Candy

Chapter Eight

“Clara,” Niall’s voice said over the phone. “I think you need to come back to us.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Harry really misses you. I miss you.”

“Niall, I’ve told you thousands of times, I’m not coming back. You’ve skyrocketed ever since I left. Why would I go back?”

“Harry hasn’t seen you for five years and he still asks me about you every day. He hasn’t dated anyone since you. He stopped sleeping around. He’s waiting for you. Do you understand how hard it is for a bloke to not sleep with someone for five years?!”

I sighed. “I want to come back.”

“So do it.”

“What, just show up out of nowhere and expect things to be okay? You know that I can’t just show up and expect Harry to forgive me for hiding what I hid.”

“Yes,” Niall said. I could hear murmuring on the other side of the line.

“Are you alone?” I asked suspiciously.

I heard Niall put his hand over the receiver and shush whoever was there. “Yeah,” he replied.

“You’re lying!”

“Let me talk to her!” Someone shouted. I heard rustling at then a huge boom. “Clara?” A voice asked.

“Niall?” I asked.

“It’s Harry.” He said breathlessly.

“Harry,” I whispered, closing my eyes and feeling everything come rushing back. It hadn’t left, it had just dulled. Whenever I’d heard his name, or a song from one of his albums, or looked at pictures of him it came back. And now that he was talking to me over the phone, it was ten times stronger.

“Please come back.” He whispered. “Please.”

“Okay.” I gave in after a few seconds of silence. He deserved it. He needs to know what happened.

“Really?” Harry asked. “Promise?”

“I promise. Besides, I owe you all some money.” I joked.

“When will you visit?” Harry asked.

“I’ll book a flight for tomorrow.” I said, deciding on a whim.

“I’ll pick you up.” Harry promised.

“The paps will see us,” I protested.

“I don’t fucking care about the paparazzi seeing us or the fans talking shit. I care about seeing you tomorrow for the first time in five years.” Harry said seriously.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Clara?” Harry said, after a minute.

“Yes?” I replied.

“You might not want to buy a return ticket. And you may want to pack all your clothes and things.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not risking loosing you again. You’re staying with me this time.”

“Harry,” I protested.

“I don’t care.” He said, sounding close to tears. “I’m angry at you for leaving and not talking to me for all these years, but I’m still not letting you go.”

“What about Cher?” I asked him, the jealousy dripping in my voice.

 “That’s fake.” Harry said. “Our managers arranged it.”