CHLOE

Harry sleeps. He sleeps all through the evening and well into the night. I toss and turn in my own bed, my mind racing. My imagination is in overdrive, picturing the events Harry relayed to me. I can see him cowering in fear as his mother is subjected to her horrific ordeal. I remember the anguish on his face when I told him I had felt unable to say no to him when he touched me. He has survived so much damage, and I am afraid I have only added to his trauma. 

Around two o'clock in the morning I hear him stumble out of bed and into the bathroom, where I hear him running water and gulping it down noisily. I call out to him, asking if he is alright, but he staggers back to bed without a word. 

He sleeps solidly for over twenty four hours, waking only once more for another trip to the bathroom and a long drink. I am starting to feel panicky, not only at the state of his health after such a bare revelation but at the idea of us staying in the hotel room all day. This will surely arouse suspicion, and although I do not want to leave the area just yet, I understand that staying in the close proximity to my childhood home is highly risky, particularly if the police have managed to trace us here.

I have extended our stay for another night, paid again in cash and ordered a sandwich platter to be delivered to the room for dinner. I am just contemplating waking Harry to offer him something to eat when finally he stirs. I try not to watch him too avidly as he rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, apparently deep in thought. 

"Would you like a sandwich?" I offer timidly, when I cannot bear the silence any longer. He sits up in bed and rubs his left eye with the heel of his hand.

"Yeah. Cheers." 

He reaches over to the tray on my bed and devours a couple of tuna salad rolls and almost a whole bottle of water. 

"I've booked us in for another night," I begin, as he pushes the bed covers back and walks across the room and into the bathroom without a word, shutting the door behind him. A couple of seconds later the shower starts running. I sit awkwardly on the bed, wondering if maybe he just didn't hear me. When the shower stops, I arrange myself into what I hope is a casual position on the bed and switch the TV on, trying not to look as though I am on pins waiting to see what mood he is in. The bathroom door opens and he emerges cleanshaven, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his hair wet and combed back. He rummages in his bag for a moment, before pulling out a clean button-down shirt and a pair of jeans.

I can't help myself. "What are you doing?" I ask, half afraid of the answer.

"Going out," he answers, abruptly but not unkindly. 

"Going out?" I echo, stupidly. "Where? What for?"

He sits down on the bed with his back to me and begins pulling on a pair of boxer shorts. Blushing furiously, I turn away politely just before he stands up to spare him having to ask me not to look, although I suspect he doesn't even care. 

"I need a fucking drink." 

"We've got plenty of water here - "

"I don't want water, I want beer. And maybe vodka. Or rum. Or maybe all three." 

"And then you're coming back here?" I can hear the panic in my voice. "When you've bought them you're coming back here? To get drunk?"

"I can't face another night holed up in isolation," he says, without looking at me. "I'm going to find the nearest pub and I'm going to get hammered." 

 My blood runs cold and I get to my feet, my heart beginning to pound. "Harry - you can't!"

"I can." 

"What if you get caught?" I wail. "What if someone recognises you?! It's too risky!"

He says nothing, but pulls on his clothes and then rubs the towel over his hair in a vague attempt to dry it. 

"Harry," I plead. "Think this through. You are a wanted man. We've done so well so far, we've managed to stay hidden, no one has a clue where we are! Don't throw all that away on a whim! Harry, please!" 

"Don't wait up."

The door shuts behind him and I can do nothing but stare after him, my mouth open in shock. I didn't see this coming, and I have no idea what to do now. My first thought is to go after him, but something holds me back. I have the strangest feeling that Harry needs this time alone, after reliving his deepest secrets to me only twenty four hours earlier. I am always running around picking up after him, clearing up his messes, organising his life, making his decisions. I don't agree with what he is doing, but my instinct tells me to let this play out, and to trust Harry not to get himself into any trouble (I almost laugh out loud at this). Although how I will cope with my own anxiety knowing he could be arrested at any moment and I would never even know, I'm not sure. 

It feels strange being alone in the hotel room without him. We have lived in each other's pockets for the last few weeks, and only now can I appreciate just what a strain that has been, for both of us. Before we left London we barely knew each other. We had probably spent less than ten minutes in each other's company, and had probably exchanged about fifty words, comprising solely of drinks orders at the Flute. I picture Harry ordering his usual pint at the bar, and then imagine him in a typical tourist pub somewhere on the Margate seafront, sipping the froth from the top of the glass, hunched on a stool. I glance lazily around the room, looking for something to occupy the next few hours and to stop me from pulling out my own hair, when my gaze falls on Harry's wet towel discarded on his bed. Reluctantly I get to my feet to return it to the bathroom and realise there is a small black wallet underneath it: it is obviously Harry's. 

It is too late to go after him now - I don't have a clue which way he went. I pick up the wallet to set it on the bedside table, and can feel the bulkiness of the wad of notes inside. As the flap falls open, I catch sight of what looks like the corner of a photograph poking out from one of the compartments. Unable to resist my curiosity, I gently manoeuvre the photo out and examine it. 

It is a picture of a small boy, probably no more than twelve months old, with a mop of dark, fluffy hair and piercing green eyes. He has chubby cheeks, dimples, and the kind of smile that would get him out of all sorts of trouble. The edges of the photo are frayed and tattered, as though it has been in here for years. Could this be a photo of Harry as a child? I turn it over, but there is nothing written on the back and nothing in the background of the photo that gives away when it might have been taken. Is this some kind of reminder of his own past, a reflection of innocence, before his childhood became tainted by the horrific acts of his stepfather? I rack my brains trying to remember when he said his own father had left, and when his stepdad came into his life, but I can't recall it. 

I stare down at the picture again. The little boy could certainly be Harry, they look so alike. And judging by the condition of the photo it was taken a long time ago. Could it be his brother maybe? But hadn't he told me he had no siblings? Was this a lie?

I close my eyes and think back to our conversation yesterday, and his confession that he has told no one about the abuse his mother encountered at the hands of his stepfather. Does this include his girlfriend, too? How has he been able to keep something this big from her, as it has obviously affected his entire personality and has shaped who he is today? And if he hasn't told her, what else has he kept a secret? And more pressingly, what else is he keeping from me?

I am no amateur psychologist but even I can tell that there are many layers to Harry, and that he needs professional help to be able to come to terms with his past if he is to move on from it in the future. I don't doubt that unburdening himself to me will possibly have helped him  somewhat but I am not stupid enough to assume that this will have magically fixed him. And I can't expect him to change his whole demeanour just because of one shared confidence. 

I carefully slide the picture back in the wallet, place it on the side table and lie back on my bed again, staring blankly at the television screen. I decide against watching the news. Even if I discover the police are currently patrolling the seafront I have no way of warning Harry, so I conclude that I would rather not put myself through the unnecessary added torture.

It is around ten o'clock when I hear footsteps outside in the corridor, and the keycard bleeping in the slot as it unlocks the door. I sit bolt upright in bed, my heart in my mouth. Harry enters the room with a slight stumble and lets the door crash shut behind him.

"You scared me," I huff, reaching my hand to my neck to feel the thud of my own heartbeat. 

He smirks. "No surprise there." 

I say nothing, unsure whether he is teasing me or whether this is the start of him picking a fight. 

"Left my fucking wallet behind," he grunts. I can tell from his movements that he is tipsy but he doesn't appear to be completely off his face. Presumably he had a small amount of cash in his pocket that managed to buy him a couple of drinks to satisfy his appetite.

"It's next to your bed," I tell him, and his gaze follows my finger. "Are you... are you going out again?" 

"Nah." 

He sits down on the end of his bed and removes his trainers, tossing them on the floor noisily one at a time. 

"Harry," I begin, and he looks up at me, staring into my face without a hint of emotion. "I need to explain. About yesterday. About what I said... what I meant."

It is his turn to say nothing. Instead, his whole body stiffens. He turns away from me as though putting his back to me will create a wall between us that I will be unable to penetrate. 

"I didn't mean it how you took it," I tell him softly.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he says bluntly.

"Yes, you do. When I told you that..." I take a deep breath. "When I told you I was scared to say no to you when you touched me. I didn't mean that I didn't consent."

"I'm not talking about this." His voice is louder than necessary, which accentuates the audible wobble. 

"You don't need to," I shrug. "I'm the one doing the talking this time. You just need to listen."

"I don't want to listen."

"Tough. You need to let me explain. You need to understand that... that all that stuff with you and me.. it's not the same as what your mum went through."

"I mean it Chloe, shut up." I can see his back is trembling, just like his voice, but I plough on.

"I won't shut up. I can't have you thinking you are like... like him. Like your stepdad. Because you're not."

"For fuck's sake, Chloe, I said shut the fuck up!" he snarls, turning to face me with bloodshot eyes. "I told you, I'm not talking about this. Forget everything I said! I'm trying to." 

"No." I stand my ground. "What happened between us happened because I wanted it to. Just like you wanted it to, at the time."

"Shut up, Chloe." His mouth is trembling now too, and his eyes are glistening. He is taking deep breaths, perched on the end of the bed as though he is ready to make a run for it.

"Whether or not either of us regrets it now, we both wanted it at the time. I wanted it. I liked it. I enjoyed it. You didn't force me."

He is staring into my eyes, tears ready to spill down his cheeks. "You're just saying that now, because you feel guilty after what I told you."

"I'm not Harry, I swear." My own voice breaks. I can't bear the misery in his eyes. I can't bear the anguish in his soul.

"I frighten you."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. You fucking cringe when I raise my voice. You flinch when I get annoyed with you. I've seen it with my own eyes. You cower exactly like my mum always did."

A hot tear runs down my cheek. "I am afraid of arguments, and of confrontation. I'm not afraid of you." 

A sob escapes his lips, and he drops his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. "I don't want to be that person," he mumbles. "I don't want to turn into him." 

"You won't," I whisper, sliding off the bed and approaching his hunched figure. "You are worlds apart."

He shakes his head without looking up. "I'm angry and aggressive. I bully people to get my own way. I pushed you into doing something you didn't want to do, just because I wanted to do it." 

"No," I tell him, forcefully. 

"I thought it was your first time, and that didn't stop me. I ploughed on, I didn't ask if you wanted to do it. I wanted to, so I did. I'm a fucking monster."

His chest heaves, and mine with it. I take a step forwards, standing in front of him but still he doesn't look up.

"You were gentle," I whisper, moving closer and cupping his face in my hands to force him to look at me. "It was amazing. No one has..." I close my eyes briefly, my cheeks burning from embarrassment at what I am about to share. "No one has ever touched me like that before."

His eyes dart between mine, tears coursing down his face. "So... it was your first time?"

"No," I shake my head. "But it was the first time I'd ever enjoyed it."

He says nothing, but he doesn't pull his gaze away from mine. I am standing between his legs now, still holding his face in my hands. I can tell he is starting to believe me, and that he wants to believe me. 

"I'm not afraid of you," I whisper, and because it seems like the only way to prove he doesn't frighten me, I lean down towards him. His eyes close slowly and I kiss him softly on the lips, tasting the salt from our tears and the faint remnants of whatever beer he has been drinking. When I pull away he sucks in a ragged breath, his eyes still closed, and then wipes the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his fists. He doesn't make any attempt to push me away, but he doesn't pull me closer either. 

Desire is building in the pit of my stomach, but I am scared to make the next move. My inexperience is holding me back, but I know it must be me who initiates this. He won't try and touch me unless I expressly tell him to.

I brush my lips against his again, fighting the ache now beginning between my legs. I slide my hands around the back of his neck, running my fingers through his hair, and he gives a gentle murmur of enjoyment. Bolstered by this I kiss him harder, willing him to put his hands on me but knowing he won't. His arms are resting at his sides, and after a moment I grab his hands in mine and put them on my waist. He leaves them where I have positioned them and I kiss him again, pushing my body closer to his, still standing between his legs. He is kissing me back, his head tilted up, but I can tell it is restrained; letting me lead the way, giving me all the control. He is the one who is afraid now. 

I kiss him harder, sliding my tongue into his mouth and screwing up every ounce of courage I possess before climbing onto the edge of the bed to straddle him on my knees. Moving my hands to the top button of his shirt I undo the first one, waiting to see if he will pull away in shock and stop me. I pause, caressing his collarbone with my fingertips before fumbling clumsily with the rest of them; it seems to take an age to unbutton them all. I finally reach the bottom and slip the shirt off his shoulders, running my fingers over the smooth skin of his chest. His hands haven't moved from my waist, and, feeling unspeakably self-conscious, I push him back on the bed so he is lying down and quickly whip my top off over my head. His eyes search mine and I give him a soft smile to let him know I am ok with all of this, and then I lean down again and press my lips to his. 

I have never initiated anything like this before. I feel vulnerable and exposed again, like an actress who doesn't know her lines and is about to be caught out. Harry's hands remain firmly on my waist, his fingertips moving gently against my skin, and after a minute of kissing like this I grab my courage with both hands and sit up, breaking our kiss to unbutton his jeans and pull them down over his hips. I quickly remove my own shorts and resume my position astride him, now feeling how hard he is through the thin fabric of his boxers. I place my hands gently over his and guide them to my breasts. When I let go, he massages me gently and I close my eyes, leaning down to find his mouth with mine again. He breathing harder now and I nudge my hips gently downwards a couple of times to press against his erection, each time earning soft murmur of pleasure which sends a couple of sharp pangs of desire straight between my legs. I unclip my bra so he can touch me freely, and whimper softly into his mouth with each skim of his fingertips over my nipples. I reach between us, pulling impatiently at the waistband of his shorts, followed by my own knickers, until I can feel the silkiness of him rubbing against me, hot and enticing. I am physically aching for him now, and as I lift my hips up he reaches down and positions himself so that any movement from me would connect us.

I break our kiss only for a second to whisper, "I want you Harry," before lowering myself slowly onto him and swallowing his strangled moan with another kiss. I go slow at first, a little unsure of myself or of what he likes, but within seconds I am building speed, thrusting my hips towards him, completely surrendered to the feel of him inside me. He shifts beneath me, pushing himself up onto his elbows and then into a sitting position before taking my breasts in his hands again as I continue my rhythm. His breath is hot, his mouth is wet. His lips slide over mine, returning my kisses with equal enthusiasm. This is not just about sexual desire anymore, but about emotion. There is a bond between us now that is cemented with each smooth stroke. He needs me, I need him, in every sense. His fingers alternate between squeezing and stroking, building the tension. I don't want this to stop, but at the same time I crave the end. I'm moving faster now, almost frantically, feeling that warm sensation deep inside that I recognise as being close to my peak. I grind down on him, desperate for a release, and as it begins I pull away from his lips and arch my back, digging my fingers into his hair. His lips graze my neck, my collarbone and finally my nipple; I hear myself cry out as each pulse renders me incapable of anything but clinging to him. As each wave crashes my hips buck involuntarily, until eventually it begins to fade and I start to slow. His arm slides around me, holding me in place as I come down from this tremendous high. Just as it feels as though the tide is going out I get a sudden urge for more, and without really thinking about what I am doing I grab his hand and bring it between my legs, lifting my hips again and starting to move. He slides his fingers against me and within seconds I am coming again, pressing my lips to his as his free hand squeezes my waist with a sudden urgency and pulls me down on his lap, plunging deeper inside me. I thrust against him hard and fast, watching him as he holds his breath and then lets out a moan of pleasure and closes his eyes, his hips jerking beneath me letting me know he is coming too. 

I have never felt so helpless and so empowered at the same time. I never dreamed I would have had the confidence to let go like this. Judging by the look right now on Harry's face, he has no complaints. I continue to kiss him as our rhythm slows, drawing out every last wave of pleasure before coming to a stop on his lap and dropping my head onto his shoulder. His arms circle my waist, his fingertips gently caressing the base of my spine as our chests heave simultaneously. I am physically and emotionally spent.

When I lift my head again he looks up at me, and with the briefest hesitation he reaches up and cups the back of my neck with his hand, drawing my face back down to his and kissing me softly on the lips one last time. When we pull away he gives me the softest smile, and just for a second I dare to wonder if somehow, one day, everything might just be alright.

---***---

Hello! Just wanted to give a virtual hug to anyone struggling at the moment with this worldwide pandemic. Here in the UK we are the worst hit nation in Europe and the second worst in the world, according to official figures. Our government is talking about easing the lockdown next week which is a frightening thought. I hope you are all keeping safe, and a massive thanks to those in the key sectors who are keeping the world going by looking after the rest of us in any way, shape or form. 

I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter. If you did, please hit the vote button to let me know. And if you'd like to, please leave a comment! I love reading them all, it inspires me so much! Much love to you all, until next time xx