It was still dark when I awoke. I was warm, really warm. Like the type of hot you get standing in the sun on a humid July day in the south. I went to roll over but something wasn't allowing me. I opened my eyes.
Harry was asleep but not just asleep but quite literally on top of me. His curly haired head resting on my chest and arms wrapped my waist.
I squirmed under his weight. Very, very slowly, I shifted us to where he was now lying flat on his back. I gently unclasped his arms from around my waist and placed them at his sides. He didn't even twitch through this all.
Rolling off the bed, I felt much lighter and cooler. It might have to do with the fact that I wore no shirt. I looked around but saw nothing that resembled my shirt. However, I saw Harry's white tee shirt hanging on the nob of the French doors. I grabbed that and pulled it over my body. If I had been short and not five nine-ish, this would have worked as a dress for me but I wasn't. It hung just a few inches past my butt.
I opened the French door, careful not
to squeak. Just because Harry had proved himself a heavy sleeper, that doesn't mean I'll trust it.
The air was crisp and cold, the wind tangled my messy hair even more. It probably looked like something died on top of my head.
I sighed and placed my hands on the concrete barrier that rimmed the balcony. I didn't regret staying with Harry, just bewildered at his very sweet and kind behavior. I didn't label him as the type to push away a crying girl but certainly didn't deem him the type to comfort one.
Then after holding me after my hysterical bawling, I had tried to have sex with him. Harry had pushed me away saying that I was only doing that as a distraction to temporarily erase the events that had happened. He was also right. Him pushing me away like that, it gave me a new respect. I guess he wanted only him on my mind when he got in my pants.
It wasn't a virgin, hints the lack of hesitation when trying to pull off my clothing. I had lost that card when I was seventeen, two years ago. His name was Kristian. I can't bring myself to regret it either. I don't. We may not be in love now but we were then. The passion between us had been unbearable at the time. In those moments, he loved me and I loved him. True, we fell out of love but why should I feel guilty about something that had felt so right? I loved Kristian, I always would but that doesn't mean I'm in love with him. If I recall correctly, he finished college, engaged to a nurse with a pretty home I'm Wyoming country side. I was happy for him, he was happy.
Distraught groans and small screams broke my trip down memory lane. I shuffled back inside, I had been out there too long and the cold had my limbs out of whack.
I opened the door and saw Harry tangled in the sheets, panic etching his every feature and the thick comforter long forgot on the ground beside the bed.
I rush to his side. I gently shook his shoulders. "Harry? Harry! It's just a dream," I whispered in his ear. He continued in nightmarish dream state.
"No, Aaron!" He screamed. My heart broke, I had no clue who Aaron was but Harry's voice was full of immense pain.
"Don't..." I could understand the next slur of words. Take Gemma maybe? He mumbled something else.
"...me." What was his dream? It must be pretty terribly. I slid into the bed, sitting cris-cross. I pulled Harry's upper body into my lap, I stroked his hair softly. I continued to try and wake him. He was in dead sleep, nightmare would be more appropriate.
He screamed once more. I couldn't take it any longer. I grabbed his shoulders forcefully and shook him.
"Harry! Wake up! It's a dream," I told him. It wasn't a whisper but my voice wasn't raised either.
Finally, finally, his eyes flutters open. His head still rested on my lap. He sat up and faced me. I didn't bother with anymore words, I just hugged him tightly. Instantly, his arms wound around me. He clung to me for his what seemed like his own sanity.
"It's alright," I murmured into his ear. "Everything okay, I promise."
He was shaking. I felt bad, what if me leaving the bed caused this? I heard that people who experience regular nightmares sleep better with someone else is sleeping in the same bed as them. He was peaceful when I had left and within an hours time, he was thrashing, kicking, and screaming.
I suppose we're even now. He held me when I was distraught and overwhelmed and now I returned the favor.
"Harry?" I asked softly, still hugging him close.
"Mhm?"
Before I could think about whether it might be a good idea or not, I asked away.
"Do these nightmares come often?"
He stiffed slightly in my arms. He pulled back and said nothing.
"Harry, I'm sorry if I asked without thinking. I'm not asking what their about," yet, I added slightly. "But does it happen often?"
He sighed. "What would it matter if they did? It's not like there's anything to help it. And no, I'm not going to go to a therapist and discuss my problems with some stranger."
I looked at him. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. I looked around and spotted a thin wash rag sitting on the end table, neatly folded, how convenient. I grabbed it and leaned forward, patting the moisture off his face.
"I wasn't suggesting that. I'd never say that. Asking someone or even suggesting that, it is beyond cruel. I was just going to say that I've heard that someone who has regular nightmares, sleeping with someone else in your bed helps with it. I guess it helps knowing someone there, that you're not alone."
He raised an eyebrow. "Okay? Are you hinting that you want to spend every night here?"
Oh god, not how I meant that to come out. I mentally forehead smacked myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"No, just remarking. I'm sure your bed is full most the time anyways," I shrugged.
"I know you have me labeled as this playboy asshole but I'm really not like that. Sure, I have an active sex life but is that really so wrong?"
I bit my lip. If he hadn't held me while I cried on his chest for two hours, I would have considered him a playboy asshole but after that? I couldn't. I don't know why he did it, pity maybe? Guilt? But still, it showed me he did have compassion and most playboy assholes lacked that trait.
"No, I don't think of you like that. Not anymore."
He nodded. "Same."
His answer confused me. "What?"
He shrugged. "You've always reminded me of a rose, it ironically being your name, very pretty but lots of thorns. Ones you might as well leave alone. But I guess seeing you so open changed my perspective a little."
What has he done with Harry Styles and who is he? For one, he called me very pretty. Not hot or sexy. And two, he's being unrealistically nice. What? Had the world gone mad? I suppose that was bit overblown but nonetheless, his statement surprised me.
We sat in silence. Harry finally leaned back on his back in the bed.
"Well, I'm going to bed. Care to join me, love?" I loved the way British guys said love as a nickname, especially when Harry said it.
Okay, maybe I've developed a crush on him. It's hard not to. Sure, maybe his a douche bag sometimes but when he's not, he's wonderful.
I curled up on the bed close to him but not touching. I don't even know how he ended up on top of me earlier like that.
He etched closer to me, still not quite touching but I could feel his minty breath fan my face. We laid there and I nearly drifted into sleep. Without warning, the lower half of my body was burning up. I groaned softly to myself and rolled out of bed.
"What are you doing?" Harry's voice surprised me, I thought he was asleep.
"It's really hot, I'm taking off my pants." He didn't argue or saying anything more, just watching me and I slid the waist of dancing pants down my legs.
I climbed back into the bed. Harry was still watching me.
"You're wearing my shirt."
"Oh, sorry. I could find mine, I'll give it back to yo-," I was cut off.
"No, it looks amazing on you," he leaned closer. "And your panties, wow, they're dead sexy in you." He ran his finger tips over my hipbone where my black with pink polka dotted underwear rested. The actions sent tingles through me.
"Thanks," I breathed. He continued to run fingertips along my waist and hips. I enjoyed the action too much, I was stepping into dangerous places. Places I've never been.
Only if I knew the half of it.
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