Devil's Desire [h.s.]

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

I followed Harry inside–of course I did. He'd already left once, now had just dropped a bomb on me and fled again. Like he'd minutes ago said he wasn't going to do. This wasn't a problem that could be evened out in a day or from a single conversation, I knew that, but I also couldn't handle this constant distance.

He loves me.

I loved him.

Part of me had known this already. Despite my lacking, insufficient brain, I'd known. We'd both known. It was hard not to be in love with someone whose sole purpose in life had suddenly become your happiness–your wellbeing. And I could see it in the way he looked at me. Like I'd hung the moon and painted the stars. How he'd blink, seem to realize this, and glance away. As if it'd been a secret he was harbouring, one he hadn't yet been ready to share.

It was why I hadn't pushed. Had accepted willingly what he'd offered me but didn't demand more. He'd been alone for a very long time, and I supposed a part of me wondered if he even understood any of his feelings. Or if they sat heavy in the hollow part of his throat, stagnant and thick–wanting to be vocalized and worked through–but finding themselves stuck.

He expressed himself physically. Let unsaid words fly out of him in motions, rather than spoken syllables. The way he'd draw the heel of his palm up to his collarbone, looking utterly pained, when we discussed our lives and our future. That little hidden secret of his choking him. Destroying him from the inside out.

I'd wanted to say it to him dozens of times but hadn't wanted to spook him. To scare him off with the words that came so easily to me, where they contrarily might have been the hardest thing in the world for him.

He loves me.

"Harry?"

He wasn't in the kitchen when I entered the house, having to yank the backdoor closed. The screen was nowhere to be found and for some reason the actual door itself was slightly askew. I was certain this had happened when he'd come rushing through here like a tornado before I found him sitting by the lake.

He loves me.

It was late. Very late. In fact, I assumed way too late to be having a conversation with Zayn about anything, and that this was simply a well-articulated plan to further avoid me. Avoid having to look me in the eye and talk any more about the upcoming–albeit, yes, stupid–plan.

Ah, whatever.

He loves me.

I would let the man stew for a little longer. Be angry, brood–there was quite literally nowhere for him to run. He had told me as much so many times over, hence our current predicament of being bound to my mother's house in the south of France. He'd have to face me again eventually.

He loves me.

My heart thundered the words over and over, deafening me with how loudly they rang in my ears. I'd known, yes, of course I'd known, but that didn't make it any less wonderful to hear aloud. With a small sigh, I sunk down on the couch in the living room and rested my chin on my knees.

The house was still quiet, but it felt smaller than it had a few minutes ago. No longer too big. Or maybe I was simply sitting a little straighter.

When Harry finally came bounding down the stairs, almost a whole half hour later, I nearly fell off the couch in surprise. Because as quickly as he'd stalked past me, he was suddenly gone again. A slew of angry curses that slowly got quieter, quieter, quieter until fading completely. It was only when I walked into the kitchen–completely confused–that I noticed the back door open again.