The Way I Feel Inside | h.s.

2

Harry's eyes looked up above me, straight ahead of himself to try to see through the bush, toward the direction he came from before shoving us into this space. He was propped up on his hands which were each on the outsides of my shoulders, about an inch away from actually making contact. I took in the features that were visible, staring first at the top of his throat that was sticking out of the hoodie. Then my eyes danced up his jaw and back to his lips before looking up at his flared nostrils.

Looking up Harry Styles' nostrils helped me somewhat come back to reality, realizing it was a fucking weird thing to do. I darted my eyes away from his face and to the white lettering on his black hoodie. Gucci.

"Okay, I think I'm good." The deep accent murmured from above me.

My brain jolted back to the world of what-the-fuck-is-happening when he spoke to me. I looked up at him and had no idea what to say or do. I was frozen. His eyes had softened and he exhaled a short chuckle before examining our surroundings and appearing to sort out a way to get out of this entrapment of branches and dirt.

He pushed back to his knees and popped his head up from the bush, glancing around in all directions one more time before standing up, making sure his hood was secured up and around his head. He then bent down toward me and put his large hands out. I looked at them, covered in all the rings I'd seen on magazine covers over the last few years. I noticed the small black cross tattoo on his Hegu - the spot between his thumb and index finger.

"I know you're a bit shocked right now, but I would really like to help you up and make sure you're okay," he murmured. I looked up at him and felt my cheeks flush as I took his hands, pulling myself up with his assistance.

We stood in the flattened shrubbery, the untouched portions surrounding us at just under my waist level.

Being out in the open air helped remind me of a few of the important things, the first being to make sure I still had my purse across my shoulder and that nothing had fallen out. I released Harry's hands and brought both my hands to my chest where I found the thin purse strap, then sighed in relief that the zipper was shut and nothing had fallen out. Just past my feet I saw the pink pepper spray. I picked it up and put the keychain around my middle finger again.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

I looked up at him to see his eyes glancing from me to my keychain. "Pepper spray," I choked out, staring at my fiddling fingers.

He let out a light chuckle. "Well, thank you for not using that on me. That would have hurt."

I looked up at him and forced out a giggle that was just entirely too awkward. My cheeks flushed again. I felt like a fucking 13-year-old fan girl.

"Are you okay?" He glanced over my body with concern, and I took that time to give him a once-over, noticing he had on black pants that flared at the bottom, shiny black shoes poking out from underneath.

I eventually met his eyes again, seeing they now had a hint of amusement. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine," I cleared my throat, then ran my right hand through my hair, pulling out a twig and a few leaves with it. "Ah. Do I have stuff all over me?"

He smiled larger now, his dimple on his left cheek showing. Jesus. "I didn't want to make you feel self conscious, especially if you were hurt. But yeah. And I'm sorry for laughing... I've had a few drinks tonight and I'm somewhat of a lightweight. You look kinda funny."

His words relaxed me more, sounding so real and normal. I felt less embarrassed and let out a more genuine giggle. I tried to examine myself the best I could, busying myself with plucking twigs and leaves off me and brushing dirt off my dark blue jeans and black jacket. I picked a good night to wear clothes that wouldn't be ruined by an accidental run-in with one of my favorite artists. Kind of wishing I wore one of my more colorful ensembles, though.

As I brushed off the last of what I could of the dirt on my leg, Harry maneuvered his leg up and over the bush to get back onto the concrete of the quiet street. I followed his actions, struggling a bit more since he was a few inches taller than me with longer legs. He reached his left hand out to me, palm-up this time. I took it and hopped over with an awkward strained giggle, releasing his hand when I made it over.

Back on land and out of the small green mini-forest we were pushed into, I felt my senses slowly come back to me. My hands slightly trembled, but I clasped them together and took a deep breath, shaking my head toward the the side to push my long blond waves behind my right shoulder. I couldn't waste this opportunity that millions of people would probably shoot me to experience. I honestly wasn't actually even sure this was real still. What do I even do?

I looked up at him, hands clasped in front of my stomach and my weight set into my right hip.

"So, you're Harry Styles," I said matter-of-factly, hoping just saying it would help ease my nerves.

He laughed. "Yes. Hi, I'm Harry." He clasped his hands behind his back and gave me a nod that was teetering on the brink of a small bow. "What's your name?"

I couldn't help but smile at his introduction. "Beatrice."

"Beatrice, that's lovely. How do you spell that?"

I furrowed my brows at him, but went with it. "B-E-A-T-R-I-C-E."

He laughed again. "Beat rice." He pronounced it like so many of the annoying kids did when I was in middle school. They'd see it written out and think it was weird. I never took it seriously because I've always loved my name. But I did find it funny that this grown man was standing here making fun of me like a 12-year old.

"BEE-uh-triss actually," I corrected the pronunciation with an eye roll. "You can call me Bee though. Like the bug." I'm not sure why I felt the need to include that, as if we were going to be around each other long enough for him to call me a nickname. I'm guessing that was wishful thinking done by my subconscious. 

He certainly had a magnetism to him, casting me under his spell as soon as I looked at his eyes. So dark outside and his pupils enlarged from the lack of light, yet they sparkled. Something tells me he sparkles like that no matter what.

Still smiling, he said, "Bee like the bug. I like that. I'll call you Bee."

I stared at his dimple, and then the rest of his perfect face, again. The silence of the street filled my ears and I didn't quite care to add any noise to the moment. He was smiling at me and I wanted it to last forever.

"So, Bee, where are we going?" His question brought me out of the daze. It took a moment to process what he said.

We?