December 2015

The path of life is such a long dwindling journey that it sometimes cannot be walked alone. After all, how good can life be if it isn't shared with anyone else?
According to Greek mythology, humans were initially created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives searching for their other halves.

If I had ever been a believer of Zeus splitting two humans for them to come together and find themselves whole again—it wasn't until September of 2014.

Here I sit, over a year later, since I came across a woman that has been nothing but pure sunshine in a gloomy world. I press my cheek to my hand as I tilt my head, staring at the professor, who is doing his best to keep us all interested in his lecture. My mind keeps wandering from the fundamentals of business and trade, which found itself wrapped around the concept of Elise. Since the wedding last month, my world has turned at a rate that I cannot keep up with. It's enthralling and busy at the same time. Yet, oddly enough, I love it. I am sure the high will wear off soon, and I will hate that my feet don't stay on the ground for very long, but I intend to soak up everything that I can while Jamie is willing to teach.

I fly out to Ottawa, Canada, tonight to do an international deal with Jamie. I have not figured out my approach for my plans. I intend to outline things on the flight with Jamie. I know that I will have to negotiate a lot with this trip, something I have not yet done, but I am hopeful I can succeed. Jamie had brought the idea up to me that remotely bargaining could be a tool to our advantage. I wouldn't oppose this idea; existing email bargaining systems can perform many functions but cannot determine the context of the negotiations. I am thinking of taking the bold approach of writing up my plans, expectations and prices before handing them to the client, allowing them the opportunity to counteract if they wish. I don't like to do deals over email before arriving. I want to have a basis that can't be misconstrued. When it comes to institutional or corporate investors, I have to be firm and use my words so that the client cannot use them against me. It is a brutal world out there when it comes to corporate investors. They already know what they want and what they are doing; there is no room for any fault or a lack of confidence.

I shake away my thoughts and tap my pen against the desk. I am ready to leave. I have grown to dislike sitting in a room and having to learn visually instead of being hands-on. I don't like sitting still and reading or watching PowerPoint slides while a professor throws the business world at me. I think I speak for everyone in this room when I say that it is bothersome. Aside from business, I have Logan that needs my attention. As much as I do my best to ignore his existence, his 999 texts eat me alive. He sent the code word when I was on the yacht with Elise's family. Once I got off the yacht, I called him, and he informed me that he needed my help and would get back to me when the doctors had everything sorted. Today, they have everything sorted, and I have to be the bigger person to help the man who ruined me as my father did.

I look down at my phone and smile to myself as I read her text on my phone.

"Can the CEO meet me for coffee before he flies off again?"

"Yes, Darling... Waiting for dismissal. — CEO Harry."

I tap my pen against the desk, my eyes staring at the laptop screen as the professor continues to ramble on about some sort of business issue I am not interested in— I want to go. I want to get the drive to the hospital, and the blood draws over with— I want to escape the demons before they consume me.

I close my laptop and grab my notepad before standing to my feet and walking towards the door, "Harry," Adam grabs my attention, "Swear I haven't seen you in a while, wanna get drinks?"

I smile and shake my head, "Heading out of town for work, how about next week?" I offer, somewhat missing the times we would hang out and have a few drinks.

"Tuesday?" Adam offers, "Beer and burgers. But, of course, you can't cancel if they're at my place." Adam comments, reminding me that he lives in the same apartment building as I do.

"I will do my best. How is your internship?"

"Kicking my ass, Harry. How do you juggle everything and stay awake? I am dead tired."

I laugh and shrug my shoulders as we walk out of the room, "Coffee is my best friend," I respond, taking the cobble path towards the coffee stand that we have on campus. It isn't the best coffee, but it sure is a lifesaver.

"I am wired on coffee," Adam informs me, stopping in line with me.

"Try adding a shot of whiskey; might help," I chuckle, "Does me wonders some nights."

"Way to go in encouraging bad habits," Adam laughs.

"Bad habits are my speciality... I need a cappuccino with two sugars and one with a double shot of espresso," I order at the stand, "And whatever he wants," I gesture to Adam, taking my wallet out as Adam orders his coffee to keep him awake for the morning.

I hand my card over and wait on my coffee, keeping small talk with Adam. It has been a while since I have had a minute to talk to anyone for more than a few minutes. Lately, I have been rushing around and working. I have barely been on campus.

I smile when Elise comes into view and walks towards me, her books in her arms with her bag hanging over her shoulder and her jacket overlapped over her arm. Adam gives me a soft nod before walking off, leaving me alone with Elise. I shake my head and chuckle, holding the coffees in one hand and using the other to take her books, "You, my darling, amaze me with how you refuse to get a bigger bag," I grin, watching as she slides her handbag down her arm and places it to rest on my wrist while she slides her jacket on.

"Look," Elise breathes out, "I walked from the other end of campus to meet you, be nice," ...  "Oh, look, you made it to campus," Elise kisses my cheek.

"Smartass," I grin, "Here is your coffee, just as you like it," I gesture towards the coffee cup in my hand that is closest to her.

She takes her handbag from its resting position on my wrist before she takes her coffee, bringing it to her lips and letting out a sigh of relief. I raise a brow, "Rough day?"

Elise nods, "How the hell do you hold so much in your hands," she gestures towards the fact I had two coffees in one hand.

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, not having much of an answer for her. "Do you have another class?"

"No, I have to study and do an assignment. Exams might kill me. Do you?"

I shake my head, "No, I need to run a few errands. Do you want to meet at my place so I can see you before I leave?" I offer.

"Yeah, is it alright if I go there? It's a quiet place to study."

I nod my head, "Of course, Elise. I should be done in an hour or so. Do you want me to drive you?"

"No, I have a few errands as well," Elise responds as my phone begins to ring. "I will see you tonight," she leans up and kisses my cheek before walking off to leave me with my phone call.

Damn Logan.

When I got off the phone with Logan, I headed straight to the hospital, where Logan's doctors are waiting for my arrival.

The automatic sliding doors open to welcome me with warmth. I take a breath and exhale as I step into the emergency room. The low lights flicker for a brief moment while I gaze around. The room is lined with beat-up chairs chosen by people who have: broken limbs, cuts, red noses, bruising, and god only knows what else.
The odour of antiseptic, cleaning products and hand sanitiser fill my senses, and I screw my nose up for a minute. I can't stand the fragrance of hospitals or even the uncanny quality of them. I eternally discover them to be dull. Hospitals quite honestly intimidate me.

I am a man who is barely overawed, but I despise hospitals, the essence, the sounds, the awful illumination, and the food, for Christ's sake, the food... It is terrible. Not to mention, some people come to the hospital knowing they won't be leaving again with their lives.

Hospitals are gloomy and terrifying.

I stride closer to the desk where a woman is hunkering behind it while subtly eating crackers. She smiles at me before I give her my details. "Harry Styles, I am here for a directed donation."

For a moment, I assume she will make me go perch on the chairs in the waiting room. I will have to pick who I want to sit closest to: The sniffling little child that is clinging to its mother and whimpering between each symphony of coughing, hacking and wheezing sound or the man holding his arm in his hand, looks painful and broken.

Thankfully, the woman opens the ER doors for me and grants me through, ordering me a list of instructions on how to get to where I am going.
I stride down the brightly illuminated corridors that seem like a walking ghost town, and scarcely anyone appears to accompany the grounds. Even the nurses are withdrawn and depressed. I don't blame them; they work in a place where not everyone makes it back home. The floor is shining clean, and the long-drawn corridors full of patients never seem to end. I can't help but shudder at the few moaning, groaning and whimpering sounds. I pray I don't have to walk these halls again for a while.
I stand at a desk, utterly confused as to where the hell I'm meant to go. They change the locations every fucking time. The nurse gives me a weary smile that I can perceive as fake, and in return, I give her an equally feigned smile.
The rustle of paperwork and a pen clicking takes my attention for a brief instant before my eyes spring back to the orderly in front of me. I softly give her my details and why I have wandered half this hospital to reach this area. For a moment, I assume she will provide me with another unending list of instructions on how to get to the next area, almost as if I am on a wild goose chase without a damn map. Finally, I am passed off to the nurse that is writing in a chart, and she gives me the same stunted smile the other two have given me.

I am sorry to be a nuisance; believe me, I don't want to be here either.

"This way," she gestures for me to follow her, and I do just that, following her to a seated area. "Take a seat and get comfortable while filling this out, and I will get things ready." She instructs me while delivering me papers and a pen.

There are so many other things I would rather be doing. Filling out paperwork in a hospital isn't one of them. Likewise, I didn't think I would be completing a donor registration at this hour either. I hate these damn things. You'd think they would have it on file.

1. Feeling healthy and well today? 
2. Currently taking an antibiotic?  
3. Currently taking any other medication for an infection? 

I hand the delightful lady the paperwork before she begins the initial process: she takes my temperature, haemoglobin, blood pressure and pulse. Surprise surprise, everything was fine despite the blood pressure being slightly high. How could it not? I am assembling in a hospital, and I also have my head swirling with many things, including the fact that I leave for Canada in a few hours and have not bothered to pack.

"Drink this," the lady hands me a glass of water, "I will be back in a moment. Just relax."

I get comfortable in the chair and drink the liquid the woman instructed me to drink.
My phone begins to sound, and I look down to see my mother calling. I answer the call and bring my phone to my ear, "Hey, Mum," I greet with a small smile.

I am glad that my mother and I are slowly managing to find our relationship again. I don't think she forgives me for leaving for London and not returning very often, but I am hopeful she understands my reasons.

"Hey, Harry," Her tone of voice isn't as happy and delightful as it usually is. I can only hope another tragedy has occurred, and she and my sister need a little extra help. 

"What's the matter, Mum?"

My Mum grows quiet on the other end of the phone before she clears her throat, "I need you to call your sister. She has no job and is trying to hide the fact she is drinking."

"Mum, I cannot fix her. She is a grown woman. She needs to find herself a job and stop—"

"Please," My mum cuts me off, her voice pleading with me. It breaks my heart to hear my mother so down and out because she doesn't know how to fix one of her children. My sister was doing fine when I was visiting, but I know it will take time for my sister to adjust and improve her life entirely.

"I will call her. I need to go."

"Please don't become distant."

"I won't. I have to go; I will call you later. I love you."

My mother responds with an "I love you" before hanging up the phone. I am unsure of what to say to my sister. I have already said everything possible, yelled, talked calmly, and done everything; the woman will not listen. The only thing left for me to do is drive her to a facility that will help her more than I can. Or I move her to London with me. I think her getting away from that small town we grew up in might help her as it has helped me. Escaping demons and chains can be the thing that allows us the most. However, I don't think she will leave my mother.
The nurse walks back into the room, "I have to ask you your name, address, and date of birth again," The woman smiles as she awaits my answers. I recite my answers, once again confirming I am who I say I am. "Great, may I have your arm so we can get started?" she politely offers.

I roll up my sleeve, and I grant the lady my arm, "Married?" she questions melodiously, and I glance at her.

She cleanses an area on my arm, and I feel the coldness of her sterilising some of my arm.
"Nope."

"Any kids?"

I shake my head, "Not that I am aware of. So also, nope." I respond.

"Hmm, not married, no kids, you're right up my alley," the lady chuckles as she fiddles with the needle between her fingertips. "What is a good looking man like you doing living the bachelor life?"

"I have a girlfriend," I inform her, "Wouldn't call it the bachelor life."

"Ah, I forgot to add girlfriend to my list of questions," the nurse smile while she inserts a brand-new, sterile needle to draw blood. "Don't take my comments the wrong way. It was a distraction... So, how is she?" she requires as I feel the pinch and uncomfortableness in my arm.

I chuckle and nod my head, clever tactic; the last time I did this, the nurse jabbed me multiple times before deciding she wanted to use my other arm.

"She is good. She is majoring in public relations and minoring in business, but I think she wants to do something with English."

"Why doesn't she?"

"She is in her third year already. She is likely to get her bachelors early and finish it this year." I respond proudly, more than delighted to brag on Elise.

I know that Elise hates her classes and thinks she is drowning in work, but I believe she will succeed and finish this year as she plans. 

"Relax," the nurse gestures towards my hand that is gripping the edge of the chair, "What about you? What are you majoring in?" she challenges while blood falls into the bag, and she observes it for a moment.

"Business, I just started my masters."

"Twenty-one and already doing a masters, impressive."

I nod my head, "Finished my bachelors early."
"Does your girlfriend plan to go for her masters?"

I shake my head, "I don't believe so. She is looking to find a job in the field. She is done with school," I respond. I don't blame Elise for not wanting to get a master's degree. I had to push myself to go for mine.

"I do not blame her. This will take about ten minutes to fill. I will be back in ten. Just sit back and relax." the nurse informs me gently before leaving me alone to be drained of some of my blood.

I lean back in the chair and close my eyes for a moment, deciding that this may be the last ten minutes of quiet time I get until I get back from Canada. I have a feeling this trip is going to be excessively hard and torturous. There is so much for me to do and little time. The client has me on a deadline and is rather demanding and blunt with the emails I have sent and received.
However, the client does not intimidate me. On the contrary, I am rather intrigued by the power they are attempting to hold. What they do not know is that I have an offer that they cannot entirely refuse. They may not like the direct numbers, and I may have to adjust them, but my work is pristine.

I am distracted from my thoughts as the nurse comes back in with a glass of orange juice and something to snack on, "How are you feeling?" she challenges while I roll my sleeve down and take a sip of the orange juice, knowing better than to ignore the advice of the nurses.

"I'm feeling fine, thank you," I respond as I stand to my feet, ready to head to my apartment.

"I am well. You are very polite." she responds, "You are free to go. I have everything I need; just sign out at the desk." She informs me, and I smile at her before I step out of the room and take a look around.

Again, I stand in the middle of a bland corridor. The dull beige tiles lead onwards past doors that are all identical and grey. Not even the lighting is different. It is dull. I wonder the hallway before reaching the same desk I stopped at earlier. "I have to sign out, at least that is what the nurse told me," I half-smile towards a lady who undoubtedly is ready to go home.

The woman hands me a board, and I follow the prompts of writing my name, the time and signing out.

I leave the dull hospital, more than grateful to be out of that antiseptic smelling, dull and depressing place. I glance at my watch as I sit in traffic, the idea of getting coffee popping into my thoughts. I groan at the thought of coffee, hitting my hand lightly against the steering wheel, "Damnit," I mutter, remembering I am not allowed to drink coffee for the next few hours. I cannot afford to dehydrate myself.

I contemplate for a moment before shaking my head and impulsively turning right the moment the traffic moves, driving down the street that has the best croissants and coffee. I may not be able to have coffee, but I know that Elise might appreciate a coffee as she studies, accompanied by her favourite chocolate croissants to tie her over until we get dinner.

***

I arrange a few of my shirts in a duffle bag, watching as Elise lays on my bed, her legs crossed, her hair tumbling over her shoulder, and her eyes bouncing between my silhouette and the book. I frown for a moment, noticing how she isn't glancing at me in the way that she ordinarily does. Her eyes aren't vibrant or cheery, and her lips are not pursed into a grin. Instead, her lips are in a fine line. "What's on your mind?" I softly challenge, breaking the silence while I fold the material of my shirt gingerly in my hands, doing my best to make sure my things don't end up creased by the time I get to Canada.

"Where do you see us in five years?" Elise softly challenges, catching me off guard as she stares up at me.

I think for a moment, blinking at her, unsure of how to answer the question. I believe this is one of those trick questions women ask to start some disagreement. But, unfortunately, I don't think I have the correct answers to this question. "Darling, I don't think this is a fair question."

Elise raises a brow and arranges her finger in her book, keeping her page marked, "How so? It is a question."

"A question I don't quite understand and believe is a trick question."

Elise shakes her head, "No trick, Harry. Never mind," Elise responds, opening her book back up and continuing to read.

Where do I see Elise and me in five years?

Five years from now, I am unsure how life will plan out. In five years, I could be far from here and somewhere halfway across the world. I don't know where I will be in five years. I don't know what I will be doing or how life will pan out. But what I do know is I hope to see Elise beside me in five years.

I am sure that in five years, Elise perhaps sees us married or with a family. I cannot say that I know that storyline in five years; I see us maybe being engaged. If I have a successful career and business in five years, I would happily marry Elise. I don't want to marry her without having stability. I don't want to start a family without knowing I will succeed at being a father and husband. I cannot fathom the idea of being like my father. The idea of this five-year plan scares me. All I know from the next few years is that I want Elise with me.

I lay a sweater in my duffle bag and clear my throat, "Elle, I do not know where you and I will be in five years, but I want us to be together. From the wedding comments, I assume you are searching to find out whether we will get married. I won't lie; that all scares me, and I don't want to get married until I have my shit together. But, darling, I can't ask you to marry me when right now I can't seem to keep my lights on," I half chuckle to myself, still embarrassed by forgetting to pay the light bill, but it happens. Life gets in the way of things, and it isn't always perfect like in the damn movies. "The best answer I can give you is that in five years, I want to be with you."

"Harry, you do know that I love you, no matter what you have."

I nod my head, "This," I gesture around the small room of my apartment, "Is not the life you want for the rest of your life, a tiny apartment with a guy that is barely making enough to keep his head above water."

Elise lifts her shoulders into a shrug before she settles her book down on my bed. Elise shifts herself off the bed and steps over towards me. Elise gently presses her hand to my shoulder, and I turn to face her with a small smile. "This," Elise gestures around us, "This doesn't matter. What matters is this," Elise taps my chest, gesturing towards my heart, "It's what's in here that matters, you fool. Money comes and goes, don't let it consume you."

I smile to myself, remembering a time when I was younger.

When I was around five years old, my mother and I were sitting in front of the fireplace, the crackling wood and ambers keeping us warm. I remember it was a rough day at school. I did not have flashy clothes back then, and I didn't fit in with some other kids. That particular day, I was made fun of for my shoes. My shoes were not broken, nor did they have holes in them, but there were old and a bit dirty. I was made fun of for not having a pair of shoes that was name brand, and in that moment, I remember I felt sad, not just because I was being made fun of, but because those shoes were my favourite pair. They weren't my favourite pair because they were my favourite colour or that they were comfortable, they were my favourite pair because the day my Mum took me to buy them, she took me out to eat, and we had a full day together. Looking back now, I know my Mum had to have saved for me to have the shoes and take a day off work to spend some time with me.

That night, I told my mother that I was made fun of for the things I do not have and not having some of the other children's lifestyles. My Mum smiled at me, shook her head, and said, "H, it's not what you don't have; it is what you have. You have a sweet soul, a mother who loves you, a warm bed to sleep in, and food to eat whenever you want. That is more than what some people have." ... "I will not apologise for not being able to give you fancy clothes, my sweet creature. But, it is what is in here," She gestured towards her heart before tapping mine, "And what's in here that truly matters in life. So don't let what others say define you."

My mother couldn't have been any more right in her comment that day. It isn't what we don't have. It is what we do have that we need to be grateful for. I may not have the fancy clothes, enough money in the bank to pay every bill, and I may not have a father worthy of my thoughts, but I do have things that other's do not. I have a mother and sister who love me, no matter what happens. I have a roof over my head, a warm bed to sleep in, and a woman that I adore with all my heart, a woman who turns the darkest of days into something bright.

"I know," I nod my head, "I jus', I want us to be successful before doing the whole marriage and family thing. So when I said we weren't getting married, you know I didn't mean that we never would, just not for a little while."

I don't want to be my father; I don't want to have a family and leave them struggling. I don't want to struggle and drag someone down with me.

Elise shakes her head, "Contrary to popular belief, that is not where I was trying to go with this conversation."

"Well, where were you going with this?" I challenge, leaning down and kissing the top of her head before turning back to get my clothes organised for my flight that leaves in an hour and a half.

Elise chuckles before taking my wine coloured sweater from my hands, "I wanted assurance that you still wanted me in your five-year plan." ... "You're not taking this sweater."

"Of course," I nod, "Elle, this is my sweater," I laugh, gesturing towards the sweater she is wandering away with, placing it on the bed as she crawls on the bed and sits down with a grin.

"It is communal property, darling," Elise responds.

I roll my eyes and shake my head, "Sure thing," I smirk, letting her take the sweater. If that sweater gives her comfort, then she can have it.

As I do my best to arrange my items together, trying not to panic and run all over the apartment, I can't help but take note of Elise unostentatiously reading her book; something mundane makes me smile to myself. It's in this moment that she is engulfed in her book, paying no attention to me, that I think about how nice it would be to have this view every day and every night, to have her living with me. But then, I shake my brief solicitudes and get back to packing. "Elle, are you going to stay here or stay at your parents' house?" 

"Not sure, why?" she inquires, her nose still attached in her book.

"It's going to snow and ice over. Your parents' house is a bit far from campus to be driving in these conditions." I familiarise Elise with the conditions that are persisting in occurring in the next few days.

Elise elevates her eyes from her book and raises a brow, "It is December, Harry." Elise proceeds to stare at me as though I'm bonkers and have entirely lost the plot— in which, some days I believe I have lost my everlasting mind— but in this instance, I'm altogether sane and looking out for her well-being. "It is always like this. It isn't like it will be worse.
"Baby, I'm serious. They're calling for ice, snow and power outages. It's a bad snowstorm. It's bad. Jus' don't want you driving forty minutes to and from your parent's house in bad weather.''

Elise places her book down on my bed and leans over to the side table, where she grasps her phone, "You are insane," she shakes her head. I assume she's investigating the weather forecast on her phone, not believing me for a second.

I cross my arms over my chest, following as her brows knit into a frown and her eyes gradually leave her phone to glance up at me. "I believe I'm not insane after all, huh?"

"This is a once in a century thing. Snowstorms don't hit us, and we don't usually get snow until February."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't happen... But, if you stay here, I will let Adam know so that he knows to check on you."

"You're going to have the fuck boy check on me?"

"Oi, be nice. He just likes to have sex," I chuckle, "He's the only one who lives in the apartments that I trust," I continue.

"If they don't cancel class, I'll stay here," Elise informs me as I seize my navy blue button-down off the hanger, determining it's time to put my business clothes on and begin getting myself ready to catch a flight.

Elise follows me intently, her eyes burning into me with every move that I make. I cock my head to the side as I stretch my tie around my neck, gradually tying it before I flip my collar down. "Alright, Elle," I begin, "I'm hoping to be back in a few days. Call me if you need me, okay?" I crawl onto the bed as she's lying in the centre.

"If I need you, will you fly back?" She curiously challenges with a smirk.

I nod my head, "Yes, darling," I respond, being forced to settle my hands on either side of her to hover over her from her lack of movement towards me. "I'll fly back if you need me. I love you," I lean down and kiss her forehead before I leave a tender kiss on her lips.

Elise elevates her hands and pursues them up to my tie that is dangling at her chest, "Promise?"

I again nod my head, "I promise," I reassure her with a smile.

She benevolently draws on my tie and lures me closer to her, leaning up and kissing me delicately. At first, she caresses my lips a few times before her grip on my tie tugs at me, and she's kissing me profoundly. I'm startled by her intimate kiss but decide to welcome her with an open mouth. She continues with a long liquid kiss of delight that makes my heart beat faster and my nerves circulate through my body.

Elise's brazen hands shift from their position on my tie and investigate the texture of my shirt, her delicate touch to my body causing my head to spin. Wildness brews beneath the mild touch of her hands, a wildness that I don't want to tame, but I know I have to. She's tampering with me.

Elise draws away and gazes up at me with her captivating eyes. She knows what she is doing. "Are you okay?" I softly challenge.

Elise shakes her head, "I need you."

"Elle, I—"I begin, trailing off as her hand attains its way to the waistband of my pants, her fingers folding at my belt. The bedroom is soundless for a moment, her dreamy eyes gawking into mine as my breath hitches in my throat.

I have a flight to catch. I have a flight to catch, I have a—, oh, fuck me.

"I have a flight," I breathe out with a whisper, her palms hauling my shirt from where I tucked it into my pants. I begin to move away from my position of hovering over her; however, I halt as a deep primitive tug at my belt beacons the casual kiss goodbye will be far from casual. Elise's eyes wander from mine to where her hands rest on my belt, and I bite down on my lip, trying to combat the urge to give in to temptation. 

I swallow hard before I lean down and take bold possession of her mouth, examining the walls of her mouth while her palms vigorously fight their way with the buttons of my shirt. Elise wastes no time overpowering the shirt down my arms and forcing it off me, propelling it to the floor. Her hands caress every inch of my torso, gliding their way around my body like a road map, desiring to explore each dip and curve I have to offer.

While delighted by her kiss and passion, the tips of my fingers brush under her sweater and manoeuvre their way to her bra, my hands cupping her boobs, sending sweet shivers down her spine with every second. Her hands clutch my shoulders as her smouldering eyes draw me in, beckoning me like a siren's call. Elise slides upwards against me, a groan escaping my lips, her movement causing me to draw away from our kiss and breathe out heavily. Fuck. So much for a quick goodbye.

I draw at her sweater and stretch it over her head, throwing it to the floor, leaving it to lay by my shirt she viciously took over moments ago. I gaze down at her, admiring her as she smiles up at me. I grin, her chest rising as she takes a deep breath, my eyes dipping to her chest, admiring the lace cupped at her boobs.

I lean down and kiss her neck, leaving a path of kisses before I bite down benevolently, eager for a reaction. Elise lets out a breath as I spread my hand over her stomach and glide ever so nonchalantly up to her torso before gliding my hand back down, resting at her jeans. I pull away from the tender kisses on her neck, and I stare at her, taking in her expressions as I use one hand to unbutton her jeans and gradually urge the zip down. Her chest rises profoundly, and her hands squeeze my shoulders in anticipation. "May I?" I question, wanting her approval before I go any further.

Elise nods her head, and I lean down to kiss her sincerely, my cross dangling to touch her now fevered skin. I sweep my fingers across her waistband before I dip under her jeans, feeling the lace at my fingertips. "Lace," I grin, watching her swallow hard.

Teasing her comes with my pleasure as she twitches beneath me, and her body longs for my touch. Elise wraps her arm around my neck and draws me closer to her, attacking me with a bottomless kiss that screams eagerness and anticipation while I work hard to advance her jeans off her hips. I grin into our kiss, breaking away for a moment, forcing her jeans further down, far enough for her to kick the damn things off.

My hand glides down her torso, leisurely memorising the texture of her glowing skin, making its way past her panties and down her leg. Tampering with her is beginning to meddle with me. Heat and power radiate between our warm bodies, bodies eager to feel every inch of each other, bodies filled with a hot longing desire.

The silken length of her thigh becomes graced by my hand, my fingers dancing delicately on the inner face of her thigh. My head spins as I inch higher, my eyes focusing on the delicate, black lace underwear that is dangerously tempting....

❇ ❇ ❇

I'm late. I'm so fucking late.

The airport is chaotic, filled with veiled faces hustling and bustling with their pieces of luggage, most like me trying to catch a flight with minutes to spare. I take note of the businessman in front of me in his suite, his phone to his ear, while he tries not to spill his coffee on his hurried adventure in the same direction as me. Unlike him, I was smart enough to stop for a coffee. As much as I would like a coffee, I shouldn't push the envelope.

I'm stopped by a man who appears frazzled but doing his best to hold himself together under pressure, "Sir, I need to see your ticket for you to go further," the man presses, "And yours," He grabs the businessman, stopping him as well.

"Mate, I'm late."

"As am I," I huff, petting my blazer down, my hand slipping inside the jacket to obtain my ticket and my pass to be in the private area.

"I know," the man breathes, "But it's my job, I have to. I am sorry. It's my second day doing this, and I have been yelled at already, please..." He trails off.

I blow out my cheeks and nod my head, acknowledging he is doing his job. I hand him my ticket and the pass I have, my eyes glancing over to the man behind me who is struggling. I reach my hand over towards him, taking his coffee from his hand, preventing it from spilling as he frantically searches for his ticket. Finally, he pulls out his ticket and waves it around, "Here," he breathes out, "No, hold on," he mutters, talking to whoever is on his phone. "Thank you, pal," the man smiles towards me, and I hand him back his coffee. I take my ticket and pass and hurry around the airport worker who stopped us.

I hear voices at short intervals proclaiming the arrival, departure and delays of flights, praying each time that it isn't my flight. Jamie is going to kill me.

I bustle through the airport, politely squeezing past people as I weave in and out, attempting to make my flight. But the terminal is at the end of the fucking airport, and I feel like I'm running a marathon trying to reach it. I am not sure I will make it.

I groan when I hear my name over the intercom, a sweet voice beckoning my name, expressing that this is my final boarding call. I am fucked. Utterly, fucked.

I recognise Jamie standing at our terminal, his arms crossed as I reach him. "You're late," Jamie mutters, not pleased with me in the slightest.

I nod my head; he turns and marches through our terminal with me following behind. I pass flight attendants, declining their proposals to take my duffle bag or help carry my briefcase. They smile at me with each passing, the only sense of kindness I welcome as I feel Jamie's hostility while strolling beside him. I deserve it. I deserve for him to rip into me and tear me a new asshole.

I sit down on the private jet, and Jamie relaxes opposite me, staring me down as though I'm on trial for murder. Of course, I may as well be on trial for murder.

Fuck. He might kill me.

"I hope you have a good reason for being late. You better have a good reason." Jamie begins.

Oh, Sir, I have a good reason, trust me.

I nod my head, feeling like a bit of a kid that's about to be sent to their room with no dinner. "Well, what's the bloody reason?"

For a brief second, my mind races. I don't know what the fuck to say.


"Sir, it was Elise," I begin, "She needed me." I simply respond, concealing my smirk as I remember the aspect in her eyes when she said she needed me.

"She needed you?" Jamie still isn't impressed, "Elaborate." ... "I don't like tardiness, especially when there's a flight to catch."

I'm not sure how I'm meant to elaborate on this one. I don't think he needs to hear about the events for me to be late.

"Well, sir, Elise needed tending to." This is not going well. This is not the time to be a smug man. I swallow hard and adjust myself in the seat, trying to get comfortable. Jamie's death glare is making my palms sweaty, and the tie around my neck feels as though it's strangling me. "Elise was feeling unwell."

"And what does that have to do with you? When my wife is unwell, she crawls in bed and wants me to leave her the hell alone. The woman hates my existence when unwell..." ... "I'm having a hard time believing it was Elise's fault."

Sir, it most definitely was her fault. She started this mess, and I merely finished it.

I promptly clear my throat and begin my story, "I was ready on time, I was moments from walking out the door, I had put on my tie and said goodbye to Elise. I kissed her cheek, and I asked her if she was okay... she shook her head." So I inform Jamie, altering the details slightly... majorly. But the dialogue is at least truthful. "I stayed with her a few extra minutes to make sure she was genuinely okay."

Jamie presses his elbow to the armrest and raises a brow, "Hmm, okay." Jamie relaxes slightly, seeming to loosen up and be understanding. "Here is your ticket," Jamie hands me a boarding pass, "I have to stop off in Vermont, so when we land at Burlington International Airport, you will need to get on your flight to Canada, and I will meet you there as soon as I am done," Jamie informs me of our slight detour.

Us flying straight to Vermont gives me an extra three hours in the air— it's a good thing I don't hate flying. "What's in Vermont?" I curiously ask. "Because it might be pretty in Autumn, but it is not a business adventure sort of place."

Jamie chuckles and nods his head, "You're too smart for your own good, kid. I am meeting Conrad."

I nod my head. "Harry, when you get to Canada, you will have to take the underground from Pierson international airport to union station, and across the street is our hotel, Fairmont Royal York Hotel." Jamie begins to instruct.

"Yes, Sir. I can manage that."

Jamie chuckles, "Good luck."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You have never been to Union Station, huh?"

I shake my head, "Sir, I haven't been anywhere besides New York a few times when I was a kid. I couldn't afford to travel much. The last time I travelled away from work was when I was seventeen."

"Well, if you manage to catch your flight on time, once you get to Union Station, try not to let it overwhelm you."

I again nod my head and dismiss the conversation, the reminder of New York being something I had wanted to forget for a bit longer. There is a part of me in New York that I want to forget. Not because I didn't like that person I was, but because the person who introduced me to the city I despise.

I remember New york from the years when I was younger. I recollect how it used to be and how it made me feel because we visited this one place. There is a building. It was a studio that was not just for the big-time musicians. I remember my Dad took Gemma and me there when we were younger. The first time I stepped foot into the studio, I was around the age of six. It was right around this time of year, right before Christmas. Back then, all I wanted for Christmas was a guitar, a standard guitar that I could strum in the comfort of my room, something for me to learn.

Walking into the studio for the first time, I remember how my eyes lit up when they saw all the guitars lined perfectly on the side, record labels lined the walls, and I felt like I was in paradise. But my sister didn't enjoy the atmosphere or the vibe, no. She was more into trying to peek at who was currently recording a song in the studio. I, to this day, still have no idea who was recording when I first entered. I was amazed by the guitars and the owner.

As I got older, I kept going back to the same studio, finding it my haven. The owner was a loving guy and always had his doors open to anyone with a slight desire for music and melodies. Every Wednesday night, he would close down the studio to recording and allow anyone who wanted to learn the fundamentals of music and instruments into his studio. He would spend hours teaching and amazing young kids with dreams of being future musicians. I was one of the few that always showed up when I visited New York. The owner always seemed to gravitate to me and how I would play any instrument with such grace.

When I was seventeen, right before I had to start University and buckle down, I dragged my sister to New York with me for the summer. We spent most of our time in and out of different small coffee shops and stores. Every other night we would go to the studio where the two would sit the owner, talk, laugh, sometimes even cry while playing a few chords of our favourite melodies. Without a doubt, we would always end up humming and singing along to, 'I Don't Want To Be', by Gavin DeGraw. It seemed always to fit the scenes of my life.

"I don't have to be anyone other than the birth of two souls in one. Part of where I'm going is knowing where I'm coming from."

I never forget where I came from—a small rural area. I didn't always have what I have now. Now, what I have is still not where I would like to be, but it is a step forward.

I always remember the struggles as a child and do my best not to forget where I came from or how I grew up. I may one day have all the luxuries I could imagine and so many opportunities I dreamed of, but they are meaningless if I forget who I am.

Just like everyone else, I came from two souls, forming one.

"I'm surrounded by liars everywhere I turn. I'm surrounded by imposters everywhere I turn. I'm surrounded by identity crisis everywhere I turn."

My work of choice doesn't always leave me in a room full of clean-cut and perfect people. In the few months I have been working with Jamie, I have come across a few people in business who are far from men of business. I haven't always been in the right crowd or distinguish right from wrong the last few years. I have had a few setbacks and downfalls. It wasn't until a year and a half ago I backed away from certain people and pulled my head in. Still, I somehow learnt while being surrounded by imposters, liars, fakes, and just people in general that wanted me to fail as a person and as a business professional. I wasn't always clean-cut and perfect. I'm still not clean-cut; I have my ragged edges, I have my faults, flaws, and my past. But, I have changed from who I used to be. I have grown and continue to become successful despite the setbacks and the people around me that may tear me down.

I remember the way the studio used to feel on Thursday nights, pleasant and peaceful. Not many people observed the way it was in its darkest hours and in the quiet times. To me— it was beautiful— I spent hours with the owner, we composed a few songs, towards the end, he became more of a fatherly figure to me. He understood my thoughts and the way my hands moved across instruments better than anyone else. Suppose anyone is ever fortunate enough to step foot in the recording booth; for whatever reason, they will see a rose on the wall.

The rose on the wall is the same as the one I will get tattooed on my arm— the replica is a tattoo Elise will trail with her fingers on many occasions. I need to find the time to sit down and get the ink on my skin.

I may not be who I used to be when I was seventeen and playing the guitar, harmonising 'She will be loved', with my sister. However, I am still the same seventeen-year-old who has a heart and a soul, one who found a home in a place that wasn't his own— one that escaped a broken home to find a haven between the walls' of music and solidarity.

Those walls' grasp more heartfelt lyrics than anywhere else— those walls' hold the character of others that will never be shared— they hold esoteric talent that will never escape.

Those walls' grip the part of me that I had to leave behind— the part that couldn't continue its journey when I went to University. The walls hold the thoughts and harmony of a seventeen-year-old who didn't have an understanding of the real world.

I shake my head at my thoughts and the memories I left behind in a city- a city that I use for business and business only now. Then, I divert my attention to grabbing my MacBook from my bag and placing it in my lap, beginning to work for the next few hours of the flight.