Golden

62

Lucy's POV

"How do you always manage to sneak out of bed without me ever noticing?"
I spun around on my small piano bench at the sound of his voice behind me, glancing up at Harry's nearly naked figure in the middle of the kitchen. He was watching me intently behind the island, crossing his arms over his bare chest before giving me a skeptical, yet not at all surprised, look.
I smirked. "I'm very stealthy." I winked and added, "And you're a very heavy sleeper."
Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head and allowing his messy curls to fall into his eyes before he ran his fingers through his hair and asked pointedly, "You, on the other hand, didn't sleep much at all, did you?"
I shrugged nonchalantly. "A little bit."
I blinked just as a sudden vision of John's hands wrapped around my throat tore through my mind so quickly that it made me sick to my stomach. I felt the blood drain from my face and Harry must have noticed because he walked over to me immediately, as if he were ready to catch me incase I collapsed.
I swallowed harshly, shoving another vivid mental image of John's closed fist slamming into my skull to the back of my mind. I tried to hide my shudder as Harry situated himself in front of me, studying my crumbling facade to figure out what I wasn't telling him, what I couldn't vocalize just yet, what I couldn't admit right now.
"Did you write something?" Harry asked instead of questioning me about what I was thinking, already knowing I wouldn't answer, and motioning towards the piano behind me.
"Oh. I...I mean...uh...I...um..."
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods yet?
Are we out of the woods?
I was flailing, fumbling my words as the melody I had been writing resounded over and over in my mind on an endless loop. I wondered how I should answer his seemingly simple question – even though it was obvious by now that I was most definitely working on new material.
"Sort of," I admitted, once again noncommittally.
Harry's mouth ticked upwards into a mischievous smirk. "I see."
I had once again woken up with Harry's voice echoing in my head. I was on the very edge of sleep this time, overcome with such a deep sense of exhaustion that I was barely clinging to consciousness when I heard his soothing tone whisper one question: "Are we out of the woods yet, Lucy?"
Even after a few nights of mulling over it, I still didn't have an answer.
Instead the question haunted me – repeating over and over until soon enough, I was fully awake with that same words resounding incessantly inside my brain until I couldn't think of anything else except that.
Last night, I caved and carefully pulled the covers off of me, mindful not to disturb Harry as I slid out of his warm arms and my feet landed on the hardwood beside my bed. I studied Harry's sleeping figure from above, noticing how his hair framed his face in a halo of unkempt curls and how his tattooed chest rose and fell softly in time with his steady breathing. I caught myself absentmindedly smiling as I studied him and didn't even realize I was holding my breath the entire time I watched him sleep.
I snapped out of my dreamlike daze and pulled my gaze from Harry before I made my way towards the hallway, my bare feet padding across the floorboards silently, like I was a ghost hovering above the surface, leaving no trace at all. I emerged into the living room and found myself seated at the piano bench before I could even register what I was doing.
"Are we out of the woods yet?" I whispered again just to myself as my fingers abruptly ignited with eager anticipation and electricity the moment I stretched them over the keys.
I closed my eyes and Harry's face was the only thing I could see, his voice was the only thing I could hear, his hands on my body were the only thing I could feel.
And with that one, whispered question in the middle of the night, I melted into my memories.

– Flashback –

Looking at it now
It all seems so simple
We were lying on your couch
I remember...

"What if..." He traced a delicate finger across the exposed skin on my stomach, his hands careful and purposeful, his touch light but still so desperate and full of yearning. Even though it was a particularly balmy evening in California, I still shivered at his gentle graze as he drawled on, "You never went back to New York and just stayed here with me forever instead?"
I let out a small laugh. "Don't tempt me..."
He pulled me into his chest, inhaling my hair that smelled like his shampoo and my skin that smelled like his soap. I had on his clothes that smelled like his laundry detergent and my body had been pressed against him for hours and hours and hours, so his own scent was all over me. Every inch of me was covered in him. And I wouldn't want it any other way.
"I mean it," his voice whispered with sincerity directly into my ear, his hot breath tickling my cheek. "You could stay here." He paused for a moment and clarified, "We could stay here."
I pressed my lips against his as my only reply.
My silence was my answer – a quiet refusal, but not because I didn't want to. But rather because I knew we couldn't. It was impossible.
"Lucy."
The way he said my name made my body ignite and my blood heat all at once. It was intoxicating. I never would get enough of it. Of him.
"Mmmm," I hummed lazily back, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and nestling deeper into the sofa cushions, growing groggier by the minute, entranced by his delicious warmth.
I was so comfortable with him, as if I was molded to fit perfectly in his form, made just for him to hold. The chaotic world around me seemed to quiet whenever he was near, like nothing else mattered, like all of my surroundings were secondary to his presence. I never knew how much I could enjoy the comforting quiet of true contentment before. I found myself silently cursing the fact that I couldn't offer him that back in return. I knew I would never be able to give him this kind of blissful peace.
"But why can't you just stay here with me?" He pouted again, running this thumb down the side of my bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps from where his touch lingered like a tattooed kiss on my skin.
"Life," I answered vaguely, my voice catching as I mumbled the singular word into his throat.
I didn't want to talk about how it was impossible for us to run away together. Not right now at least – not when our time was running out far too quickly anyway.
I was only here for a quick visit in between a run of upcoming shows in Europe and I wasn't even really supposed to be here to begin with. But I was already desperate for more of him, wanting to spend every second I could close to him before we were forced to separate.
So I lied.
I lied to everyone and said that I was visiting my sister for some well earned family time before we began a relentless touring schedule that wouldn't ease up until the new year. I told them all I needed to regroup before everything in my life rapidly switched into overdrive and things would never be as it was again.
But in actuality, it was him.
It had always been him.
It would always be him.
He countered plainly with, "Life can wait."
I exhaled deeply, my chest heavy. "If only it were really that simple..."
Without another word, he reached out his arm and swiftly grabbed his Polaroid camera off of the coffee table in front of us. It sat beside our two empty wine glasses and a drained bottle of wine (the second of the night) and other scattered photographs he had snapped from earlier in the evening, all in various stages of development.
"I have a European tour planned and you have a second album to finish, remember?" I reminded him as gently as I could.
I was being practical, logical, pragmatic. I couldn't allow myself to give into this kind of wild temptation.
And I knew deep down that it hurt too much to even consider what he was asking because I wanted it so badly.
But I knew that we couldn't get away with it. Wishful thinking would be the death of me if I started to believe even for one, single moment that we could stay hidden forever together. It was out of the question, a moot point, a silly thing to consider, no matter how briefly.
"I'd rather run away with you than do anything else in the entire world," he confessed in a whisper. His voice was light, but his point was gravely serious.
Before I could rebuttal with another sensible retort, he held the camera in the air and pulled me in even closer with his free hand, pressing his face against mine as I laughed loudly even before he instructed gleefully, "Smile!"
The flash exploded and I saw stars in my eyes for the countless time that night.