The Choreographer

16: Harry's POV - Isabel

Harry's POV

I can't sleep. I'm staring at the ceiling, I don't want to move too much and wake her up. Isabel is asleep next to me, breathing softly. I turn my head to look at her. She looks softer when she sleeps, not stressed or annoyed. She looks younger. She would be mad if she know Taylor called me again today. She would be even more mad if she knew I picked up. I feel like a jerk. I don't know why Taylor called me, or why I even picked up. I just did. She wanted to wish me a happy valentines day, which was weird. As soon as she started talking I knew I shouldn't have picked up. But I did. And it's only a matter of time before Isabel finds out. Maybe I should just tell her. But then again maybe if I don't she'll realize it's not a big deal. Who am I kidding? I have to tell her, that's the only way she might not leave. Especially after she told me how insecure she was about Taylor. Why did I answer the phone? I hate me sometimes.

I re read the paper hearts she hid around my house. I feel so guilty. Not that Taylor and I were flirting, just that I answered when I should have known that it would bother Isabel. Maybe it would even hurt her. I don't know about her sometimes. She's unpredictable, one second she tells me how she feels and then the next she shuts me out. One second she tells me, or sort of tells me, that she loves me, and the next she and I are arguing, about nothing in my car. I don't understand her, and I really, really want to.

I can't stand myself anymore so I wake her up.

"What?" She asks sounding sleepy and small. I feel like an even bigger jerk.

"Taylor Swift called me today." I tell her.

"Why?" She asks stretching.

"To wish me a happy valentines day." I confess.

"Did you pick up?" She seems more awake now.

"Yeah." I can't look at her.

"Why?" I can feel her looking at me.

"I don't know."

She says nothing and stares at the ceiling. "I don't understand."

"We talked for like two minutes and then I hung up." I explain.

"Why would you pick up, I mean we talked about this." She turns to look at me. She looks sad, and I feel like I've been stabbed in the gut.

"I know, I'm so sorry." I expected her to yell, but she's not, and I don't know what to do now.

"Okay." She says.

"Okay what?" I need to know her verdict.

"Okay you talked to her, okay I'm hurt, okay you're sorry." She tells me like I'm dumb.

"Do you forgive me?" I ask.

"I don't know Harry, but it's 2 am and I'm tired." She turns away from me and I just want to hold her so badly, but I can't.

****

She's in the kitchen, she woke up when I was in the shower. I can hear her opening and closing cabinets. I walk downstairs my hair still damp. "Hey." I say. She's on the counter. She's not tall enough to reach the back of the top shelf. I have no idea what she's looking for. "Do you need help?" I ask.

"No." She tells me, pulling out a measuring cup.

"What are you making?" I ask.

"Cake." She tells me. I look at all the ingredients she has pulled out.

"Oh." I say. I think about asking her if she wants help, but I don't. I don't want her to say no and me have to leave.

She doesn't use a recipe, she just makes the cake. I wonder if she makes this cake a lot. I want to hold her. I want to come up from behind her and whisper in her ear, just to fluster her. But I can't, because I suck. She suddenly let's out a string of curses that would put a sailor to shame.