The Me You Can't See (H.S)

25

TW: Mentions of abuse

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Haven POV:

I was left confused, wondering how so much could have gone wrong between the kiss we shared in front of the elevator and the parking lot. What in that small window of time could have flipped everything on its side. 

He left without so much as a goodbye and ever since it's been weighing on my mind. Granted it's only been a couple of days, but we went from spending the night with each other, kissing on the floor and throwing paint at one another to complete and utter silence. 

I in fact did not see him at work that day. 

I woke up today like any other. The bags under my eyes just as prominent as the day before and the day before that. I went through the motions of my routine like usual and somehow I still felt off. 

It may be Harry and how he left things or it could be the weather. Unlike every other day since I arrived in London, today the sky looked grey. Like it was about to rain and the possibility of what that could turn into makes my bones chatter and my skin burn. 

I tried my best to push that thought to the back of my mind and I did for the most part, but regardless the thought still lingered behind. 

He told me he wanted me and now looking back I can't help but wonder if he meant something different. It's fucking annoying how quickly things changed. It's been days and I refuse to send him the first message, but I won't pine after him when he was the one to fuck it up in the first place. . . no matter how much I might want to. 

He didn't even talk to me. . . I mean for fucks sake I don't even know if I did anything wrong. He got mad, threw a tantrum and ran away. 

And I hate that I still want him. 

Our time together hasn't been long but somehow it feels like it was. I know you must be thinking I'm tripping the fuck out on a guy I've known for only a couple months, but it's sad to say that he knows more about me than anyone besides Zayn. 

It's not even the kissing or any physical aspect I miss most. It's his presence, how his sight alone makes my skin tingle and wondering what he'll say next that keeps me guessing and wanting for more. It's him in his entirety that makes me wake up excited to see what comes with the day. It's a novelty to me, waking up in hopes of the good things that may happen instead of constantly dwelling on the bad. The bad that only comes with the possibility of my past becoming my present and future. 

I didn't make friends back in Australia or any other places I lived after faking my death. I didn't want to. . .call it self-preservation or whatnot but I tried my hardest to keep people at arm's length. They never knew where I lived, where I was born, my real age, let alone about Salah or Leo. 

I tried and succeeded at shutting people out. It's no shock that I became somewhat attached to the first people I've actually opened up to in years. 

He made me feel different. . . heard, made me feel as if he wanted to listen with no ill intent. I didn't have to wonder if he would go and spread rumours about me. I didn't have to wonder if my safety and security would be compromised at his hands. 

Walking home from the restaurant it started to rain as I suspected. I quite enjoy the rain to be honest, it's when it turns into a storm that my nerves and fears seem to get the best of me. 

There have been a handful of times where rain had turned into something more since I left and each time feels like the first. I tend to drink my thoughts away, but I've learned that it does more harm than good at the end of the day and by then it's too late.