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

Chapter 43***

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

"My youth, my youth is yours..."

Troye Sivan | Youth

As they say, 'the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.' Things came up and intervened, so our plans to meet "tomorrow" became "several days later." We spoke a lot in that time, making sure we were still on the same page and surprisingly, we were. He expressed occasional reservations, repeatedly asking me if I was sure, but I told him I had never been more certain of anything in my life. My body was his.

When I awoke the morning of, there was already a knot in my stomach. Things were beginning to feel real. I'd barely slept for thinking of how things would play out and if he would be satisfied with me. If he would be grossed out and regretful afterwards. How much would it change things? Would I lose him forever after today, or would it set us on a path of mutual destruction? Cannibalizing each other until there was nothing left?

Those questions played on a continuous loop in my head, drowning out my music the night before. I was only able to doze off for one restless half-hour at a time, awaking to the same thoughts and the same mental refrain. Fielding bizarre dreams where I was a kid again and running up the stairs in my grandparents' house. Watching the adults eat brunch on Sundays. Hearing my stepdad talk business on the phone; often heatedly. Chasing rabbits in the garden. And then there were dreams where I'd never joined X-Factor and still lived in my hometown, chained down by the monotony of school life and surrounded with unimpressive friends.

As I showered, I took extra time to clean every part of me, even going so far as to make sure I'd be squeaky clean wherever he chose to venture. After I toweled off, I listened to Fleetwood Mac's "Sliver Springs" in the attic and got dressed. Later I sang Maroon 5's "Payphone" as loud as I could without getting evicted, dancing around the room, heedless to how thunderous it sounded from downstairs.

In a few hours I would have the house to myself and could take time to relax before calling him. The only safe place for us to meet proved to be my place in Hampstead, since there was a chance Perrie could stop by his place at any moment, and hotels were too risky (too many eyes), and of course the Winstons' house was off limits. Fortunately for us, it was Sunday, the only day the contractors working on my place took off, so at least we'd have a quiet hideaway, even if it had no furniture and food.

Downstairs, Meredith had just finished cooking, so I joined her in the kitchen at the island. She smiled as I walked in, already dressed and prepared to head out for the day.

"There he is..."

"Mornin'," I drawled, padding barefoot across the cool floors to take a seat at the counter.

"You're up. Finally!" She went into the microwave and retrieved something, then turned and set a plate of hot buttery waffles before me.

"Ugh, I am undeserving," I uttered, digging in right away, dousing it with syrup and only remembering to say thank you after I had a mouthful of food.

Meredith Winston was a dream come true. Gentle, educated, religious, maternal—the dutiful wife and the darling hostess. She came from a family of principled and affluent stock whose pedigree could be traced back several centuries. It was all Ben talked about at parties; well that and how unbelievable her mom was. In fact, he insisted the matriarch was even kinder and more diligent than his new wife, and joked that he might have married her instead.