Taste (H.S. / A.U.)

Chapter 68

SURPRISE UPDATE: Do not forget to read Chapter 67 that dropped on Friday 5-16!

HARRY STYLES

The corner of the paper was starting to split.

The corner of the paper was beginning to split. I'd folded and unfolded it so many times that the edges were fraying now, the crease soft like worn denim. I ran my thumb along it again, more out of habit than anything. I already knew what it said. I could close my eyes and see her handwriting, looping and slightly tilted to the right, like her words were in a hurry to reach me.

But I couldn't stop touching it. Folding it. Unfolding it. Like maybe, if I held it long enough, she'd appear in the doorway again.

She was gone before the sun rose.

A bitter awakening when I finally rolled over to realize it. I thought maybe she was still there, tucked into the sheets, her back curled toward me, hair spilling over the pillow. But the bed was cold where she'd slept, the pillow already starting to forget her shape. I hated that I knew she was already hundreds of miles away.

Something about the morning made me feel like she'd kissed me goodbye. It might have just been a dream, my subconscious trying to comfort me. But I swore I felt her lips on my forehead, like a secret she didn't want to wake me with.

I wish she had woken me up.

I would've said something. Or maybe I wouldn't have. Maybe I just would've memorized her face in the half-light, tried to lock the sound of her voice into some corner of my mind so it wouldn't fade the way all good things eventually do.

In the back of my mind I had too many fears of what her returning home could mean. Could Chase creep into her mind, into her life, set a seed of doubt? Could her own brain do it? Would she forget about me? There were too many possibilities I had no control over.

This was unfamiliar territory. I'd never let someone live in my head like this before. Never let someone leave and feel like they'd taken pieces of me with them. But she had, she was different from anyone else. I wanted to do something irrational.

Really irrational.

Like fly to New York, track her down, show up on her doorstep like some lovesick idiot in a movie. Except I didn't even know what neighborhood she lived in, let alone her address. Still, the idea stuck in my chest like static. I wanted to call her. Not even to say anything meaningful, just to know she hadn't drifted too far away yet.

But would she think I was being too much? Would a text this early feel like pressure, like I couldn't give her space to breathe?

Today was her first day back home. I knew how that felt after a tour. Nearly disorienting, like landing in someone else's life. There's unpacking to do, calls to return, the strange heaviness of getting reacquainted with a world that kept turning while you were gone.

I told myself I'd wait.

She'd reach out when she could.

I pulled on my running shoes. My mind was too loud to sit still, too full of her voice and her laugh and the way she used to scrunch her nose at my bad jokes, the humming noise she made when thinking, her singing in the shower.

I needed movement. I needed air.

The morning was already warming up, but I felt chilly and empty. I took off down the block, the slap of my feet against pavement syncing with the thud of my pulse. I ran harder than I needed to, like I was trying to outrun the ache in my chest.

It wasn't working.

Sixty minutes later, sweat clinging to my back and heart hammering in my ears, I slowed to a walk. The city was waking up around me, across the street dog walkers, cyclists, and a kid dragging a skateboard behind him like it was too early to ride.

Finding a space to collapse, I sat on a bench and pulled out my phone. I told myself I wasn't going to text her. But my fingers hovered over the screen anyway.

I typed out: Hope you got home okay. I've been thinking about you. I miss you.

I stared at it, questioning it too much.

Backspaced.

Typed it again: Hey Elle! Hope Pickle was happy to see you. Hope today goes easy on you.

Deleted that too.

Eventually, I just locked my phone and shoved it back in my pocket.

By the time I got back to the hotel there was movement in the lobby. Others making their way to the small cafe on the ground floor to find breakfast options. Business men in suits checking out at the desk while workers typed away.

I avoided them all, pulling down the brim of my hat and quickly finding an empty elevator.

I could go find Mitch or someone. I am sure they would be good for a distraction to get my mind geared up. Something didn't let my feet drift that way though, instead I returned to my empty room. The one that was full of love last night, but now felt like a burden of memories that ended too soon.

A cup she used was empty on the counter. Her smell still clung faintly to the bed. I sat there for a while, staring at the TV without turning it on, letting the silence stretch. I tried to scroll the internet, despite the fact I hate doing so. Couldn't concentrate.

Tried listening to music. Every song reminded me of her. Tonight I told myself I will call her at the end of the day, giving her enough time to get things done and then we would have things to talk about. I wouldn't bother her till then though. She needed space from me probably.