Marvels Of Fate

You

For the first time in years, I'm looking forward to a night out. Hence, I'm actually putting in some effort in the way I look.
"Not this." I murmur to myself, flinging a semi-formal shirt onto the bed. My hands close around my only pair of black palazzo pants. I bite my lip, contemplating the outfit. I could wear the crop top that I'd brought and these pants. Would it look okay?
"Need help outfit choosing?" Kate questions, sauntering into my room, a bowl of watermelon tucked into her arm.
"Um...yeah." I hesitate, shrugging my shoulders. "Should I wear a dress? Jumpsuit? Or this?" I hold the palazzo pants against my leg and grab the crop top. Kate's eyes widen and she lets out a low whistle.
"If I was a lesbo, I'd totally bang you." Kate says, nodding her head in agreement to the outfit. "Wear that for sure!" Laughing, I place the pant and shirt on the bed and turn to put the rest of the clothing items back in. "Oh, leave that!" Kate flicks her wrist. "Your man is waiting downstairs and you're putting bloody clothes back into the closet?" I frown, furrowing my brows.
"Harry's waiting?" I question, re-checking the time. I still have an hour to go.
"Has been for an hour and a half, I bet." Kate bites into a huge piece of watermelon, before motioning towards my outfit with the fork. "Well, change already." She urges through a stuffed mouth.
"You're gonna stay and watch me strip?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Been there, seen that. Everything's special," Kate winks.
"I really think you're a lesbo." I shut the door and pull off my shirt.
*********
Fifteen minutes later, my hair is in place, and I've adorned the chosen outfit. Kate has already left the room, complaining about her ever flowing bladder and cramps. I stroll towards the staircase, still unsure of my dressing style for tonight. Maybe I look too formal for tonight? Heck, I don't even know where we're headed. I should change and go for something semi-formal.
"Whoa," Harry gasps. I look up from my body to meet a stunned man standing at the base of the stairs. "You...l-look..." Harry's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "Beautiful," he completes. I smile and clasp my hands.
"Thanks," I say. "You too." Harry's wearing a black dress shirt - seems like silk by the fall of it. And as usual, he's wearing black dress pants. But my, does he look dashing! Harry grips the banister tighter and grins.
"Thank you. Shall we?" Harry holds out his hand and I take the five-six steps that are separating us to take hold of his outstretched hand.
"You sure Rain won't mind this outing of ours, right?" I ask, looping my arm through his. This feels natural; comfortable.
"Why would she? I mean, we're just going out as friends. I'm showing you LA," Harry shrugs. "What's to mind?" I shake my head, smiling.
"Yeah, silly me." Harry and I exit the house, and he locks the door behind us.
"First, we have dinner and then we go sightseeing. Otherwise, I shall drop dead." Harry announces, as we get into his car. Before starting the engine, Harry leans toward the left and reaches into his pocket. Immediately, I throw open my door - making Harry stop.
"What?" He questions, confused. "Forgot something?"
"No, I don't wanna die." I confess, giving him a pointed look. "And I believe passive smoking will do just that." Harry purses his lips. I can see him contemplating the situation in his head; torn between the decision to spend the night with me or with his pack of cigs. Finally, Harry sighs and nods his head.
"Fine. No smoking," he concedes. I smile contentedly and shut the door.
"Okay then, where are we headed?" I question, grinning.
*********
After enjoying a very fulfilling meal, Harry has brought me to a park like place. It's illuminated by fairy lights and has a bunch of medium sized pavilions spaced around it. Harry guides me towards a pearl white, dome shaped pavilion.
"So this is a specialty of LA?" I ask, glancing around myself once more. It really is a calming, breathtaking place.
"No, but this place has a highly special place in my heart." Harry says, leaping into the pavilion. He turns around and gestures for me to enter as well. I oblige, and climb into Cinderella's white carriage - if she would've had one, it definitely would have looked like this. Sadly, her carriage was an over-sized pumpkin and not some structure made out of pearl or diamonds. "The paps seldom come here. In fact, I've never been photographed in here. This garden is a retreat, you know?
"Yeah," I murmur. Harry sits down on the circular bench that is positioned at the side of this dome. I remain standing, leaning against one of the columns.
"I don't know...I just thought you'd like it." Harry shrugs, his eyes gaze into mine hopefully. I grin and nod my head.
"I do." I say, running my hand the length of the column. "It's like your own little garden set in the old days."
"It is," Harry agrees. "Don't tell anyone though." He winks at me, a mischievous twinkle lighting up his eye.
"I won't." I zip my lips and chuck the key into one of the bushes lining the outside of this safe haven, as if they were guards. "Can we stay here for a while?" Harry nods.
"Yeah, I'd like that." We both fall silent; focused on the nature surrounding us. I stare towards the other pavilions, wondering how many people come here seeking solace? And how many find it? Does Harry? I turn my head to look at Harry to find him staring at me. He blinks, not expecting me to catch him red handed.
"Um...fuck!" Harry murmurs, looking down at his shoes. "Sorry." I open my mouth to brush away his apology. However, I don't get a chance. "It's just...fucking frustrating, you know? Having you here, but not being able to...no. That's why you ran away the first time. Don't want that to happen again." Harry lets out a nervous chuckle. But there's no humor hidden in it. "It's just hard, you know?" Harry looks up at me and I'm taken aback by the pain in his eyes. He's really struggling internally to maintain control over his actions and mind. He begs me with his eyes, but I don't know what for. "It's hard." Harry squeezes his eyes shut and grips the edges of the bench tightly.
"Harry," I gasp. I want to reach out and smash his lips against mine; pull him out of this misery. But I can't. "Don't-"
"It took a lot to say that." Harry leans forward, letting out a frustrated huff. "And I won't take it back because you need to know what's going on inside me." Harry reaches into his jacket and takes out a small flask. He uncaps it and takes a long swig, after which he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm not this kinda guy, you know?" Harry waves the flask and stands up. "I don't drink like an alcoholic. I don't smoke. But I do! I do, and I do." Harry takes another swig, this one shorter than the former. "I drink before concerts, shoots and interviews. I drink before family dinners and before going home every night." Harry lets out a dry laugh. "You know, Mus, you know? No, you don't!" Harry exclaims, slamming down onto the bench. "Jeff and I got into a fight because apparently people have been saying I'm becoming unbearable and irritable. He blames this." Harry points to the flask with his free hand and grins. "Fuck no!" The wreck of a man in front of me shakes his head repeatedly. "This helps. It makes everything bearable. Tolerable. Understandable. No, it doesn't make me see sense and logic. But that's the whole point, isn't it?" I just stand there, unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to say. How to position my body language.
"I-"
"No, don't speak!" Harry interrupts me again. "No, not yet." He takes another long swig and then slams the flask onto the bench. Some of the clear liquid spills onto the bench, staining it's purity. He looks up at the ceiling, his eyes shining. "You ruined me. And sadly, you're the only one who can fix me." My knees wobble and I collapse onto the ground. Harry is too immersed in staring at the patterns on the ceiling to see my state. My heart is beating too fast and my palms are sweating far too much. His words keep echoing in my head, making it throb. "Ha! Ironic, isn't it?" Finally, Harry looks down and straight into my eyes. I silently beg him to stop. I need him to stop before I melt and become a bigger mess than I already am.
"Please," I whisper. "Please. Stop." I squeeze my eyes shut, tears streaming down my face.
"And the sad part, Mus? You're the addiction, not this bottle. Not the pack in my pocket. You."