Behind The Lense (Harry Styles love story)

Then I Think

I wake up to the sweet smell of my own scent. My nose has been nuzzled in something soft and my hands are tightly wound around some object. It was almost the length of a larger teddy bear, but with less fuzz. My crusty eyes fight their way through sleepiness as I sit up to scope out my surroundings. I am in bed, and not only a bed but my bed. The object is actually a big pillow, and I have a funny feeling the object last night was actually Harry and he replaced himself with something else to satisfy my cuddling needs. I smile just thinking about him wrapping his arms around me. Those tatted and delicious arms of his.

All of a sudden a whiff of another familiar smell rolls past my nose. I look around, afraid some burglar or murderer with really good taste in cologne (or perfume) has made their way into my humble room. My heart beat starts to rise as I slowly get off the bed and merge onto the ground. I look around everywhere, skimming from corner to corner and under my bed for good measure. But right when I'm about to check the living room I stop dead in my tracks, the scent has now filled my nostrils and watered my eyes. A glimmer of light reflects off the mirror and bounces back to me. I look down to see what caused it and notice James' cologne bottle sitting there with the lid popped off. The glass arch of the bottle is in perfect condition as always, with the smooth curves and sharp angles it contains. It has always been his favorite, probably cause it smells so sweet and stays on your clothes for weeks, and also because of the rare aquamarine color that's tinted inside.

I remember the first time he wore it. We were on our first date which consisted of going out to dinner at Olive Garden and strolling around the park hand in hand. Even though the fresh air was strong, the smell of his attractive scent was stronger, and I couldn't help but fall in love with it by the time he hugged me and hid his head into the crook of my neck.

I remember he complained the whole entire time that he wasn't creative and next date we would go somewhere that I wanted to go, and I giggled every time he said that. The truth was I didn't mind where we went or what we did, as long as I was with him then I was happy. He also didn't know that every time he said "on the next date you get to choose where we go" I didn't listen to him at all, all I heard was "on the next date" and that had my heart smiling and my legs feeling weak. I always had a crush on him, every since sixth grade when I first saw him walk past me with his friends and smile my way. He was the perfect boy in my mind.

And now look where we are. Eight years later and our relationship has crumbled apart. Like a steady gingerbread house, it stays together for years as long as you don't touch it but if one piece slips out then everything falls to bits. That's Harry, he's the thing that has punctured our gingerbread house and caused destruction in the relationship. And I thank him for that, how else would I have known about the real James if it wasn't for him.

I pick up the slick bottle and examine it slowly all around before pressing my index finger apon the top, and spritzing the sweet smell all over my chest. The smell hovers over me, guards me like a barracade. All the emotions that come along with this simple smell overtake me, welling up in my eyes before tears are tumbling down my cheeks one by one. These weren't painful tears, the ones that come along with heaving and balling, and loss of breath. These were just hurting tears, the ones that fall deadly along the slopes of your cheeks and hang on the tip of your jaw line before you are forced to do something about them. They were the dangerous ones, they show you that you have been let down and need help being stitched up once again. I hope Harry is the one who holds the needle to my heart.

The smell starts to become overwhelming so I place the bottle back in its original spot in attempt to wipe away some of the evidence. It reminds me of yesterday, when James almost hit me willingly. The smell of alcohol lingering on his breath, the way his drowsy eyes stared through me, the vein popping from his forehead. My fists clench just thinking about it. All the muscles inside me tense when I think about the way he talked to Harry, I can memorize every single word he said. I can relive the moment. Suddenly the cologne ontop of my palm becomes something more, a vile weapon that has been in the hands of a murderer. I throw it across the room with all the force I can manage, and screech as it collides with the empty wall and shatters into a million tiny chunks of glass. My breathing is deep and heavy, and I can't do anything to manage it. The feeling of smashing something really feels rewarding, so without any thought whatsoever I run across the room to retrieve a vase and scamper back to where I was just standing. As I'm in the process of chucking it once again at the vacant wall Harry's body appears inside the doorway. He looks out  of breath and terrified.