."

Past the anger, disappointment and all-consuming pain — I know I want us to be "ok". I don't want to spend years without Harry in my life again. But nothing about this situation is ok and quite frankly, when not on home turf and without the comfort of Eve's advice and numerous gelato basins to drown my sorrows in, I haven't got a clue what to do about it.

"We've had thirty-eight days together, Juni. I've loved every single second and it's killing me that it's going to end like this. I can't let you leave without some sort of assurance that I haven't lost you for good."

Anger surges up inside me and burns my lips as if I've taken a sip of my Milo too soon. What right does he have to tell me whether I can or cannot leave the car?

I release my left hand's grip of the overstuffed bag in my lap and jab my index finger in his direction. "You had thirty-eight days to figure out what you wanted. You had thirty-eight days to tell me about Camille and not cheat on her with me. The ball has been in your court this whole damn time, Harry, and what did you do with it? You led me into a false sense of security that this was something we both wanted. That we both could have. And then you threw it back in my face and humiliated me. Quite honestly, I thought I meant more to you than that, and I can't decide if I'm more disappointed at you for being a totally shit bloke, or at myself for not just giving up on you these past eight years. It certainly would have saved us both from the inconvenience."

I'm almost out of breath by the time I've finished ranting. Harry just blinks at me from where's he's sat — half in the middle seat and half in his own. Apparently I've rendered him speechless and quite honestly, it's about bloody time too. I'm pretty sure there's nothing left to say and so I reach for the door handle, but ring-clad digits clamp down on my knee.

"Juni, wait!" He all but yells, and I whirl around to face him. His eyes are bloodshot and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he's close to tears. "Just please tell me if we are ever going to be ok again? Please."

I pull my knee away from his grasp and open the car door. "Put it this way, Harry," I tell him as I'm already climbing out and onto the hot tarmac of LAX. "I will always love you, but as of right now, I can't tell you when or even if I'm ever going to like you again."

And with one quick slam, I've shut the door before he even has a chance to form a response. 

author's note: Genuinely cannot believe we are at chapter thirty-eight already!