There she is. My dream girl, the girl who haunted my thoughts the whole year. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Everything about her was breathtaking. The way she seemed to absorb the whole room with her crystal blue eyes.
But she was clearly at the after party with another man. He was tall and incredibly muscular. He wore a black leather jacket over a white shirt, and aviators hung from his collar. He looked tough, scary almost. He followed Taylor everywhere she went, and secured a firm hold on her whenever she talked to anyone. If anyone came to say hi, she’d look up to the man… as if asking for permission with her eyes.
Those eyes that could cure anything. No matter what happened in the day, what anyone had said, how tired, hurt, damaged or angry I was. I can still remember looking into those bright eyes, full of understanding, love and care… And I knew I’d be okay. No matter what anyone else thought, Taylor understood.
Taylor would be there to hold me, and I promised myself I would hold her even tighter when the time came. As I remembered that promise, my chest tightened. I even felt the fire behind my eyes, tears threatening to brim anytime soon.
I knew I hurt her. And I fucking hated myself for it too. She never deserved to be hurt. Those electric blue eyes that love and enthusiasm seemed to swim in should never have to fade the way he made them.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I almost smashed the glass I was holding. Why’d I have to be such an arse?
“Harry mate, you alright?”
My neck shot up to answer Louis, realising I’d been staring at the floor for a few minutes now.
“Yeah I’m fine. Absolutely fucking thrilled to see the love of my life with some bloke who’s practically feeling her up and who will never understand or love her as much as I do. “ I replied in my coldest, most sarcastic tone. I knew it wouldn’t deter Louis though, he’d it so many times before, and he knew me too well to be insulted in the slightest.
“Mate, she’s happy now. That’s what you’ve always wanted. She’s finally happy again alright?”
I looked up then. I needed to see her eyes bright again, not glassy or broken. Her cheeks flushed and full again, not hollow and sullen. Truthfully, she did look okay. Not as happy as she was, but better.
A girl she was talking to obviously made a joke as Taylor through her head back laughing. A smile crept up on my lips as I watched her. But her laugh, the laugh I’d fallen in love with, was abruptly cut short.
The man has moved his hand to Taylor’s arm, and I could tell he was gripping her far too hard by the way his biceps flexed from under his clothes. The sides of Taylor’s delicate lips dropped momentarily, and her eyes almost showed a glint of fear. As he tightened his grip again, Taylor formed her fake smile and politely excused the both of them. That fake smile I knew, the one she wore during talk shows or when we had to walk past paparazzi.
What the fuck?
