Trust [h.s.]

XVI

For obvious reasons, Harry and I did not speak for two days following Zayn's visit.

That was one aspect of my relationship with Harry that I never truly understood; how the two of us could reside under the same roof, yet somehow manage to avoid each other completely. If one of us were to enter a room, the other would leave, if one person was eating in the kitchen, the other would wait until they were done before entering. It was an unspoken dynamic that worked surprisingly well, and those two agonizing days passed at a horribly slow pace in the same horrifically slow fashion.

The strange thing was, Harry didn't even know the specific reason as to why we weren't speaking, yet he seemed utterly unfazed by our lack of communication. This both hurt and confused me. After Harry's declaration of indifference towards me, I'd tried my hardest to repress the feelings of longing toward him that bubbled up inside me whenever he was near. I tried not to think of the short period of time in which things felt right between us; when we shared stolen kisses and secret cuddles; a time when we told each other things that most people from the outside world were never informed of. I was not exactly sure what the names were for the feelings I had for Harry, but I knew that they prevalent and they were real.

On the third day, as I sat on the living room sofa crunching on my morning cereal, Harry strolled casually into the room, plopping down beside me.

"What are we watching?" He asked, motioning his head toward the television mounted to the wall before us, oblivious to my blatant surprise. I kept my eyes glued to the screen, failing miserably at my attempt to ignore the way his cologne radiated off of him and invaded every one of my senses.

"Some cooking show." I shrugged.

We were silent for a few moments, the only sounds echoing throughout the room were that of the male chef on the television screen, describing in vivid detail how exactly to whip an egg.

Harry fumbled with his hands beside me.

I was angry with him. I was angry at the fact that he thought he could relocate me, I was angry that he tried to make a decision as such without my input, and I was angry that after everything, he still thought I was just a child. He was confusing and infuriating and downright maddening, but he endlessly fascinated me, and held an incredible magnetism that continued to pull me back in. I was stuck in an awkward median of hating Harry and wanting him. So often would I flip back and forth between the two; the extremities so dissimilar that my indecisive mind was giving me whiplash.

"Ellie," Harry spoke, drawing me from my own thoughts. "I..." He put his hand to the nape of his neck, rubbing the area awkwardly. "Look, 'm sorry."

I turned to face him.

"You were right. I shouldn't have even thought of relocation without asking you first."

"You shouldn't have." I agreed, trying my best to sound indifferent, trying so sound unfazed by his apology. But the truth was, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get his words to Zayn out of my head; they pounded against my skull like hammer to a nail "She's just a child".

"You're mad." Harry said aloud, observing me intently.

"No I'm fine." I shook my head.

"Is it because of me?"

"No Harry, really, I'm fine, just forget about it."

He sighed, rubbing his large hands over his face in frustration.

"Ellie," He sighed. "I'm trying my best here, but if you don't tell me what I did wrong, then I can't apologize for it."

"It's not what you did, Harry," I snapped venomously. "It's what you said." With that, I stormed off, stomping up to my room like an impetuous child-the child that Harry saw me as.

~*~

There was a knock at my bedroom door later that evening.

I mumbled a "come in", and in walked Harry, balancing a tray of food in one of his large hands.

"Hey," He greeted me upon entering. "I made you dinner." He set the tray down on the bedside table, the steam of the meal swirling above into the atmosphere around us, reminding my stomach just how hungry it was. "It's spaghetti and meatballs." Harry told me.

"Thank you." I said genuinely, both flattered and surprised that Harry would do such a nice thing for me.

We were silent as I began eating my meal, the TV playing idly in the background. Harry's kept his eyes cast down to his lap, fumbling with his fingers as I chewed my food.

"Harry," I sighed. "Look, I appreciate you doing this, but you don't have to pretend anymore."

He looked up, eyes meeting mine for the first time in minutes.

"Pretend." He echoed ponderously.

"Yeah, I mean, I know you don't like me...you don't even know me, so you don't have to act like we're friends just because I'm stuck here. You can go about your business and ignore me."

Harry stared at me long and hard, his eyes focusing in on my face as he studied it. He seemed perplexed. His brows furrowed and his green eyes squinted slightly, almost as though he were hoping to read my thoughts through my indifferent expression.

"Ellie, I..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say next. There was a series of seconds before he spoke again. "Then let me get to know you." He said earnestly.

"What?"

"You said I don't know you, but let me get to know you."

"Uh okay..." I paused. "How?"

"Well," Harry began, sliding towards me on my bed. "Let's start with the basics. What's your favorite color?"

"Green." I smiled. "What's yours?"

"Blue. Favorite food?"

I thought for a second. "Cinnamon rolls. And you?"

Harry shook his head. "Forget about me for a second, I want to learn about you. I'll answer these questions later."

"Okay." I fake-sighed, fighting off a smile.

"Right, where were we?" He paused, thinking for a moment. "Oh, yeah, food. Okay, favorite smell."

"What?" I laughed.

"Favorite smell." Harry explained seriously. "If you could smell one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?"

I was about to laugh at him, tell him he was ridiculous, but as I stared at his expression, I withdrew my mocking. He started at me earnestly, gazing intently at my features, utterly serious about his questions and my answers. It was then that I realized how Harry truly wanted to get to know me, and how willing I was to allow him.

"Fresh laundry." I said. "But not like out of them dryer-straight from the washing machine, when the detergent has seeped into everything."

Harry half-smiled at me. "Favorite flower?"

"Daisies."

"Favorite person. Like in the whole world, living or dead."

"My brother." I answered without hesitation. "He's the only person in this world who knows what I'm feeling by just looking at me."

"I'm sorry, Ellie." Harry said.

"It's alright." I said, shaking the bad thoughts from my head. "Your turn. Answer the questions."

"No way," Harry laughed. "You have to think of your own questions!"

"Fine," I groaned. "Okay...favorite fruit."

"Bananas." Harry said. "No wait, kiwis...no, actually, peaches..." He shook his head. "I can't decide."

I giggled. "Fine, favorite sweet?"

"Doughnuts." He answered quickly.

"Blondes or brunettes?"

"No preference."

"Cats or dogs?"

"Whales."

"Harry."

"Bison."

"Harry."

"Fine," He sighed. "Dogs."

"Sex or love?"

"Sex."

"Sex or money?"

"Sex."

I sighed. "Sex or power?"

"Sex."

"Harry," I rolled my eyes jokingly. "Is there anything more interesting to you than sex?"

"You." He said honestly. "You interest me more than sex."

"Really." I raised a brow. "Okay, me or sex?"

"What about sex with you?" Harry smirked.

I threw a pillow at him.

"Last question," I said with a smile. "If you could have one wish in the entire world, what would it be?"

Harry thought for a moment.

"I dunno." He shrugged.

Suddenly, from within the pocket of his incredibly tight jeans, Harry's phone began to ring. He slid it from beneath the fabric, and answered the call.

"Hello?" He spoke.

From the receiver, the caller's voice was loud and clear, booming from the other end as though their speech was amplified.

"Harry my boy, it's Volkov. Why don't you come open your door and let me in, I'd like to have a little chat."