boston {h.s.}

douze.

Dear Reader,

I've spent more time than I care to admit in replaying the events that transpired between me and Harry Styles. Frequently, I wonder whether there was anything that I could have done differently. I wonder whether there was even one small detail that could have changed the subsequent and consequential events.

Of course, this is just speculation. A fun sport, though, fun hardly seems to be the word to apply to our present situation. Fun was a word that I use up to the point in which we were caught. After that... car crash. Impossible to look away. You should know the feeling. As a writer, I make no judgments about my reader, but I do assume that you are enticed by my story. Or maybe his. Regardless, something about our passionate flame drew you in. I can't blame you in the least: something about him drew me in.

One thing is for certain: I don't think I knew I was playing with fire.

To the point: it's impossible to know for sure how much power is contained in one, singular decision. That being said, I must admit to you, reader, that every time I play this game with myself, I come to the same conclusion: the night in New Hampshire.

I imagine you're annoyed with my frequent interjections, especially considering my consistent promises that I will remove my present self from the story. Though, I think this is one of the occasions in which it is impossible to remove myself—as I am now—from the narrative. I need to make sure that you, reader, understand the paramount importance of what you are about to read. This night in New Hampshire changed everything. We crossed a line, we flirted with fire and danger and we came out victorious. At first, we fought it. We did—you've seen us doing so. But in New Hampshire, we succumbed.

They say that the first hit is always the best. I raise that: the first hit is the most dangerous. It's the most surprising: you have no idea what to expect. Since you know what to expect in the times that follow, of course it'll never feel the same again. Only, every moment that I spent with Harry after... it somehow just got better. We outdid ourselves. We—well, I'll save that for when you get there.

Know this, understand this: New Hampshire changed everything.

When I finish this story, I think you will have a better understanding of the complexities of our tales. But you need to understand: everything you know, everything you think you know... all of that comes to a head. All of the tension and the glances—none of that even holds a candle to what was to come. I was naïve before. I didn't know what an affair was.

Finally we are at the point that I can introduce you to mine. Please, I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can understand me.

With hope and love,

Margeaux Beauchamp