Little Things

Chapter 15

My bedroom door slams shut, with paint specks on the frame flying off. I sink into my bed, letting my anger go but sadness washing over me, with embarrassment, shame, humiliation, mortification, and misery all mixed in. The overwhelm of emotions spills out in tears on my cheeks.

How could I believe someone of such fame and glory would ever like me? I thought maybe we could start off as friends and develop into something more. For the first time in months, I was happy. Niall made me happy. He made me laugh, he made me smile, and he made me enjoy life again.

But all that was taken away.

The words he said to me ring in my ears and his sarcastic remarks fill my head.

A knock sounds my door and I grunt, not responding.

"Morgan I'm fine," I reply, but the pitch of my voice reveals that I am anything but.

"I was just checking up on you," a voice that I don't recognize at first answers.

"Harry?" I squeak, leaning up against the head board.

"The one and only," he says.

"I don't think you're the only Harry in the world," I say.

"Well, no, but, I'm the best Harry."

"How modest of you," I say, as he laughs.

Neither of us say anything so I just continue to stare at the ceiling, still ashamed of myself. Ashamed of how vulnerable I was to my pathetic feelings, ashamed of how ignorant I was, ashamed of how I believed someone like Niall or anyone for that matter would ever actually like me.

"So are you going to open this door and let me in or should I just stand here the rest of the night?" Harry breaks my thoughts as I jump off my bed to unlock the door and let him inside. I mentally praise myself for cleaning my room up last weekend.

"Wow, this is amazing," Harry says, his eyes wide as he views the photos hung all around my room. The walls are a soft green, and I strung lights (they are supposed to be for Christmas trees but that can be kept a secret) along the walls, and pictures of nearly everything I've ever experienced thumb tacked, hiding a lot of the paint color. My comforter is black and gray swirls covering the white canvas. The corner of my room lays a desk with old paintings, poems and papers scattered everywhere with random knick-knacks.

"Sorry about that junk," I wave my hand towards the pile, but he is unphased by it as his eyes are fixated onto all the pictures.

"These are so incredible," he mutters, scanning each picture. After a few seconds, his eyes stop on a particular one. As I walk closer to see which, he speaks up. "Who's that? He's in a lot of these. Secret boyfriend?" he chuckles, but my heart sinks.

"Um," I squeak, gulping. "My brother, Timmy."

"Hes lucky to have a sister like you. How old is he?" he asks, and my cheeks flush.

"Supposed to be twenty five," I choke, trying to hold back my tears.

He walks a few steps, looking at more pictures.

"I reckon you two are really close, since he is in literally ninety percent of these. Does he live in Boston?" he asks innocently.

I pause, not knowing what to answer. I don't want to bring my personal problems into Harrys life. He has been nothing but nice to me since he got here. But, he turns around waiting for my answer.

"Hes buried here," I blurt, and in a flash tears are running down my face.

Harrys face blanks, and he resembles a ghost. Swiftly, he moves in front of me and has his arms wrapped around protectively.

I continue to sob into his flannel, letting my mascara smudge the red squares. Thankfully it will probably blend with the black lines.

"I'm s-sorry," I choke out.

"Shh," he silences me, rubbing my back slowly. "There is nothing for you to be sorry about. I am sorry for you, things like that should never happen. Not that young," he whispers into my ear.

We remain embraced for a few minutes until I start to calm down.

Harry steps back and holds my shoulders in his muscular hands, looking deeply in my eyes. I notice the red in the corners of his, and a few wet spots underneath.

"You are one of the most strong girls I have ever met. What you went through...I can't even imagine. I don't have a brother, but my mates, they are my brothers. And I...I can't even imagine losing any of them," he rubs his eyes and I hiccup.

He pulls me back into a hug for a few seconds, and we move to the edge of my bed.

"Let's talk about a happier subject," Harry suggests. I nod quickly and he sends me a soft smile that I can't manage to return.

"So what's your favorite song?" he asks.

I hesitate. I don't really have a favorite song, to be completely honest. "I don't know. I like anything by Ed Sheeran and John Mayer, but I also love Ron Pope. And some other songs. That's a tough question!" I exclaim, keeping my tone at a soft pitch, wanting to lighten the mood.

"I really believed you were a What Makes You Beautiful girl," he sighs and I blush.

"Oh I do love that song! Sorry I just kinda forgot who you are..." his expression changes into a beaming smile and my face reddens even more. "well I didn't like forget who you are, I just kinda like forgot about the band and stuff..." I trail, playing with my fingers.

"Dont be embarrassed. I want people to be able to talk to me, and not just think about who I am, and what I do. Thank you, for forgetting that," he says and I relax a bit. I really should've said a one direction song, though.

"What about you? What's your favorite song?" I ask.

"Erm, well, I'm more of a Live While We're Young Guy," he jokes, and laughs at himself. "But really, I like The Fray. Like Never Say Never. Not by Justin Bieber though, and don't tell Niall I said that. He secretly has a man crush on him," he admits and I erupt into laughter, imagining Niall fangirling over Justin.

I bet he has t-shirts, all of his albums, and posters of him. The thought makes me giggle even more.

We continue back and forth asking pointless questions, and I enjoy every second of it. I can definitely see myself being close to Harry. He's already been an amazing friend to me, after knowing him for only around four hours.