This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 32***

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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Since the first star split the blank

Split the silence, too 

Since the first dawn of this Earth

Founded clothed in blue

Since the first bird song was sung

As through the air afloat

It's been you, it's always been you

Ray Lamontagne | It's Always Been You

***THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED AND IS NO LONGER CENSORED***

Hours later when I awoke, disoriented and sore, it took a moment to register where I was. These ceilings were not mine. Neither were these walls; all bare and devoid of paintings. Neither was this furniture; sparse and rustic as it was. Nor the verdant grass and low stone wall running along the yard outside (unblemished white like everything else around me.) Again, I deduced I had entered a commune secluded deep in the canyons of old Hollywood, deposited somewhere along a time warp in the 60s.

The man beside me was fast asleep, yet at some point had gotten up to turn his music on. A familiar mix played about the room at a hushed volume; one I recognized from many dreary autumn days at his London home. We would spend the bulk of the day sleeping, awakening only to make love and art, play video games, watch movies, and cook in the middle of the night. I was a proud sous-chef who got to taste everything as he prepared it, so that I was full by the time we were ready to eat.

Frank Ocean's "Swim Good" was a quarter of the way through and I listened till the last second, rapt with nostalgia. Moments ago, I'd dreamt Z was walking ahead of me in a crowded airport, and I couldn't reach him no matter how hard I sprinted. Clueless people kept lumbering in the way—dogs, carts, children, luggage— all whizzing by as I accelerated through the confused droves. Then he halted and he turned to acknowledge me. Before I could speak, I was snatched backwards away from him, and now lay blinking awake. For several moments I shut my eyes and tried to decipher the moral of this phantasmagoric nightmare, but nothing seemed to make sense of it. Before long, I forfeited and surveyed the strange room again.

He must've stepped onto the terrace for a smoke while I was asleep, since the door was ajar. Now a breeze stirred around the room, setting the muslin drapes aquiver. He had pulled back the heavier drapes and snuffed out all the candles in the meantime. Consequently, I was reminded that it was the middle of the day, and not night as I'd been deceived into believing as we made love to candlelight and silence.

"Thinkin Bout You" started up and I stretched as best I could without exacerbating my tender muscles. I was as limp and shriveled as my ****; the life having been drained from both without mercy by the man beside me. Soon I caught a whiff of cigarettes and knew he'd engaged in his 'post-coital' smoke session as always once I drifted to sleep. He certainly deserved it.

I watched him now without relent, as he lay facing me on his belly, one knee bent over my thigh. His thumb lingered near his parted mouth as it was wont to do on these occasions. I could never catch him in the act, but it was forever poised to take the dive the moment he felt the unconscious inclination in his sleep.