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Seventeen

  "Your house is kind of really far from mine," Kit commented as Harry drove his car through the gate, revealing a stucco home tucked behind tall brick walls, providing privacy from the nearby street. She looked at Harry, watching his indifferent face as he parked his car. "I didn't know that," she added, meaning to tell him that she wouldn't have allowed – and maybe even expected – him to drive all the way to her home in the past if she'd been aware of the distance.

"It's not that far," Harry assured her as he shifted the car into park and killed the engine. The drive from Kit's home had been a quiet one. She'd been so uncharacteristically mute, Harry thought she had fallen asleep. He nearly drove off the road attempting to retrieve a bottle of water from the backseat when she mentioned she was thirsty, but save for her request, the conversation ceased.

Kit pushed open the passenger door, relieved the car ride was over. They'd been in the car for nearly an hour and she was certain the time had helped her creep back into sobriety. As she stood up, shaky on her feet, she realised that no, she was still drunk, still stupid. She huffed out a dramatic sigh as Harry joined her at the side of the car. He eyed her curiously.

"I don't want to be like this anymore," she pouted, pinching her cheeks and giving her head a couple of quick shakes, mistakenly convinced that would help her sober up.

Despite his unsettled nerves and anticipation of what the night alone with Kit would bring – nothing, he reminded himself – Harry let out a laugh at her antics. He nudged her elbow carefully, directing her towards the house. "You won't be forever," he reminded her, unlocking the front door and pushing it open, allowing Kit to enter first.

She stepped inside, finding themselves in the dining room. She kicked off her shoes, casting a glance around the house. It was beautifully decorated, but Kit was surprised by the size. She made sure to tell Harry so.

"It's smaller than I thought," she commented, allowing herself to take a few steps and peer into the next room. A cozy living room was set beside the dining room, comfortable couches against the wall and a welcoming fireplace between two windows. Kit wondered what it would be like to curl up with Harry in front of the fireplace on a cold winter's night. Or hot summer's day – she wouldn't be picky.

Harry chuckled lightly, unfazed by her comment. "I don't need anything bigger... Just me here..." he reminded her pointedly. "Are you hungry?" he questioned, changing the subject and trying not to think about what it would be like to have Kit's constant company in his quiet home.

"No," Kit answered airily, letting her fingers trail along the tops of the fabric dining chairs. "Well, maybe..." she determined after a second thought. Suddenly, she remembered Harry was expecting her to give herself to him that night. It wasn't something she wanted to do, but would. However, getting sick all over him – which would most certainly happen if she ate anything – would make the event even worse. She shook her head again, avoiding Harry's eyes. "Actually, no. Thank you," she added politely.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You'll feel better in the morning if you eat tonight," he told her sternly. "Come on, just some crackers and some water... then I'll leave you alone," he promised, nodding towards the kitchen.

Kit sighed again, the exhale raspy in her throat. "Fine," she answered with a huff, matching his eye roll. "You're so bossy," she added as she stalked past him into the kitchen, flopping down into one of the chairs at the tiny breakfast table.

"Would you rather feel even shittier than you already will tomorrow?" questioned Harry, following Kit into the kitchen and retrieving a pack of saltines from the pantry. She was such a cheeky piece of work, but God, was she perfect. He tossed the crackers towards her before filling up a glass of water and joining her at the table.

"I always feel shitty in the morning," Kit answered, reaching past the crackers for the water. She gulped thirstily, downing nearly the entire glass in one breath. When she put the glass down, Harry immediately stood up, refilling it.

"Well, then... maybe tomorrow will be different," Harry countered, pushing the glass across the table. His words meant more than just what he said, but he didn't expect Kit to pick up on it.

She exhaled, her lip sticking out in a pout. Tomorrow would be different. She knew she didn't have anything to lose – she'd already wrecked everything with Harry – but she didn't want tomorrow to be different. She wanted things to be the same as they were before they weren't the same anymore.

Harry's brow furrowed, watching Kit's face go from pouting to pained. "Are you okay?" he asked her hesitantly. She looked as though she was going to cry.

Kit mashed her palms against her eyes, tears spilling over. "Harry, I don't want to sleep with you!" she blurted out, surprising him. "I mean, of course I do but I... I don't want to right now! I know I owe you and I'm sorry, but I just... I don't feel very well. And well, maybe... I can in the morning, I guess, but I can't right now!"

Harry sat back in his chair, stunned by her confession. Her words echoed in his mind, and he didn't know what to say. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't heard her say she wanted to sleep with him, but more so, he was horrified she thought she was supposed to sleep with him and was disgusted with himself that he – or someone else – had made her feel that way. "You owe me?" he finally managed to utter; his words overlapping the scraping sound of Kit backing up her chair as she stood up, bolting from the kitchen.

Knowing exactly where she was heading, Harry called out, "past the stairs!" as he hurried after her, meeting Kit in the bathroom. She was already kneeling in front of the toilet, coughing up her bad mistakes of the night. He sat against the wall behind her, not hesitating as he pulled the loose strands of her hair away from her face. He abhorred vomit, but all he could think about was making sure Kit felt comforted.

Silently, he rubbed her back with his free hand, patiently waiting for her to finish and trying not to gag. He didn't care if it would be an inopportune time, he needed to know why she felt she owed him anything, let alone sex.

If she hadn't been so busy getting sick, Kit would have been mortified. She got sick often while drinking, but always in private. Never had anyone ever sat behind her, rubbing her back while listening to disgusting sounds and revolting smells coming out of her. As her hurling came to an end, Kit rested her head on her arm, draped across the toilet, refusing to look up.

"You okay, love?" Harry asked, keeping his hand in motion across Kit's back. He heard her sniffle and he inched closer to her, pulling her to his chest. "Hey," he commented as she covered her face with her hands. "It's okay," he assured her, unable to resist resting his head against her shoulder. "I'm friends with Ed, remember? I've seen a lot worse," he joked, covering her hands with his and pulling them from her face.

"I'm sorry," Kit mumbled, keeping her head ducked. She could feel the bit of makeup she was wearing running across her eyes. She was sure she looked hideous, and her breath likely smelled like curdled vodka. Realising this, she pushed Harry off of her and stood up, unsteady on her feet as she stood in front of the sink. She refused to look at herself; rather, she used her hands as a cup and slurped water into her mouth, swishing it around before spitting. She reached behind her for the toilet paper roll, but Harry had beaten her to it, handing the roll to Kit.

"Please don't be nice to me," Kit told him quietly, avoiding Harry's eyes as she took the roll, unraveling a handful of sheets. She ran them under the water and pressed the damp paper against her eyes, still refusing her reflection. She was such a joke.

Harry frowned at her words, standing up to join her at the sink. "Why shouldn't I be?" he asked her, watching as she aggressively swiped the toilet paper against her face. He sighed as she remained silent; gently taking the tissue from her hands. "Look at me," he urged her quietly, tipping her chin. Kit uttered a long sigh, but obliged, looking up at Harry.

He smiled softly at her, taking in her tear-streaked cheeks, bloodshot eyes and smudged makeup. She was such a mess, but all he saw was the most beautiful girl in the world. He was breaking every one of the rules he'd established for himself regarding Kit, but he didn't care. He carefully pressed the tissue against her skin, staring into her eyes as he wiped the makeup she didn't need off of her face.

Kit sighed, letting Harry tend to her disastrous face. "Because I don't deserve it," she told him, pushing his hand away after a moment and letting her gaze fall to the floor. She heard Harry chuckle in protest, but she shook her head quickly. She didn't need him to lie to her. "Can we just go to bed, please?" she asked him, wanting to get her debts fulfilled and forgotten.

"Sure..." Harry answered with a shrug. It was best to not discuss Kit's feelings after she'd only just finished throwing up and was still intoxicated. He stepped out of the bathroom, casting a look over his shoulder to ensure Kit was following him before he headed up the stairs.

He stopped at the top, opening a door to reveal a guest bedroom twice the size of Kit's own bedroom at home. He wished he was leading her up one more flight of stairs to his own bedroom, but tonight was not the night for that to happen, despite what Kit thought he expected. He gestured to the corner of the room, a door ajar.

"There's the bathroom," he informed her, assuming she would have a couple more prayer sessions over the porcelain throne. "There's a new toothbrush under the sink. I'll go get you something to sleep in," he added, closing the door halfway before taking the stairs to his room two at a time.

Kit exhaled, spinning in a slow circle as she examined the room. She didn't want to have sex with Harry in the room his mother likely slept in when she visited him. She wanted to sleep with him in his own room. She wanted his sheets to smell like her and her memory be etched in the headboard. If he was going to make her have sex with him, he was going to remember it.

She darted out of the room after Harry and ascended the stairs. She pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, seeing Harry standing in front of a dresser, holding a white Rolling Stones t-shirt. He looked up at her, a surprised look on his face as she strode across the room. She grabbed the shirt from his hands and threw it on the floor before wrapping her arms around his neck and feverishly mashing her lips against his.

Instinctively, Harry's hands found Kit's waist and he tugged her closer, hungrily reciprocating her kiss. It only took him a few moments of her intoxicated mouth dancing with his before he realised what they were doing. He pulled away, holding her at arm's length.

"What are you doing!" he gasped, refusing to let the lip-locking continue, though he knew the forceful kiss would be on his mind for the foreseeable future.

Kit took Harry's hands, placing them firmly against her breasts. "Getting this over with," she panted; pulling his head back towards her. She refused to acknowledge how good his large hands felt against her chest. This wasn't supposed to be enjoyable.

He couldn't help it; he kissed her back. He knew he shouldn't, but he let his hands give a tentative squeeze against her small breasts before frantically finding the buttons of her top. Before he even realised what he was doing, he'd unclasped two of them.

Kit felt a wave of emotions as Harry didn't even try to stop her; rather, he encouraged her and the consummation by starting to remove her top. She'd placed Harry on such a high pedestal, but he was quickly showing her he was just another guy, ready to take what he felt he deserved. Her legs felt wobbly – a combination of her intoxication and disappointment – so she twisted slightly, nudging Harry towards his bed.

Kit's movement snapped Harry back to reality. This couldn't happen; not now, not like this. As much as it killed him to, he separated from her. "Kit, stop it," he ordered, moving his hands to her shoulders and pushing her away. "Stop it!" he said again. "Come on, you don't want to do this," he said, trying unsuccessfully not to look at her unbuttoned top. He bent down, retrieving the t-shirt from the floor and thrusting it towards her.

Kit was mortified. While sex with Kevin was terrible, she'd never been rejected – granted, she never initiated it. If this was par for the course, she would never initiate anything again. Not that Harry would ever want her to. If she thought they were wrecked before, she was wrong. Now they were ruined, beyond a shadow of a doubt. She avoided Harry's eyes as he placed the t-shirt in her arms, covering her mouth with one hand. "I thought... you... oh, God... I'm sorry..." she stammered out, turning on her heel and bolting from Harry's bedroom.

Harry was stunned, standing motionless for a moment before he followed her down the stairs. She'd shut the bedroom door behind her, but he opened it anyway. Kit had quickly curled herself on top of the bed, holding his t-shirt against her face. Hesitantly, he sat on the corner of the bed, watching her.

"Was that what you thought you owed me?" Harry asked carefully after a moment. He wanted to avoid Kit closing him off, but needing to know what she meant by her words and her actions. He needed to tell her it couldn't be further from the truth.

Kit didn't answer Harry, letting the only sound of the room be the rhythmic ticking of the vintage alarm clock on the dresser. Finally, she gave a slight shrug. "I don't know," she murmured, keeping her face hidden.

"Yes, you do..." Harry countered softly. He let her keep her distance from him, though every fibre of he being wanted to wrap her in his arms and protect her from everything in the world.

Kit hugged herself tighter as she sighed. "It's just... what boys want..." she answered slowly.

"What boys?" Harry pressed, her belief angering him. "Kevin? Kevin is a piece of shit, Kit..." he reminded her. "We're not all like that. You owe me nothing. You hear that? Nothing," he insisted, leaning across the bed and grabbing her arm. He let his fingers glide down her arm before taking her hand, weaving his fingers through hers as he moved closer to her. "I spend time with you and do things for you and... want to be with you because I'm..." He stopped himself just before the words falling in love with you spilled out of his mouth. He cleared his throat, hoping she didn't pick up on his stumble. "Cause I really like you..." he told her instead, exhaling softly as he realised what he'd almost said, and realised it was true. He could try and deny it; he could avoid Kit and her phone calls and spend the majority of his days reminding himself to not think about her, distracting himself with the likes of Kendall Jenner, but it was a fruitless labour. He was falling in love with Kit and he was completely powerless to stop it.

"How can you still like me?" Kit asked him with a scoff. "You said it yourself, I'm stringing you along and giving you whiplash. You think you're my side bitch," she reminded him, her face falling at the memory of their telephone fight. "I haven't been nice to you at all... I wrecked us," she told him apologetically.

"Kit... if you really wrecked us... why did I drop everything to come get you tonight?" Harry asked her softly. "Why are you the only person I think about all day, every day? Why do I stick around even though you..." He trailed off with a shrug. "I know I stopped answering you, and I'm sorry. I was trying to get you off my mind... since you're with him, but..." He sighed again. "I can't."

Just when Kit thought he hated her and she wouldn't have to deal with hurting him – or, more accurately, him hurting her – he had to rattle off his feelings and say words so sweet and kind, she thought she was in a dream. She didn't deserve Harry, even though she wanted to.

"I don't know if I could ever be enough for you..." Kit confessed quietly. Harry crawled across the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of Kit. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear before tapping her chin slightly, getting her to look at him.

"What?" he asked, her muffled voice hindering his ability to hear her, though he was almost certain he knew what she said.

Kit blew out a breath, turning her head and allowing her eyes to meet Harry's. "I said... I don't know if I can be enough," she whispered to him. "I feel like... I'm already always letting you down. And when you get mad at me... it fucking kills me, Harry. It's easy with Kevin, because... I guess I don't give a shit. But with you? I give a lot of shits... I'm not as good as you think I am," she added glumly.

Harry scooted closer to Kit, lying down beside her. She stiffened slightly as Harry's arms enveloped her but she soon tucked against him. His heart ached for her. He knew he was right back to square one with Kit, but, despite his month-long avoidance, it was naïve of him to think he ever left the square.

"Remember what I told you... that night after the bar?" Harry asked her, her hair tickling against his lips as he held her close. "I told you you're perfect. And you are. I told you that you wouldn't be alone, and... I still mean it." Harry heard Kit sigh, but he kept talking, though he was acutely aware that she'd only just thrown up, tried to have sex with him and was still drunk. The words he was saying should have been saved, but he continued. "The only time you ever let me down is when you talk so much shit about yourself, shit that isn't even close to being true. And I don't mean to get mad at you. It's just... this fucking situation, and it kills me too..."

Kit kept her head against Harry's chest, hearing his heart beat wildly. Surely hers was a matching percussion. Her eyes felt heavy but she didn't want to sleep yet. "I'm sorry..." she mumbled against his shirt. "I don't want to have any regrets, but I..." she hesitated, letting her sentence fall.

"But what?"

She pulled away from Harry enough to look into his eyes. "I just... when you say all this stuff, and we're together... I want to believe you, and I think I do..." she told him, insinuating she trusted him that she wouldn't be alone. "But I... I'm scared that everything with you, and everything I've dreamed about... everything I want will be gone when I wake up... And I'll be stuck with Kevin, and I don't want to be..." she confessed to him.

Harry pressed a soft kiss against her head. "Sweetheart... you don't have to be afraid. Even when the night changes to the morning... it's never going to change me and you..." he promised her, though he knew there was no me and you. Not yet. "Just... you have to do something for me. Not that!" he quickly added. "But... you want no regrets, right?"

"That's all I really want."

"You have to end it with him..." Harry told her, instantly feeling bad that he was telling Kit how to live her life, but she told him she wanted to. She had to act on her words. He realised that ultimately, he wanted Kit to be happy. He wanted her to be that bouncy, energetic spitfire from his past, not the sad, drunk little girl of his present. If she could be that way with him, it would be perfect. But as long as she was happy, and away from Kevin, it would be enough for him. Almost.