"I am sorry for my mothers behaviour," Harry apologises to me. I had just had a brief encounter with Harry's mother, she didn't seem that fond of me. I understand why, I mean, I was wearing one of Harry's shirts. I bet that she thought I was a right slut, I wish that I could go back in time and make a better first impression.
"Don't be sorry, it was my fault." I say, running a hand through my messy hair. I was sat on Harry's bed, him besides me. Harry's bedroom wasn't really any different to the room that I had stayed in the previous night, the only thing different was that Harry didn't have any pictures on the walls. That must be the only room in the house that isn't filled with pictures. I started to wonder why.
"I'm going to be honest with you...I am, well, used to be what you would call a player. I would get with girls at parties then never call them again. I'm not like that now, not since..." Harry's voice drifts off, as if he's contemplating whether or not to tell me. What he doesn't realize, is that I already know. He was about to say something about Damon's brother dying, I just wish that he could tell me himself.
"I'm not surprised," I say, "That you were a player."
"Why?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest as if he is offended.
"Well, come on, you're attractive and obviously a flirt." I tell him, thinking back to the first day that I had seen him standing outside the cafe. He was obviously a flirt, the way he took my phone off of me and put his number in.
"You think I'm attractive?" Harry asks, a smirk playing on his lips. He lies back on the bed, hands behind his head. I watch the way that his torso moves slowly up and down as he breathes, I begin to wonder how many tattoos he has on his stomach.
"Yeah, but not as much as Niall," I say, just to tease him. The smirk disappears from his lips, they form a hard line.
"Do you mean that?"
"What? No, I'm joking."
"Good, I thought that I was going to have to beat the shit out of him," Harry jokes, a small chuckle leaves his mouth. I smile, rolling my eyes at his comment.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry asks, after a few moments of silence. I look over at him, my eyes meeting his beautifully coloured green ones.
"Sure,"
"How...How do you feel about us?"
"What?" I ask, a small cough leaves my mouth. I am shocked by Harry's question. How do I feel about us? What is us? Me and Harry? I didn't realize that there was an 'us'. I have never really thought about him in that way before, I mean, I have only known him for just over a week. I told myself from the start that I shouldn't have gotten involved with him.
"Forget it," Harry says, his voice sounding somewhat annoyed, maybe even angry. He sits up from his lying position, him not facing me.
"Tell me,"
"It's nothing."
"Harry, please,"
"I said it's nothing Hazel, stop!" Harry exclaims, standing up from the bed. He is obviously very mad, with me. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. Harry turns away from the bed, not looking in my direction.
"Harry," I say calmly. Standing up from the bed, I place a hand on his hard shoulder, trying to calm him down. His breathing decreases from my actions.
"I think it's best if you leave." He says, turning around to face me. His eyes still never met mine.
"No. Not until you explain."
