Sweet Tooth [HS]

FIFTY SIX

Six years later.

"Max?" 

She heard Harry before she saw him, his voice echoing through the flat, curious. Concerned. She listened to his footsteps as they got louder, the creak of the bedroom door as it opened. "Maxie? What-"

But then she turned over and he stopped talking. Because Max was crying. And to her, it felt like more than crying - more than just being sad over something - more than just wetness in her eyes. It was more. It was like something was coming out of her heart, up her throat and bleeding out of her eyes. Like her sadness was making her tremble like an earthquake; a force to re-set the tectonic plates inside her and pull her apart. 

Because Lexie hated her. Surely. 

The things she had said to her - the things Max had replied. 

She felt awful. Broken. 

Felt sick about how unkind she had been. Felt sick at the fact Lexie thought her and Harry were so doomed.

But most of all, she felt sick that there had been any kind of conversation. That Lexie and her were fighting; that they'd shared those looks and exchanged those words. 

To Max, this was a whole new type of heartbreak. One that was ripping open a hole in her body, a big black cavern that she was falling inside of.

She was hurting.

And Max felt utterly drained, now. Because she'd withstood so much - all this fucking stuff with Harry - and now this. It was like she could stand less and less, like her heart was getting weaker and weaker. She felt vulnerable. Felt exhausted.

"Maxie," Harry whispered, his face splitting open with worry. 

He moved closer, onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her. She hid herself in his chest, trying to burrow into his own heart like she could be safe there. Like it's steady thudding could give her strength.

"Baby," he said after a minute. "What's happened?"

But Max could not find the words because they were too painful. Why couldn't she have everything she wanted? She had Harry, finally, and now Lexie was gone. She couldn't take it. She couldn't take it at all.

"She hates me," Max whispered finally.

"Max, Lexie loves you. She won't-"

But Max shook her head. "No, Harry. I was so unkind. I got so mean. She hates me."

And the ache from her heart came up her throat and continued spilling out of her eyes. Harry stoked her hair, her back, squeezed her tight but it didn't help her. Max couldn't stop crying.

"She won't hate you forever, Maxie. It'll be OK." He sounded so sure, so stable. And Max wished she could anchor herself to it, to moor herself to his land because she felt like she was drowning.

So she tried to squeeze her eyes shut, to steady her breathing. After a few moments Harry moved back slightly, hooked a gentle finger below her chin to make her look at him.

"Oh, Max," he sighed, his eyes full of concern. 

Max shrugged, feeling so embarassed Harry was seeing her like this. Feeling even worse that her whole argument with Lexie was because of him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, blinking to try and stop her tears. 

"Don't be sorry, Maxie. It's not your fault," and then Harry frowned. It was like he winced, like some sort of pain flickered over his face. "It's mine, isn't it? She's angry about me?" 

Max opened and closed her mouth but no sound came out. Because yes. Yes, Lexie was upset about Harry. And as much as that hurt Max, she would never, could never give him up. 

So eventually Max nodded, whispered, "I don't care, Harry. I love you. I love you so much." 

And she stopped crying when she said this. Rested her two hands on his two cheeks and she leaned forward and she kissed him. "I don't care," she whispered between kisses, "I love you."

Harry's hands around her tightened. One twisted around her waist and the other behind her neck, and he used his body to roll on top of her, pinning her down on the mattress. All she could feel was his body, his smell, his softness. 

"Maxie," he breathed, pulling away finally. "Max, I love you. But..." he paused and looked away from her face. Max frowned, could not read his expression. "Max I feel so guilty. This is my fault. I'm the one who fucked up- I'm the one who can't be trusted-"

But put a finger over his lips to stop him. Brought a hand up to ghost over his forehead, down his cheek, tug on a curl beneath his ear. 

He stared at her. She stared at him. 

"Harry, stop it. I won't hear it," her voice was soft but her words were hard. She meant them. Would not have him thinking like this - talking like this. 

Yes, this fight with Lexie was hurting her. But losing Harry over it would kill her. 

She could not thinking about things like that. Even the thought, even the thought of the thought struck her somewhere deep in her gut. Like a slow, corrosive wound that would kill her slowly. 

So no. 

No. 

That was not something she was prepared to think about. 

"Listen to me, Harry. Nothing is more important to me than you. Nothing. I love you. Lexie thinks you're going to hurt me again so just don't hurt me. That's it." 

And Harry started nodding his head, his own hands wandering over her face, over her outlines and her edges. "Max I love you, too. I never want to hurt you. I think I'd die if I hurt you again." 

His words were sad and his voice sounded desperate but Max was looking into his green eyes and she saw the magic inside them; was feeling his fingertips that were so soft like frayed jeans and his voice was a familiar melody that sounded like old CDs. 

And yes, Max trusted him. 

"I know," she said with certainty, "Just don't, then, Harry. Don't hurt me." 

And then Harry bent down and kissed her again and she kissed him back and through their breaths they whispered quiet confessions of 'I love you' and desperate promises of 'I won't hurt you'.

And Max believed him. She did not think Harry Styles could hurt her again, not when he was being so gentle. Not when his very hands felt like healing, like his body was her home. She clung to it and Harry clung to hers. Like she was scared to let him go, like Harry was scared she was going to. 

They belonged together. 

Harry Styles was the place Max longed for, the person Max sort of lived for. When he was not there, he was all she thought about. When he was there, she thought about nothing else.

They were meant to be. Yes. Meant to be. 

And as Max lay there, she thought that nothing could pull them apart now.