More than Friends | HARRY STYLES FIC

Chapter 8

Harry's statuesque body freezes and his mouth drops open, but not one word is able to slip out. The room would be cloaked in painful silence if not for his heavy and slightly nervous breathing. His green eyes stare straight into mine locked without any movement and even so I can tell he's scrambling for something - anything - to say.

"Harry, who's on the phone?" I press, growing impatient with his speechlessness. The sound of my voice seemingly breaks his stiff spell.

"It's not how it sounds," he replies, dropping his cell phone on the table and approaching me, hands extended out to hold mine. 

I don't intend to step backwards, but my body instinctively does so. I know I shouldn't be expecting much from the man standing in front of me, he has no reason to be loyal. However, I can't help but hope that he's telling the truth when he says this is a misunderstanding. I want him to tell me Jared isn't on the other end, I want him to tell me he didn't just manipulate me when I was at a vulnerable point.

"Then tell me," I urge him. 

"Please don't run from me. Listen all the way through, from the beginning," he responds, voice shaky and desperate. 

I nod as he takes my hand to lead me to the dining table. His hand is cold and it holds mine firmly as if to stop me from leaving. 

"Louis called me last night and I got there as soon as I could. I rode with you in the ambulance and when we got to the hospital Alice said we should call your boyfriend. I didn't want too, I really didn't want too, Laura, but I tried to get a hold of him. We didn't know his cell phone number so I looked up his boss's and called to get the number to his hotel," he pauses, eyes filled with worry as he breathes in deeply and places a second hand on top of mine. "His boss said Jared wasn't sent on a business trip and that he had been in the office that day. I didn't know what to say and after what you had gone through I wanted to tell you when you were feeling better."

A cold sweat invades my brow and my heart trembles with uneasiness. I don't speak because I haven't the words too. My eyes search the room as if to find answers and all the while Harry's stay in place. I have so many questions,  so much anger and sadness enveloped in confusion. I want to pack all of his things and throw them into the yard in the same way Hollywood actresses do in day time soap operas. That being said, part of me still wants rewind back to simpler times when his lies weren't served on a breakfast platter after another mysterious night out. Harry's voice bursts through my tangled thoughts.

"Jared called me while we were in the car this morning and I didn't pick up because, erm, I didn't want you to find out that way. When I didn't answer he texted me and I told him not to call back," he stares at me from beneath his brows. "But he called anyways and that's where we are now."

"How do I know you didn't plan to keep him away so that you could... so that we could... ," I respond, unable to elaborate. His face turns pale and his furrow deepens.

"I didn't plan any of this. It just happened, Laura. You were the one who called me in the bathroom, I was going down stairs."

"I know, I'm sorry," I reply, realizing I'm accusing him out of anger for Jared. 

"Laura, you have to know that I car...

Before he can finish I hear a knock at the door. Both of our heads turn in its direction and I stand up from my seat to head down the hallway. Harry goes to follow but I tell him to stay where he is. As I approach the door I can see a blurred silhouette of a man in the texture glass. An eerie chill washes over me as my bare feet softly and anxiously step on the cold marble floor. The lock of the door makes a loud click as my hands fumble to open it.