Tribulation [h.s]

31*

"I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real."

-

Harry Styles is bitter. In fact, he's like sour candy. Acidic, harsh, spicy, and brackish. He is certainly not sweet; he always leaves a stinging aftertaste.

That's why I'll never understand how he does it so well.

Sour is a peculiar taste I've come to learn. After getting a taste, I'm not so surprised to learn that it heavily affects the human body. Sour is hypothesized to cause the release of serotonin. When people hear about the hormone serotonin, they usually think of the happy chemical in the brain. Serotonin, however, can be found in several parts of the human body, such as the central nervous system on the tongue. 

The mood-regulating neurotransmitter — serotonin — is believed to enable us to perceive sour.

It's probably why he's so... addictive.

He's sour, he's mouth-watering, and I keep leaning in for more, more, and more.

I can feel the wetness between my legs when I shift a bit. It's so foreign feeling this way again — to feel desire and sexual attraction.

"I don't like touch either, y'know." He states out of the blue with a gun pressed to his head.

Eyebrows furrowed, I ask, "You don't?" His eyes never waver from mine.

"No, I don't."

And, somewhere in the depths of his green eyes, there seems to be a mutual understanding. An even ground we find. Every tense muscle in my body begins to loosen, and so does my finger on the trigger. "Then- then why do you want me?"

"Distraction."

Distraction. It's something I look for frequently. Distraction allows for small moments, small slots of forgetfulness, and something pretty close to happiness. That's why I took pills. They allowed me to feel something other than suffocation and loneliness. They allowed me to forget. There are plenty of ways to find distraction but distraction with touch? Why would he confide in sex for distraction if he genuinely hates touch, as he says?

I give him a strange look, but he remains unreadable. I never know what's brewing behind those daunting green eyes.

When someone touches me, and it's unwelcome, I feel dirty, unclean, and tainted. I've had panic attacks where I've washed and scrubbed my skin until it was irritated and blotching with red, trying desperately to wipe the memory of unwanted touch away. It never worked. In fact, it was painful and traumatizing.

It hurt.

So, why would he want me to touch him? Touch only brings pain, and that seems to be the only thing we've ever agreed on.

I almost get lost in his eyes when I realize it.

It's a painful distraction. Touch may be painful, but it's a distraction nonetheless. He uses women and deals with the pain of their wandering hands because maybe that pain is enough to distract him from whatever he's really running from.

Harry Styles loves pain, doesn't he?

"I hate you," I mumble, my eyes tracing down the slope of his nose to his pink lips. What is he doing to me?

Harry's hands find my hips, and slowly, he tugs me closer to him. My hand holding his gun begins to ease, and my composure wilts. He's touching me. He smirks, losing himself in the blue of my eyes. Then, his lips brush past mine.