Chapter 99

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In this house of broken hearts
We make our love out of stacks of cards
And, yes, we tried, to hold on tight
'Cause we knew our love was hard to find 

- Niall Horan, Paper Houses

. . . .

Violet's POV

When I finally wake up the next morning, the first thing I notice is the absence of a body on Harry's side of the bed. His shoes are still present by the door when I check, and the light's off in the bathroom with the door wide open. His side of the bed is cold, and his pillows are left plush and without a dent from the pressure of a head resting on them.

The room is dark with the curtains drawn shut, and even the carpet feels icy against my feet as I step out of bed. Lilly's asleep in her bed when I look in, but then I spot Harry spread out on the couch when I walk out to the living room. A blanket is laid out over his lengthy body, a book is spread open in his hand, and he turns the page a few seconds after I step into the room.

He sees me out of his peripherals and a tiny smile pushes up his cheeks, but his dimples don't show through. Then he says, "Come lay with me."

My strides are slow to make it to his sprawled-out body, as my mind and motor movements haven't exactly caught up to their full capacity yet. I rest my head against his chest, the blanket sprawled over my body. He drops his book onto the coffee table then bends his arm behind his head.

"What are you reading?"

"The Great Gatsby."

"You've never read it before?" I say. I try to lift the mood of the last couple of hours by continuing, but we both know not much is going to make me feel better. "And you call yourself an English teacher."

"I have read it," he says with a replica of the shrunken grin from earlier. "I read it when I was fifteen or sixteen for a class, and I wanted to reread it. I like books and movies from that time period."

He leans forward to grab the remote to turn the volume of the tv down, then relaxes back into the cushion. His hands are still stroking my back calmingly, and every now and then he'll glance down at me and smile.

"Did you sleep in the bed last night?"

"No," he sighs. "I couldn't go to sleep. I did some laundry, got some dishes done, and reorganized one of my bookshelves."

"Did you sleep at all?" I ask him in shock. His eyes are quite droopy, and it almost seems like he's dozing off.

"I couldn't even keep my eyes closed."

"It was about last night, wasn't it?"

He sighs and stares up at the ceiling, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows before responding. "Yeah. I couldn't sleep when I knew that they were saying awful things about you. It was revolting."

"I just want to get on my phone without having a message pop up about our relationship."

"Do you want me to delete them for you?" He asks me, and I nod slowly. He reaches over into the drawer on the end table and pulls out my phone. "How about I say the name and if you want me to delete the conversation, then I'll do so."

"Okay."

He starts calling out names that are both familiar and unfamiliar. I have my head resting on the left side of his chest, but he refuses to let me see the screen. He gets through text messages and moves on to Twitter. He's reading off names left and right, but then he stops. His face goes blank and his thumb is slowly scrolling.

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