Harry Styles Imagines

He Leaves You At The Altar Part 2

Part two from Tumblr
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*YOUR POV*
It's been a miserable few days. I lay in bed most nights, staring at the ceiling, imagining how life would've been if Harry had stayed, if he didn't leave me. I played with soft strands of hair, twirling it around my fingers as my eyes welled up. Crying was something that occurred often, I was used to it, as pathetic as that sounds.
My best friend (Y/B/F/N), and Gemma had been around a lot, helping me through this. I don't know why but I couldn't face my family. I didn't want to see their looks of pity or disappointment. I couldn't handle it.
Gemma had gone to see Harry sometimes. She never spoke of him when she returned; I didn't ask. I wasn't aware of how the truth would make me feel nor did I want to know. It could either crush me or satisfy the aching need to know if he missed me.
As if it mattered. How Harry was feeling was irrelevant, according to Y/B/F/N. She says he was a waste of time, but I know that's not true. We had the most beautiful relationship; we loved each other so much. It baffles me how he left so easily. I would rather he broke up with me, in private. Even if it were to call of the engagement. But ditching me at the altar is... diabolical.
"Y/N!" I mentally groaned, closing my eyes as Gemma's blonde head appeared.
"What?"
"You need to get your stuff from your apartment today. The boys have gone for an interview. We have around two hours."
"Okay." I sat up, pulling on a tight pair of black jeans and a loose crop top. I ran a brush through my messy hair as Gemma stared at me. "What?"
"You look awful."
I frowned slightly. "Thanks?"
"Seriously, you've barely eaten in days and... have you even showered?"
"Yes!" I said loudly. "I washed my hair two days ago."
"What about your body?"
"Yesterday. I'm not giving up my personal hygiene because of him, Gemma."
"Harry." She scowled at me.
"What?" I combed through the remaining tangles and set the brush down, grabbing my foundation. News of our broken 'marriage' made the papers and basically every magazine cover. It was humiliating; I couldn't even leave the house without paparazzi following me, which is the main reason I became a hermit. So if entering my old apartment (which Harry's home obviously) gets me followed and written about, I may as well look good and dress for the occasion.
"His name is Harry. Whenever you refer to him you just say... 'him', in a disgusted tone."
"Well, he does disgust me." I blended the product into my skin, covering any blemishes.
"Remember it is my brother you're talking about."
"No offence, Gemma," I chucked the brush onto my dressing table and picked up my eyeliner. "But it's not really about you, or how you feel. If you were going to marry my brother and he left you, I would gladly listen to whatever shit you want to say about him." I stopped talking as I outlined my eyes, drawing a wing on the end.
"I understand that." Gemma sat on the edge of the bed, scrunching her nose as she took in the state of my room: bras and panties scattered across the floor, makeup stains on the sheets and pillows from when I cry and leftover crisp packets and chocolate wrappers on the table. "But shouldn't you even... I don't know... consider talking to him. He's been calling you non-stop."
"I'm not interested in what he has to say." I grabbed my mascara, moderately coating my lashes.
"What if he wants to apologise?"
"Not interested."
"What if he wants to confess his undying love for you?"
"Not interested."
"You're impossible."
"No." I switched to my other eye. "I'm reasonable. The fucker left me at the altar, dammit. He deserted me at what was supposed to be the best moment of my life. I will never forgive him for that, I... I loved him so much, Gemma, and you know what the most fucked up thing is?" I paused, applying mascara onto my bottom lashes as Gemma raised her eyebrows, silently asking. "The most fucked up thing is that I still love him. I miss him so much. Every night I wish he was holding me, the way he used to. The way I'm so used to. I want that, I want it so badly and not from anyone else, just from him."
Gemma was chewing on her bottom lip, looking thoughtful. "Y/N, you have to see him."
"No." I took my loose powder and brush, dabbing on my face to set my makeup. "I don't. I need to move on with my life. I need to get over him. Pining over him is useless and won't get me anywhere." I slipped my feet into a pair of nude heels and warmed my bare arms with a grey and white cardigan.
Gemma stood and walked with me to my car. "What if he comes back while you're there?"
I looked up at her as I unlocked my car. "You said he'd be gone a couple of hours."
"He will, but we have a lot of things to take and at the speed you do things..."
I furrowed my eyebrows, grinning. "I'm not that slow. I just prefer to take my time to ensure my task concludes into something of perfection."
"Blah blah blah."
"Shut up." I laughed and revved up the engine, backing out of the driveway. There was no traffic as it was Monday afternoon and most people were at school or work already. I'd taken a sick day. It wasn't a complete lie, I did feel a bit sick this morning, but that was probably because of my chocolate intake the night before.
I arrived at Harry's apartment shortly. I parked in my usual sport, nostalgia washing over me as I entered the building. I sensed people following me and turned around, finding paparazzi holding a camera in my direction. I turned away, covering my face. Gemma squeezed my hand. "How you feelin'?"
"Alright." I shrugged, pressing the button for the lift. We waited in silence, avoiding the stares of intrusive people and paparazzi. I entered the lift upon hearing the small 'ding', clicking on the button for the sixteenth floor. Harry loved living high up as he always appreciated a good view, as he would say.
I tried my best to avoid thinking of him, though it was hard as every part of this building reminded me of him. I unlocked the apartment door and gasped as I entered. Beer bottles decorated the coffee table, the stench of alcohol immensely strong. I resisted the urge to pinch my nose as I walked further in; spotting our photo album strewn across the floor, open on a picture Gemma had taken of me trying on my wedding dress. She must've sent it to Harry after out disaster wedding. I had no idea he would print it.
I crouched down and flicked through the rest of the album, smiling weakly as pictures of us looking so happy were shown. Biting down hard on my bottom lip, I felt my eyes get teary. Hastily I slammed the album shut, standing rigidly. Gemma was gazing at me sympathetically, clutching her bag so tight her knuckles turned white.
"Let's just get this over with." I muttered, trudging to the bedroom.
The smell of the bedroom was another shocker. Our - his bed wasn't made, blanket half on the floor. Moor beer bottles littered the floor, the Rolling Stones CD I'd given him open on the bed. The disc was missing and I turned on the CD player, hearing the familiar rock tunes playing.
"Sympathy for the devil." I said to myself. "What a coincidence."
I took off my shoes as my feet began to hurt, leaving them by the door. I noticed some of my clothes resting on his pillows. Confused, I picked them up and put them in the black bin bag I'd bought. My perfume sat on his bedside table, a fraction used. I bent down and sniffed his pillows, realising he'd sprayed them with my perfume.
Not knowing anything other than the ache in my chest, I opened the wardrobe, finding my clothes either on the floor or still on hangers. I yanked them off and picked them up, collectively chucking them in the bag. I wasn't in the mood for folding, I had to be quick.
I grabbed my perfume, but on second thoughts, set it back down. I don't know why I was leaving him something he obviously gained comfort from, but I could never intentionally hurt Harry, even if he hurt me.
I left the room, finding Gemma on the sofa, completely absorbed in mine and Harry's photo album. I cleared my throat. Her whole body jolted and she basically threw it across the room.
"Oi," I hissed, storming over and picking it up. "Don't throw it. It'll break."
"Why do you care?" Gemma smirked and snatched it, setting it gently on the coffee table. I didn't respond, just turned and started for the door.
"You've finished?" She sounded surprised.
"Yeah, there were some things I didn't want, so..." I shrugged, turning the door handle. "Let's go before he gets here."
She nodded and we left the building, bags in hand. I hoped it didn't look like I was robbing him. The articles written about that would make me laugh, though.
I stuffed the bags in the backseat of the car and got the hell out of there.
*
I was slumped on the sofa, TV on with a packet of pickled onion Monster Much in my hands when the doorbell rang. I groaned, brushing crumbs off my chest and got up, opening the door. I held in my gasp of shock when I saw Harry. His head down, staring at the photo of me in my wedding dress. He was clutching it so tightly, hands trembling. I heard him sniffle as I spoke his name softly.
"Y-Y/N." He stuttered, voice raspier than usual as he looked up. His red eyes brimmed with tears, cheeks flushed and lips pouted.
"Yes?" I breathed, tightening my grip on the door handle.
"I-I -" He inhaled sharply as he tried to speak beyond the obvious cracking of his voice.
"You what?" I know I was being bitchy but I had to let my guard up after what he did.
"I miss you." He managed to get out, closing his eyes and letting tears trail down his cheeks. I stared at him, hardly able to breathe.
"That's your own fault." I was about to shut the door in his face when he blocked it.
"No - I know, but..." He trailed off. "Can I come in?"
"No." I automatically answered.
"Please, only for a few minutes, or..." He voice lowered at the end, facial expression hesitant. I deliberated, knowing it was a huge risk. Finally, I nodded.
"Okay." I mumbled and opened the door wider and going back to the sofa, letting him hang his coat and shut the door himself. "Can I get you anything? Something to drink?"
"No, thank you." Harry almost whispered as he tentatively took a seat in the armchair adjacent to the sofa.
"Why are you here?"
"I think you know why I'm here." He said, fidgeting. "To apologise."
"Okay. Apologise."
"Y/N, I know what I did was so... so wrong and it's in no way your fault."
"I didn't think it was." I responded coldly.
He nodded, gulping. "Right, I - um. Even if you can't forgive me, I want you to know how sorry I am for everything I did. It was a huge mistake and I regret it so, so much."
"I can't forgive you." I said softly, crossing my legs.
"Oh." He whispered, clasping his hands together as he began to cry silently.
"Harry," I sighed, hating to see him cry. I stood up and approached him, setting a hand on his arm. "Don't cry."
"I-I'm sorry, I just miss you so much. If I could do a-anything to turn back time and fucking marry you I would. I really, really would." Harry's tears fell faster and his chest heaved.
I was quiet for a moment. "Gemma told me you said you regretted proposing."
Harry was shaking his head before I even finished speaking. "I said that but it couldn't be further from the truth. I was making up excuses for what I did, not that that is one."
"Why did you do it?" I spoke so silently he had to strain to hear me.
"I don't know." He keened, pulling his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His head dropped forward, resting on his knees. I gently ran my fingers through his hair and he leaned towards my touch. "I was so nervous and started to have all these doubts. Fans on Twitter kept saying I was doing the wrong thing and it all went to my head. It's not an excuse but that's the truth, that's what happened."
I nodded, feeling the familiar ache in my chest grow. I removed my hand from Harry's hair as my own tears fell, turning away from him. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me back.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N, so fucking sorry." He cried.
"I can't -" I choked on my tears, unable to finish the sentence. Harry tugged me onto his lap and I fell into his neck, giving in to his comforting touch as I wrapped my arms around him. "I can't do this, I can't forgive you."
Harry held me tighter, head on my shoulder. "You are my entire world, baby, I need you. You have no idea how it feels -"
"Don't." I growled, pulling back. "Don't you dare say I don't know how it feels. You left me. It was your decision and it was you causing me pain. Don't make this about you."
Harry gazed at me with teary eyes, lower lip trembling. "I know." He loosened his hold on me, arms dropping. "I know."
I sat on his lap, body still as I tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do. He seemed sincere, but every time I considered forgiving him I remembered the pain I felt when he left me. It was horrible the first time; I don't think I could survive if it happened again.
"How do I know you won't leave me again?" I muttered, curling up against his chest. His arms encircled my body, fingers combing through my hair.
"Because I couldn't. I couldn't, Y/N, even if I wanted to. Being without you for a few days was enough. The pain was enough to last me a lifetime. I've learned my lesson."
I exhaled loudly, closing my eyes. I reached down and grasped his hand, noticing a bandage on his wrist. "What's this?" I questioned, curious.
"Oh, um." He peeled back the bandage, causing me to gasp. "I got a tattoo."
My name was tattooed on the inside of his wrist in simple black ink. I trailed my finger over the letters. "It's real?"
He laughed gruffly. "Yes, it's real." He bandaged it properly and smiled weakly at me. "Is that enough for you to know I'm not gonna leave?"
I chewed on my bottom lip, contemplating. "You promise you won't?"
"I swear."
I blushed for whatever reason, grinning to myself as I looked down at my lap. "Okay."
"What?" He gaped.
"I said okay," I giggled, "we can start again."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you." He rushed, tackling me in a hug. Our lips met in a chaste, passionate kiss. "God, I love you so much."
"I love you too." I smiled against his lips.
"Oh, I forgot something."
"What?"
"It's yours, you should have it back." He fished my engagement ring out of his pocket. "You don't have to wear it... yet." He winked. "But I want you to keep it."
I nodded quickly and snatched it. "Thank you."
"No." He kissed me again. "Thank you."