One Shots.

Rumors.

For Camila, enjoy :)

   ”Harry Styles seen with mystery blonde..”

  ”Is this the end for Hamila?”

   ”Seems like Harry’s moved on already!”

   It was just three weeks. 

   Three weeks, and he couldn’t handle his desires long enough? It was just three weeks I went to America, to go to some prestigious academy to take master classes with a world renowned artist, so my brush strokes and coloring and all that artsy stuff will be better. I honestly didn’t care for that now.

   Getting on the plane was hard, having to say goodbye to him, and my heart hurt as I thought of not being able to be in his arms, kiss him, and cuddle with him for twenty-one days, which at the time seemed like forever. He promised to wait for me and to contact as much as possible.

   Those three weeks flied by fast, though.

   Stepping off the plane, I more than wanted to touch Harry immediately - not my lip on his, but more my palm to his cheek. Real hard.

   I thought they were just rumors; fans creating stories to break us up.

   Tears burned in my eyes as I reminisced that night I found out. Was he really that stupid to believe I wouldn’t open up a web browser and not see his faceplastered on the front of Yahoo with the words ”HARRY STYLES OVER CAMILA, GIRLFRIEND OF A 7 MONTHS?”

Harry must’ve been. The fact that there was a giant picture of his lips attached to some other girl’s confirmed my thought that the rumors were true.

   Worst part was I was so immensely ecstatic. Just five more days.. were the words that kept replaying in my thoughts. That excitedness turned into dread, then into anger. He must’ve known I saw those articles of him showing more awful pictures of his body extremely close, this time to a different girl’s, at a club. Although the image was unclear and dark since it was taken quickly at some club, you could make out the distinct features of Harry’s undeniable face. The face that I wanted nothing more than to stare at, in real life. Skype chats and pictures didn’t do justice whatsoever. 

   So I did what I thought was best, and ignored him those last five days. He would not stop ringing, my iPhone blaring loudly a lot in the middle of the night. I knew he didn’t care about the time difference, only determined to hear his pleas that would’ve gone along the lines of “I was drunk! I wasn’t thinking clearly!” Eventually, I reminded myself to turn off the device before I slept. 

   I hated those days. I had too much time to think. I had too much time to doubt our relationship. I had too much time to check out what his fans tweeted me on the internet. Most of the usual haters pitied me, now. The classes were shorter as they gave us the last week to tour around this beautiful New York City. I didn’t though of course. 

   I hurt a lot, emotionally, although I felt it almost physically. My heart had wanted to burst and explode out of my chest. I should’ve let it, not wanting to bear the pain anymore. Was Harry too? Or was he too busy trying to think up of a good explanation to save our relationship? Most likely the second one, no doubt. He loved me as much as I did him, but sometimes I felt as if I did more. It was those times when he would just brush me off when I asked if he simply wanted to hang out and watch a movie, always saying he had a party to go to or he hadn’t been spending enough time with the boys, so he went to them instead.

   Snapping out of the past and looking up, I saw the familiar door of his flat as I shut off the engine. Inside, Harry was there doing who-knows-what. The recognizable Range Rover was parked outside. Sighing, I grabbed the stack of papers in my passenger’s seat before stepping out of my car, then locking it. I slowly stalked up the complex, taking my time up the stairs instead of the elevator, allowing myself time to think. It’s all I’ve been doing lately. Right before I reached his door, I summed up my thoughts. I knew what I was going to say Harry.