Ghost Writer [Harry Styles][H.S. Fanfic]

11 - THE SUN IS RISING

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With his hands still cupping my face, Harry furrows his eyebrows and glances out the windshield toward the multimillion-dollar yacht docked at the end of the pier and then back to me, pursing his lips.

"I'm lost," he admits honestly.

I'm having an existential crisis, Harry!

Averting my eyes, I focus on my fingers as they pull at the threads on my ripped jean shorts, fighting to blink away the tears that are threatening to spill over any minute.

This is not how I wanted Harry to find out about my newfound phobia of going anywhere near vast bodies of water. In fact, this is not something I wanted to talk about at all. I thought we were going to a pool party, where we'd be on land, and I'd have the ability to leave whenever I wanted... not be in the middle of the ocean with no way out.

"I-Um... I-I... Fuck. God dammit." I stumble over my words, feeling like my stomach is in my throat and choking me to death.

"Hey, look at me." He dips his head down to fall in my line of vision and gives me a assuring nod when my eyes meet his. "Please tell me what's going on. You can trust me."

My windpipe finally opens up just enough, allowing me to inhale a shaky breath as I flicker my gaze across his face. I digest the concept of opening up to a man I hardly know, but for some inconceivable reason, I believe that what he says is nothing but the truth. So, I come to my resolve, and just spit it out.

"I'm afraid of going in the water. That's why I quit surfing. Haven't been in for... well... let's just say it's been a long time," I confess as a rogue tear escapes its confines, while I wage a war with my ever-growing emotions on whether or not I should elaborate. "Um, Mitch is the only person I've told since I moved here."

Harry brushes his thumb across my cheek to wipe the moisture from my burning skin before letting out a sympathetic sigh, and the corners of his lips curve down into a slender frown.

"What happened?" he whispers, almost as if he's afraid to learn the answer.

I huff, pressing my lips together in a firm line, and raise my hands up to wrap around his wrists, pulling them away from my face as I shift back in my seat to put some distance between us.

The hurt expression on his face from my action promptly morphs to shock when my arms crisscross around my waist to grab the hem of my shirt, tugging up and over my head in one fluid motion.

It's just easier to show him now rather than later.

His wary gaze hesitates for a moment before eventually tracing down my face, to my neck, and halting smack dab in the center of my chest. He smacks his hand over his mouth, and his eyes go wide in utter disbelief, darting them up to meet mine, and then right back to my healing pink 8-inch-long scar.