From The Dining Table [H.S]

2 Bananas for a Pound

Primrose's POV:

"Primrose!" Angel yells, as he charges towards me. I slam my laptop shut, hoping he didn't see what I was looking at.

"What the hell are you doing?! Why would you do this to yourself?" He shouts, leaning over me furiously.

Two hours earlier

I woke up to Angel's deep snoring, as he slept like a baby. Wriggling my arm out from underneath him, I rub my eyes, and focus on the clock. 02:13AM. Great. Pulling myself off the couch slowly, I lie the blanket fully over Angel. Tiptoeing into my bedroom, I crawl into the middle of my bed and take my laptop from my bedside table. I cross my legs: resting my MacBook in front of me and type in my password.

'Am I really about to do this?' I think to myself, as I open google. I hover my fingers over the keys, as I argue back and forth in my head.

I shouldn't be looking this up. I don't need to.

But I want to.

But it will upset me.

But I need to know the truth.

But nothings going to happen even if I do.

But I need to know.

I slam my laptop shut, darting my eyes to the dark room surrounding me. Rolling off the bed, I light some candles. As I reach over my bedside table to light my final candle, I'm met with a familiar face. Harry. His photo beaming at me, confidently lying on my night stand as the letter is tucked away underneath it. As I shake my match to blow out the flame, I pick up the letter. Returning to the same spot on the bed, I unfold the letter and begin to read.

Dear Primrose...

His voice echoed through my mind as I read each word he wrote. Wrote? This isn't hand written. How am I just realising this!? I must've been so blinded by stupidity and excitement the first time I read it, that I completely missed how this has been typed on what I can only assume to be a typewriter.

Thank you for that night.

I read on, being hit once again with his comforting scent of tobacco and vanilla. Memories of Jamaica danced up my nostrils as I came to the end of the letter.

All the best,
-H x.

Lowering the letter, I shift my eyes to the photo of Harry lying next to me; his smile so pure and real. Why did he have to lie to me? I pick up the photo and place it in the letter, before folding it up and replacing it safely in its envelope. 'Ughhh' I groan to myself, as I reopen my laptop. It was stupid of me to even try and talk myself out of looking him up - I knew I would cave in eventually.

My fingers began to slowly type the letters H A R R Y space S T Y L E S. Taking a deep breath, I hit the search button. My eyes were overcome with floods and floods of information: images, news reports, videos, websites, merchandise, social media's. I take another deep breath, and move my mouse to click on images. As I scroll - shocked at how stunning he looks in all of these - I can't help but pay extra attention to an image of Harry on a red carpet. It seems fairly recent, because he looks the same as he did when I saw him in Jamaica. Clicking on it, I read the caption under the image.