Pretty Boy // H.S

9.

just a disclaimer: this chapter will involve a violent scene. if you've seen the film you can surmise what sort of thing may happen, but i just want to confirm i went in a different direction with it and didn't feel the need to include that type of content. it's still uncomfortable, but not in the same way. i hope that makes sense.

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Harry kissed me.

Harry kissed me and I kissed him back, and then we spent the rest of the night kissing each other until we were too tired to move our lips anymore.

He said he's falling in love with me. I think I might be falling in love with him. But there's a part of my brain, perhaps the rational side, that questions the validity of all of this. It's been less than a week. A few days with him in the wake of a broken engagement, only brought about because of a business arrangement. How can we be certain that this is real and not the product of spending too much time with each other?

Yet, he seems to know me better than anyone else in my life. No other person can read me as well as he seems to do, despite only knowing me for a short amount of time. We speak about things I'd never say to anyone; deep, personal secrets about love, loss, grief, happiness and loneliness. Stories that have been locked away my whole life and suddenly he has presented me with a key and wishes to reveal the contents. How did we reach this point?

Last night we kissed like our lives depended on it. Something we had been waiting for since we first met, now playing in my head over and over again. Despite the hours between our last, I can still feel his lips on mine, and can still taste them. Every movement of them has been tattooed onto my brain, my skin, my own lips. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forget it. I don't want to. Because never in my life have I felt that way. Nothing compares to the sheer adrenaline that coursed through my veins, while my heart rate rose so rapidly I worried I'd stop breathing.

Kissing Harry is like taking a drug for the first time, experiencing the unparalleled high, but never coming back down from it. The first time I kissed him I was addicted. I knew from that moment that no one would ever light me up the way he does. No one has the power to spark life into me like Harry. As we drew back, hesitancy in both our eyes, I knew then that I would do whatever it took to keep kissing him. Because my lips belong to him now.

In every touch I could feel his craving, his desire, his passion. Not for the sheer act of kissing or intimacy but entirely for me. He didn't kiss me with the intent of using our bodies as we have done this week. He kissed me because the pain of not doing so became unbearable. It was a pain that had been growing within me too.

And now I want to be kissed as many times as the ocean kisses the shore when the waves roll in. I want to be kissed as much as the sun kisses the clouds after days of rain. I want to be kissed like it's our first and last, every time.

Perhaps I found Harry for a reason. Perhaps he approached me in the bar because it was written in some divine plan. I wasn't even looking for another person, but somehow I found Harry. We could have known each other in another life and promised that we'd search until we found each other again. He could have lived in my subconscious without even realising, just waiting for the day to be seen. Something pulled us together that night, an invisible tie around us, and now we're here, wrapped up in each other and kissing as if it's the only thing we know how to do.

Our connection seems to touch the depths of my soul, reaching into the darkness and providing light to it. He understands my body, my mind, my heart. How did we get so lucky?

I woke up first, still reeling from the feeling of his lips on mine, planting small kisses over his skin until his eyes fluttered open and he smiled. A smile that forced one onto my face too. We just stared at each other for what felt like hours, his hand running up my side and mine playing with his hair. Then he kissed me. He kissed me slow, he kissed me fast, he kissed me soft, he kissed me hard. Again and again, like we hadn't done so before. And every time it felt like a new experience despite never being able to forget the last.