Through The Dark || Harry Styles

21. LUCY

LUCY

"Hi, you've called Amy Chen. Sorry I can't take your call, leave me a message after the tone."

I've become so familiar with this message that it doesn't even sound like my best friend's voice anymore. I rub a thumb into my temple until I hear the signal to start recording.

"Hey, it's Lucy... again. I know it's late but, please call me back. Any time of the day or night. I don't want it to be like this. If you've met someone, I want to be part of it, Aimz. Don't shut me out. I have news too, crazy news that you'll never believe. Something happened, and I don't know what the hell it means but need to talk to you."

I sigh as I end the call, tossing the phone into the surrounding duvet with a huff as I throw my head back onto the pillow.

It's been three weeks since Harry and I kissed and my daily thoughts cycle through a million different emotions on a constant loop: Guilt, confusion, fear, hope, desire, shame, disgust, anger.

In the past, I would have told Amy about what happened the very next day. We would have over-analysed every word, every motion, every touch. I need to hear her advice and how she thinks I should handle it. I want to sit on my couch with greasy take-out and ice cream and watch sappy chick flicks and talk about how confusing boys are.

I know Harry and I shouldn't have kissed, but I miss him.

It's wrong, but I do.

The first two weeks I convinced myself that my feelings were mixed up. I miss Amy, I miss Jake, and that's why it feels more painful that Harry and I are shutting each other out. But, as the days roll on I realise that that's not it.

I miss watching him play with Lola and the way he talks to her in that ridiculous voice. I miss the way he reasons with me, calms me down with solutions and empathy. I miss the way he hums when he eats something I've made for him and the way he is surprised at how good the coffee is every time he tries a new one.

I call Amy again, hoping she can talk me out of my own insane thoughts.

"Hi, you've called Amy Chen. Sorry I can't take your call, leave me a message after the tone."

Restless, I pull the covers off and flick on the lights in the kitchen, the digital clock on the oven reminding me that I have to be up for work in about six hours.

Lola looks up from her bed and when she sees me pulling things from the cupboards she grunts and puts her head back down as if to tell me she's grumpy that I've interrupted her slumber.

There's little to no chance I'm getting any sleep tonight and I know that Claire will be on my back about it tomorrow, making snide comments about how I look or act. They'll all be passive-aggressive comments of course, and said with a charming smile on her face, that seems to fool everyone but me.

Maybe if I use my insomnia to my advantage she won't complain to Mr Fulham about how mentally unfit I am to be there. Allegedly.

I pull out three handheld coffee grinders and start to open each of the small bags of coffee beans from the new product range I took home with me, leaning down to smell each one with my eyes closed to get an initial impression.

When I was in charge of my own portfolio, I used to do this all the time. We have all the provisions at the office to taste-test new blends but I find that being in your own space, calm and uninterrupted, makes the coffee taste different and I am able to make a far better judgement call for my clients and which types I think will suit their customers best.

Jake used to be impartial to seeing me set up everything and scribble notes onto the pad resting on the kitchen countertop. I used to hope he'd show an interest, or at the very least be mad at me, tell me not to bring work home or to come back to bed, complain that he never spent time with me. But he remained unaffected, doing his own thing and letting me do mine. Sometimes that was great, other times it stung a little.

My phone ringing startles me and my heart pounds at the thought of Amy calling me back. The pounding halts to a complete, breathless stop when I see Harry's name flashing on the screen.

"Hey," I answer cautiously. It's late and my mind is already making up a hundred worse case scenarios for the reason he's calling me.

"You're up," he sounds surprised that I've answered even though he knows I sleep with my phone on loud next to my bed, just in case.

"Yeah, I can't sleep. Is everything okay?"

"I can't sleep either."

He shuffles in his bed. I hear the squeak of the base and the linens swishing past the phone as he gets comfortable and there's a burn in the pit of my stomach, a dull ache, wanting to be there with him.

I'm desperate to ask him about his date last week. I want to know if he likes her, if he is going to keep seeing her, if they kissed. Guiltfree.

"What's keeping you up?" I ask, cursing my own mind at the filthy images it projects without warning.

He swallows audibly and I imagine his sweet face, sleepy and confused trying to think of the right way to say what he's thinking without worrying me.

"I can't stop thinking about it."

I stop breathing. Silence blankets us as I become hyper-aware of everything around me. The refrigerator humming, the brightness of the kitchen lights, the coolness of the benchtop below the hand holding me up.

"Thinking about what?" I exhale as quietly as possible, not wanting to miss a sound.

He takes in a deep breath and it's shaky on the way out before his voice drops an octave.

"Kissing you."

My heart slams into my rib cage and my lips tingle at the memory but concern still holds me back.

"Because you liked it? Or because of the line it crossed?"

"Both."

My pulse is racing so fast I feel faint.

"Me too," I whisper.

"It's keeping you awake too... or you liked it as well?"

We both tiptoe around the landmine of truth.

"Both."

Neither of us speaks a word, the sound of our breathing becoming the soundtrack for this heartstopping conversation and I close my eyes to try and regain control of my limbs.

"What are you doing?" I hear the bed shuffling. "Right now?" he asks, lust lacing his unsteady voice and I wish I could say I was in bed or respond with something sexy, but instead I tell the truth.

"Um, I'm in the kitchen, about to do a tasting with new coffee beans I just got."

He laughs through his nose and I'm relieved at the break in tension for a moment.

"Now? At midnight on Thursday night?"

"I told you I couldn't sleep," I smile to myself.

"Can I come over?" The humour has been erased from his tone and it makes my heart leap into my throat.

"Okay."

A/N:

Oh god!

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