The Beacon [h.s]

43

Harry Styles

Was it wrong that I craved the warmth currently surrounding me? The feeling of my skin being heated by the waves of it extruding from the body snuggled up against my chest, creating a type of comfort I never knew I wanted.

It's most definitely wrong and I shouldn't be doing this, I know that. My brain shouldn't be seeing this as a good thing, I hate her and yet I find myself scooting closer to her in bed.

If it was wrong, then why the fuck did it feel so damn good?

With my eyes closed and my consciousness half awake, I take in the feeling of Nyla's body cuddled with my own. I've definitely never thought I'd enjoy this, let alone think about enjoying her and being this close to her, physically I mean.

It got me wondering why I liked this so much and when the fuck Nyla became a comfort to me instead of someone I hated.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I tried repeating that in my head in attempt to remind myself of my true feelings, but one fucking question kept barraging to the front of my mind: Do I?

I try to rid of that thought as it makes my heart start racing at an abnormal speed for this early in the morning. I don't want to open my eyes, given that it's still somewhat dark in the room I know isn't my own, otherwise I'd feel the chill that'd run down my spine every time I woke up to my carved wall. But I feel better sleeping here, next to Nyla, it's comforting.

There's a hint of an orange glow I could see through my closed eyelids, revealing the early start of the day. When my mind wanders, I somehow connect the orangish glow to Nyla as I remember her first name being Sol. I wanted to ask her about that, if being named by the sun was intentional or a weird coincidence. I found my lips turning up in a small smile at the thought of Nyla being my own personal—

My thoughts were interrupted by Nyla shifting in bed. I froze, keeping my eyes still closed. I always hated the awkward feeling we'd get every time we woke up in the same bed, which wasn't many.

Given my consciousness now being fully awake, I begin to process what the fuck I'm doing right now. Maybe if I'd convince myself that I'm doing no wrong, then everything will sit right in my head. It's not like I'm fully cuddling her, plus her hands aren't even wrapped around me, they're tucked into her chest like usual. But then I realize the soft material of a shirt that isn't mine under my hand, and notice how my hand is gently clasped around Nyla's shoulder, unintentionally keeping her close to me.

I should not be here.

With my reality in check, I peel my eyes open to luckily see Nyla's eyes still closed, though a stressed crease lies between her furrowed eyebrows. I wince slightly when I know she looks uncomfortable while sleeping given the bruising on her neck that looks so painful.

That's what makes me slowly take my hand off her shoulder and peel back the comforter from my body. I'm hit with cool air assaulting the warmth I once was engulfed in. Without a sound, I shift on her bed and throw my legs over the edge until I'm standing. With as quiet as possible steps, I'm moving towards the bedroom door, and I've almost got my hand on the knob but Nyla's voice stops me.

I hear her abruptly throw herself off the bed and I barely get to turn around with wide eyes before she's yelling, "Move!" And shoving me away. She swings open the door and runs out to the hallway in a matter of seconds, leaving me alone in her room utterly confused.

I hesitate for a minute but the sounds of her puking make my feet start working again and move me out to the hall. I'm standing in front of the bathroom, the door wide open giving me a clear view of Nyla resting her elbows against the toilet seat. She flushes the toilet and sluggishly sits back against the cabinets under the sink.