Bad Friend

16- Slip Away

"Why do you keep finding reasons to push me away?" Harry asked, his voice a mix of frustrated and hurt.

For the last ten minutes, we'd been arguing. Harry kept insisting he was in love with me and wanted to be with me, but I refused adamantly. He didn't love me, he couldn't. I was a bit of normalcy in his otherwise abnormal life. I was an opportunity for him to escape for a couple days, nothing more.

And that didn't even cover the fact that a relationship between us wouldn't work theoretically. He was rarely ever in one place, I was pretty sure most of his relationships were PR stunts, and I didn't think I could ever fit into the lifestyle he had outside of spending time with me. I just couldn't imagine a world in which we worked out, not right now, possibly not ever.

But anytime I tried to explain, Harry wouldn't listen. He insisted that none of that mattered, that I was just scared of ruining our friendship. And while that might have been true, it was more than that.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

I blinked, not expecting that question. "What?"

"It's a simple question, Gwen. Are you in love with me, yes or no?"

In all the back and forth, all the shared and hurt feelings, it occurred to me that I'd never said it back. I had never said "I love you" to him. Harry had said it at least a dozen times since he'd gotten here, but I hadn't uttered those three little words once. I felt that by not saying them, by not speaking those words into existence, I was protecting myself. It was my last line of defense against what I assumed was inevitable heartbreak, but now that Harry had asked me outright, I couldn't just lie to his face.

"I—Yes. I'm in love with you."

It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and that I'd been stripped bare at the same time. There was no hiding anymore. Not from my feelings and not from Harry. Not anymore.

Despite the tense atmosphere in my dorm, Harry smiled a little. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear that," he mumbled, almost like he couldn't help himself. He reached forward and took my face in his hands. His touch was so gentle and tender as his eyes scanned my face before he kissed me, and it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Anytime I was with someone, Harry included, it was always rushed—a hungry and lustful mess of lips and teeth that felt like it would leave my lips bruised the next morning.

This kiss was different. His touch was so soft and delicate to the point where it felt like he was barely touching me. I tried to move against him faster and more urgently, but he didn't match the pace I was trying to set, keeping the same languid gentleness that he had since he'd brought his lips down to mine. I finally relented to the softness of this kiss, bringing my hands up to gently run my hands through the soft stands of his hair and brush my thumb along the top of his cheekbone.

It felt more intimate than when we were naked together on my twin bed before we started fighting. It was sweet and loving and like he was trying to convey just how much he loved me with every brush of his lips against mine. I didn't even realize I'd started crying until Harry pulled away and brushed a tear from my cheek.

"If we love each other, then that should be enough. Can't we figure out the rest later?"

I shook my head, which felt weird since Harry's forehead was practically resting against mine. "No, it's not."

"Why not?" he huffed. "Gwen, I know it's scary, but we can make this work if you just—"

"How come I've never met any of your friends?"