About (Harry Styles)

50.

Elaine's POV

"Harry," I call him. His distant gaze flicks to mine, almost as if he's forgotten that I was here with him the entire time. He looks as though he's seen a ghost, his complexion paler than normal.

He doesn't say anything, only shakes his head as if to erase a distant memory that's been playing through his eyes.

"Why did you leave me that night?" I ask again.

"I can't tell you just yet, but I promise you, I had good reason," he says more harshly.

"I really need to know, Harry. If you're not willing to be truthful, this will never work."

"It doesn't matter what the reason is anymore," he says, the intensity in his voice still apparent.

"Well, it matters to me." My voice is rising with irritation and frustration. In attempt to calm myself, I screw my eyes shut and inhale a deep breath. I don't need to get angry over this. I can be civil. I think.

"All that matters is that I came back," he speaks, more tenderly this time. When I open my eyes, he's closer to me than before. His sorrowful gaze burns onto mine, holding my attention in only one place - his own. "I came back because I realized what I did was wrong and stupid and stupid some more. I could have left a note. I could have left something. I could have left a voicemail. I should've done .. Something. But I didn't. And for that, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Elaine."

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

"That I only wanted sex. Because that's not true. I never wanted that. I never wanted 'just sex'. To be honest, I don't even know what I want when I'm with you. I was just mad that you left me and I thought you used me."

"I know it seems like it."

"You left me without anything," I remind him. But it only reminds me of the numbingly painful memory of waking up to find him gone, the other side of the bed empty and cold.

"I can literally feel the growing regret in his voice as each genuine word slips his mouth. His green eyes travel downward and his hand reaches for mine, my insides melting at his soft touch. His thumb brushes gingerly across my knuckles as he speaks. "I don't even understand why you're still here. But you are."

"The contract ...," I trail off, not wanting him to know that the contract isn't the sole reason why I have to be here.

"It's not even worth anything."

"What?" I ask, confused.

"You don't think I know your last name is Woods and not White."

I can't believe this. I can't believe him. He knew my last name all along. So what. Was the contract all a ploy?

"If you're here because of the contract, you can leave if you want." He frees my hand, and I feel that same emptiness creep in as each step brings him further away from me again. "And if you want to leave, I'll understand. I can have a private flight arranged for you if that's what you wish. I don't want to keep you here against your will."

Before we can utter another word, a slow, loud knock on the men's bathroom door interrupts us, attracting both of our attention. My eyes dart from the door to Harry who is still eyeing the locked door.

"Excuse me! Is someone in there?" A man's voice sounds from the other side.

Harry flashes me a worried look, and seizes my hand within a second. He looks for an escape frantically, his gaze dancing from wall to wall. His eyes widen in relief once he sees a window in view. It's just big enough for the average sized person to fit. The only problem - it's at the very top and only one of us will be able to make it out.