(hope all of you are having a great holiday break! merry Christmas & happy holidays! can't believe it'll be 2016 already, wow... enjoy the chapter x)

chapter twenty-five

THE SMELL OF chicken tenders and fries filled my car, nauseating my mind yet making my stomach indescribably desperate. I trailed behind Harry on the way to his house, trying to focus on the road and the traffic instead of the ache in my abdomen. I had another headache forming, but those were practically routine by now.

My stomach growled, an annoying pain. I clutched it and bit my bottom lip, glancing over at the to-go box in the passenger seat. Harry pulled to a red light, halting me as well, and it was even harder to ignore the aroma I'd missed for so long. With shaking hands, I popped open the lid just a crack, my brain tumbling over the decision for what felt like ages, but the light hadn't turned so it couldn't have been more than mere seconds.

Groaning in frustration with my indecisiveness, I tore off a piece of chicken and hesitated before taking a bite. My tastebuds danced, however, my throat was closing up. The light turned and I started driving once more, all while trying to swallow the small bite of food. Somehow I succeeded, but I had to gulp half my water bottle to keep myself from retching it back up. I tossed the other half back into the container and closed the lid, feeling the tiniest bit satisfied with myself as my stomach settled down just the slightest.

It wasn't much, but it was the most I'd had in a couple of days.

Maybe I could tell Harry when we got his crazy ex taken care of. A bite wasn't much of an achievement to a normal person, but I hoped he'd be proud of me for trying. That's all I ever did. Try, try, try; fail, fail fail. Same procedure, same results, same disappointment.

I rubbed the base of my skull, hoping to relieve the steadily growing throb in my head. To no such avail was I rewarded, and it merely got worse when I pulled behind Harry into his driveway. A few of his neighbors were out, frowning and looking anxious. A wild blonde girl pitching a fit stood on the stairs to his front door, a spray paint can in hand. Another girl was with Nicole, fiery red hair yet with a twinge of doubt in her gaze.

Harry got out first, already diving into the argument by asking her if she'd lost her mind. Nicole hardly spared him a glance, continuing to write on his front door with the red paint. I stood back, unsure really of what to do. My task was moral support, but I wasn't sure if Harry would even comprehend an attempt to be unbiased. He was livid--rightfully so.

Nicole had spray painted a bunch of crude words on his door, practically all of them in the English language. Some of them were obviously some she'd made up out of spite, but others made me cringe.

Harry grabbed her by the wrist, but she yanked out of his grip, throwing the paint can down with her other hand and yelling gibberish. Her friend stood back, looking much like me with a distraught yet nervous face.

When Nicole nearly fell down the stairs from stumbling, it became evident that she'd been drinking. A lot. Her makeup was running and her hair was tousled like she'd been clawing at it all day. She was shoving Harry, then she was trying to hug him, then she was pushing him again and hollering.

"It's not fair! You can't move on and be happy while I'm miserable! I love you, Harry, and you love me, but you're being an asshole!"

"Nicole, I don't know any other way to tell you that we're done. I don't love you like that anymore, and I'm pretty sure you don't love me," he replied, trying to gather composure but still his face was flushed.

"Bullshit!" she yelled, roughly shoving him in the chest, though he seemed ready and barely budged. "You have to take me back, Harry!"

"Nicole, please get off my yard and go home."

"No!" She pushed him again and again until he caught her wrists. Then she was sobbing and letting her head fall onto his shoulder.

Harry finally looked over at me, his eyes somewhat pleading, but I gave him a look as if to say What am I supposed to do? He threw his head back and closed his eyes, then put distance between him and the frenzied blonde.

"You were happy when we broke up," he said. "It's what you wanted--what we both wanted."

She pulled out of his grip, suddenly angry again. "I was happy. But then I saw you with her." She spat the word like venom in her mouth as she pointed at me. She took a step closer, and instinctively, I took a step back. "She'll never be me, Harry," she said, turning back around to glare at him.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't want her to be you," he said, glancing over at me. "Delilah is perfect the way she is."

Before I could even process his adoration, Nicole shrieked and kicked Harry's car tire. Harry seemed exasperated, telling her to stop and trying to pull her away, but she was in some sort of dysfunctional trance. She found a loose brick from a short wall around a flower bed and threw it at the driver's side window. It cracked with the impact, but she picked it up again and threw it even harder. The whole thing shattered.

Harry was cursing now, screaming just as loud as she was. He told me to call the cops, though I was sure some of his neighbors were already doing the same thing. I did so anyways, flinching every time Nicole banged the rock against the backseat window. Harry was doing his best to hold her back by the waist, but she was flailing the brick around and kicking her legs. The backseat window was completely smashed with a few more hard hits.

Nicole's friend ran off.

A middle-aged man came over to help Harry, grabbing the brick from Nicole's hands while Harry pinned her arms to her side. She struggled for a while longer, but with two strong men keeping her from moving, the fight drained out of her and she fell limp in Harry's arms. She was a hysterical mess, and I couldn't have been more relieved when two police cars finally drove up to the rescue.

One officer handcuffed her while the other talked with Harry, who was running a hand through his hair. He seemed to be stuck between being exhausted and being irate. My opportunity for moral support opened up, so I slipped my hand into his and squeezed it, hoping it would help, even if only a little. He tugged me closer to him in response, hooking his arm around my waist.

"I don't have to go to the police station, do I?" Harry asked, giving the officer a tired look.

"No, sir. Not today, at least. But you might have to come in some time later this week to finalize the report of the disturbance. And, you might want to get an insurance claim." He nodded over at Harry's damaged vehicle, offering an apologetic smile. "Any other questions?"

"Yeah." Harry let out a heavy sigh. "How the hell do I go about getting a restraining order?"

***

"Thanks for staying, Delilah. It means a lot."

"Well, I couldn't exactly just leave you after something like that."

Harry was so distressed, he looked like he could've collapsed at any moment from weariness. He rubbed his forehead, then gestured me to follow him to his room. "I've got some old t-shirts. You could wear one. And I've got some jogging pants, but that'll be more comfortable than sleeping in jeans."

"Thanks." I took them from him after he dug through his drawers, then hesitated before going to the bathroom. I looked him over, worry pinching at me. "Hey... I know this is a stupid question but... are you okay?"

He smiled tiredly. "That is a stupid question."

"I'm just worried about you," I admitted, surprised when I didn't blush with the words.

He pursed his lips, wrapping his arms around my shoulders to pull me into his chest. I hugged him around the waist the best I could while still holding the clothes. He didn't say anything, so I didn't speak either. We just sort of stood there for a while, his face in my hair and mine in his chest. He kissed the top of my head before finally pulling away. I kissed his lips in reply, hoping the brief contact soothed him as much as it did me.

I sauntered to the bathroom to change. His t-shirt fit almost perfectly, not big but not small. His pants, on the other hand, I had to clump at my ankles because they were long. Then I folded my previous clothes and set them on his nightstand. Harry was laying face down on the bed, looking more like a statue than a living being. I could feel the dreariness weighing on his shoulders, and all I wanted was to see that playful grin of his. Mere hours without seeing him happy felt like years.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I contemplated the best way to lift his spirits. There was the pillows at the head of the bed resourceful for starting a pillow fight; there was a stack of movies by the television that could be beneficial if there were any comedies, which I was pretty positive there would be; finally there was the hope that he was ticklish, but that sounded pretty stupid. All of my options weren't the best.

So, I did what he did for me after my painful therapy session and simply laid beside him. I lifted his arm so I could tuck myself under it, and he instantly tightened it around me. Subconsciously, I ran my fingers through his hair, brushing the strands off his forehead. Harry hummed, his eyes shut yet a smile fell onto his lips.

"You're going to make me fall asleep," he mumbled, his face squashed against the mattress.

"You need to sleep," I told him.

"But I don't wanna. How is it you phrased it? 'Trying to drown in sorrows'?"

"And you said with you around, I won't ever be upset. It's only fair if I keep the same promise." I patted his head teasingly.

Harry tried to groan in annoyance, but he chuckled instead. "Fine. I'll accept that."

"So, a movie?"

"No."

"Board game?"

"Don't have any."

"Harry Styles, you've gotta help me help you or this isn't going to work."

He gave a quiet laugh, still not quite capable of cheering up. I couldn't say I blamed him; I just hated seeing him so upset. "Okay, I might have a deck of cards somewhere."

"Very helpful."

"I don't feel like getting up." As if to emphasis his point, he nuzzled his face in my neck and embraced me closer.

"It is getting late. Maybe we should just go to sleep," I suggested, seeing the alarm clock over his shoulder on the nightstand.

"I don't feel like going to sleep, either," he muttered, his breath hot on my neck and his lips brushing against the skin, sending a shiver through my body.

"I give up, Harry."

He shifted, pulling back his face to where it was inches from mine. "Can we just talk and cuddle?"

"That's what we're doing right now," I pointed out.

"Fair point. But can we switch the topic?"

"Any ideas?"

He furrowed his eyebrows and pressed his lips together. "No."

I laughed. "We're great at this."

"You could change the subject."

"I don't know what to change it to, either."

"Well, damn."

I thought to myself, dragging out an "uh" as I pondered. "Mom wants to go see Christmas lights this weekend when they have the park walkthrough. You want to go?"

"Is that even a question? Duh, I'll go see Christmas lights."

"You could've answered without the sass. I'm just changing the subject like you asked. But since you want to be rude..." I started to wiggle out of his grasp to keep the joke going. When I went to roll out of the bed, Harry wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back to him.

"That's unacceptable, Delilah. A cruel joke," he said, tangling his legs with mine as if for more security to keep me in place.

I smiled, tapping his nose. "Only teasing."

We talked a while longer, the clock saying it was half past midnight. When we'd run out of things to say, we'd just lay there and it was equally as relaxing. Harry had been tense, but now he'd loosened up and was smiling a bit more genuine. Sometimes the silence would be filled with passionate kisses, and those always left me breathless. Not just from the intensity but of how he made me feel in general. Free, almost, like I was floating on clouds and nothing could reach me. Like I was invincible.

Now we were both sitting up, facing each other. My legs around Harry's waist and his around mine. He was playing with my hands, talking about a game he used to do as a child where he and his friends would act like they could read palms. I'd heard of kids doing that, too, but I'd always considered it foolish. Creases in your hand couldn't define your future or how many kids you'll have or any of that nonsense. They were just hands.

"Okay, wise guy, what does my palm say about my future?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Respect the art, Delilah. Right now your palm is saying that you're being aggressive."

"Is my palm saying that or my tone of voice?"

"A little bit of both."

I rolled my eyes, but listened nonetheless as he said my palm showed signs that I could be determined and forthright, yet often timid and insecure. I watched his lips as he spoke, the words leaving them smoothly with his deep accent. But his words were actually meaning something, and when he looked up at me, the truth was in his gaze.

"I don't think that was my palm speaking," I whispered, feeling a twinge in my stomach. I couldn't tell if it was hunger or self-consciousness.

He licked his lips, averting his gaze back to my hand where he fiddled with my fingers. "You know, I haven't asked you how you're doing lately."

"I'm okay."

"Delilah..."

"I mean it. I even took a bite off a chicken tender earlier."

He peeked up at me with this, but there was still doubt in his green eyes. "That's good, Delilah. It is... but it's not enough to keep your body going. What happens when you crash again? What if you're in the hospital for Christmas?"

"I won't be." I frowned at his words, part of me knowing the possibility of them yet a bigger part of me denying it. "I'm fine, I promise. I don't really feel hungry anymore and--"

He was shaking his head. "That's not good, Delilah." He took in a breath, moving his hands to my hips and his gaze to mine. "Can I ask you something? And you have to be honest with me."

I tilted my head. "I will be."

"Have you even thought about trying another therapy session?"

I swallowed. "No, but only because I don't think it'll help."

"I think you're just scared," he said quietly. "It's okay to think everything is fine, but saying those things out loud makes them real."

"That's not true. I'm not scared of it; I just don't trust it. If people close to me can't make me feel better, how is a stranger supposed to? It doesn't make sense. It's just a scam."

"Delilah, it's okay to be nervous--"

"I'm not nervous, okay? I'm not scared." I slid off the bed and to my feet, but Harry caught my hand. "I need some water," I told him, and he hesitated a moment before letting me go.

After a bit of rummaging, I found the cups and poured myself some water from the sink. I took a sip, leaning my hip against the counter and closing my eyes. I wasn't afraid of therapy. It was just a waste of my money. Doctor Martin or Marty or whatever his name was simply wanted cash. He didn't care about my feelings. All of those so-called psychologists were just out for money, nothing more.

However, I felt almost comfortable when I was there until he brought up Justin. Then I got all panicky and was bombarded with flashbacks and I couldn't breathe, couldn't relive all of those things. His bittersweet personality, gentle and caring one hour and harmful and hateful the next. Hot and cold, dark and light--he was two opposites in one person. A savior, a weapon; the cure, the poison. He was a miracle yet he was lethal.

But did that make me scared? I was a coward for not facing my own thoughts, my own memories.

My eyes stung, but I blinked quickly to keep the tears away and gulped down the lump in my throat. No crying so long as I could help it. I hated crying because it just proved how cowardly I truly was. I used to cry over every little thing, every little failure, but I had gotten better about that. I would not cry over petty things anymore.

I finished off the water, then set the cup in the sink and walked back to Harry's room. The lamp was now switched off, and the only thing keeping me from tripping was the light of the time on the alarm clock, although that was miniscule help. I crawled under the covers, then felt around for Harry's body. He was on his side, already facing me, though I couldn't see his features in the dark. I scooted closer to him, curling into his chest and he held me firmly.

"I am scared," I whispered, fighting another battle against the threatening tears.

"I know," he replied in the same low tone, holding me impossibly close as if I would break apart if he let go.

Maybe I would.