Know: A Harry Styles Fan Fiction
The Catch
Harry's POV
Before I even open my eyes, the smell of her lightly rose-scented hair wafts into my nose.
"Mmm, good morning beautiful," I mumble sleepily as I roll over.
She doesn't respond. I curl my arm around her but all I get is blankets. I slowly sit up, staring at the vacant space in my bed.
"Jules?" I call out, looking around my room.
No response.
I slide out out bed, pulling on some briefs. I notice my button up and trousers crumpled on the floor, but no sign of her clothes.
"Jules?" I call once more as I step into the hall.
My voice returns to me, unanswered. I peer into the front room, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, but find it empty. Her purse is missing from the couch and her shoes have disappeared. It's almost as if I dreamt the entirety of last night, and she hadn't really slept over after all.
I ponder that possibility until I arrive at the kitchen. Two pans of cold, untouched eggs and sausages and a pot of beans sit on the stove. Slices of bread protrude from the toaster, which hasn't yet been plugged in. But the most baffling mystery lies in a small slip of paper, torn from the corner of a notepad.
So that's the catch, is all it says. The letters are loopy and hurried. What could've caused her to flee my flat so quickly that she hadn't even bothered to replace the cap on the pen?
The note sits beside the answering machine, whose light blinks red, alerting me of a new message. I push down on the play button, anticipating Jules' voice with answers to my questions.
"Harry!"
Oh no, I think to myself, filling with dread the second I hear that screechy voice. I plop into a seat at the table to stabilize myself, listening in horror as the recording plays all the way through. I try to imagine the thoughts that ran across Jules' mind as she heard it. She must hate me now. No doubt about it. She must think I'm the scummiest tosser she's ever met. I won't blame her, but she has to hear my side before she makes that judgment.
"You have a lot of explaining to do when I see you later at Louis' party! Ugh!"
For fuck's sake, Samanthora, what do I have to explain to you? And furthermore, who invited you to Louis' party?!
I pick up the note beside the phone and twiddle it between my fingers.
So that's the catch.
"There's always a catch," Jules had told me, "with guys like you." I had let her down. She had just started letting me in, trusting me, and my selfishness fucked it all up. I claw through my untamed hair, so angry at myself, it starts to give me a headache.
Jules doesn't pick up when I ring her so I ring her again. And again, and again, and after the twelfth attempt, I know she isn't going to pick up.
I have to go see her.
Racing to my room, I jump into the first clothes I can find (an old hoodie and raggy gray sweat bottoms) and fly out the door. Within minutes, I'm in a cab, heading straight to her flat. Over and over, I find myself fighting the urge to ask the driver to speed up.
At last, I stand knocking at her front door. While I nervously stare at the scuff on my shoes, my mind rehearses which sentence I should start with.
Please hear me out.
It's not what it seems.
I'm sorry.
Effy answers the door in her pyjamas and cracks it so I only see half her face. Her one, tired eye skims over my attire. "No homeless people allowed, sorry," she grumbles.
I squeeze my foot next to the doorjamb before she can shut it all the way. "Can I please talk to Jules?" I say, the desperation straining my voice.
"She's not here," she says. I study Effy, trying to read any deceit in her expression. She's either an excellent liar or...
"Where is she, then?" I ask.
"Probably about 10,000 metres in the air," she answers boredly.
"She's flying back already?"
"Yep."
"But she wasn't supposed to leave for another two days."
"She wasn't, you're right, but she took an early flight."
"What? Why?"
"Dunno. I think she just really wanted to go home."
I shut my eyes for a second while the feeling of despair washes over me. When I reopen them, I ask Effy, with all of my hope, if I could ring Jules from her phone because she wasn't picking up for me.
"Why in the world would I let you do that?" she says, with an almost entertained smirk.
"Because I need to speak to her. Explain myself. I don't know what she's told you, but---"
"She hasn't told me anything."
"She... what?"
"Yeah, she just gathered her shit and left. Said she'd ring me when she landed but no word on why she was so quiet or leaving so quick." Effy's features begin to relax and when she speaks again, it's much softer. "Okay, Jules is a quiet girl. I've known that since I've met her and you know that too, don't you?"
"Yeah," I answer through barely parted lips.
"But this morning when she came home, wiping away mascara stains and holding her shoes instead of wearing them, she wasn't just quiet. She was dead silent. I've never seen her like that before. She wouldn't tell me anything no matter how many times I asked, but she didn't have to. I knew it had to do with that idiot of a boy band member she's been seeing."
The edge has returned to her voice as she watches me behind a threatening glare.
"Look, it's not what---"
"I don't know what you did, Harry, and I don't care, but you better stay away from her. I mean it," she coldly says, and slams the door.
A couple seconds pass while I gaze at the peeling paint before collapsing to the floor, defeated and slumped against the wall. The damage I've done and the mess that I'll have to salvage might be worse than I'd originally thought. I keep visualizing Effy's account of Jules this morning, but my head throbs with enough guilt to make me break into tears right then and there, in the corridor of her building where an elderly man emerges from his flat and looks down at me oddly.
"Mornin' lad," his hoarse voice greets. "Rough night?"
"No," I answer with forlorn. "It was a lovely night. Perfect, actually. It's the morning that's rough."
He chuckles but it transforms into a bout of coughs, and pats his chest as he recovers. "Ah, always is, isn't it? Here's something that should makes things a bit easier." He produces a box of cigarettes from his oversize coat, flips it open and points it at me.
"No thanks, I don't smoke."
"Good," he says, jabbing one into the corner of his mouth. "Keep it that way."
We exchange another wave before he rounds the corner. I listen to his slow footsteps down the stairs until I can't hear them anymore, and I'm left by myself again.
Jules isn't coming back for another two weeks, at least. On one hand, that's two weeks for her to cool down so if I wait and talk to her, she'll be more likely to forgive me. On the other hand, that's two weeks for her to decide that I'm worthless and she absolutely doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore.
I know I'll drive myself mad if I keep sitting here wondering which it will be. I have to do something. But before that, I have to do something else.
It starts to snow when I leave her building and it feels colder and sharper than before. The icy flakes are blades against my skin, as if they know what I've done and are punishing me on Jules' behalf. While inside the cab, Samanthora texts me again, breaking her own record in a single 24-hour period.
U coming tonite???
Of course I'm coming. It's not everyday that one of my best mates turns twenty-two. Even if the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful girl in the world hates me, I couldn't miss out on Louis' birthday. Also, I need to see Samanthora, hopefully for the last time, to straighten things out with her once and for all.
Before I even open my eyes, the smell of her lightly rose-scented hair wafts into my nose.
"Mmm, good morning beautiful," I mumble sleepily as I roll over.
She doesn't respond. I curl my arm around her but all I get is blankets. I slowly sit up, staring at the vacant space in my bed.
"Jules?" I call out, looking around my room.
No response.
I slide out out bed, pulling on some briefs. I notice my button up and trousers crumpled on the floor, but no sign of her clothes.
"Jules?" I call once more as I step into the hall.
My voice returns to me, unanswered. I peer into the front room, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, but find it empty. Her purse is missing from the couch and her shoes have disappeared. It's almost as if I dreamt the entirety of last night, and she hadn't really slept over after all.
I ponder that possibility until I arrive at the kitchen. Two pans of cold, untouched eggs and sausages and a pot of beans sit on the stove. Slices of bread protrude from the toaster, which hasn't yet been plugged in. But the most baffling mystery lies in a small slip of paper, torn from the corner of a notepad.
So that's the catch, is all it says. The letters are loopy and hurried. What could've caused her to flee my flat so quickly that she hadn't even bothered to replace the cap on the pen?
The note sits beside the answering machine, whose light blinks red, alerting me of a new message. I push down on the play button, anticipating Jules' voice with answers to my questions.
"Harry!"
Oh no, I think to myself, filling with dread the second I hear that screechy voice. I plop into a seat at the table to stabilize myself, listening in horror as the recording plays all the way through. I try to imagine the thoughts that ran across Jules' mind as she heard it. She must hate me now. No doubt about it. She must think I'm the scummiest tosser she's ever met. I won't blame her, but she has to hear my side before she makes that judgment.
"You have a lot of explaining to do when I see you later at Louis' party! Ugh!"
For fuck's sake, Samanthora, what do I have to explain to you? And furthermore, who invited you to Louis' party?!
I pick up the note beside the phone and twiddle it between my fingers.
So that's the catch.
"There's always a catch," Jules had told me, "with guys like you." I had let her down. She had just started letting me in, trusting me, and my selfishness fucked it all up. I claw through my untamed hair, so angry at myself, it starts to give me a headache.
Jules doesn't pick up when I ring her so I ring her again. And again, and again, and after the twelfth attempt, I know she isn't going to pick up.
I have to go see her.
Racing to my room, I jump into the first clothes I can find (an old hoodie and raggy gray sweat bottoms) and fly out the door. Within minutes, I'm in a cab, heading straight to her flat. Over and over, I find myself fighting the urge to ask the driver to speed up.
At last, I stand knocking at her front door. While I nervously stare at the scuff on my shoes, my mind rehearses which sentence I should start with.
Please hear me out.
It's not what it seems.
I'm sorry.
Effy answers the door in her pyjamas and cracks it so I only see half her face. Her one, tired eye skims over my attire. "No homeless people allowed, sorry," she grumbles.
I squeeze my foot next to the doorjamb before she can shut it all the way. "Can I please talk to Jules?" I say, the desperation straining my voice.
"She's not here," she says. I study Effy, trying to read any deceit in her expression. She's either an excellent liar or...
"Where is she, then?" I ask.
"Probably about 10,000 metres in the air," she answers boredly.
"She's flying back already?"
"Yep."
"But she wasn't supposed to leave for another two days."
"She wasn't, you're right, but she took an early flight."
"What? Why?"
"Dunno. I think she just really wanted to go home."
I shut my eyes for a second while the feeling of despair washes over me. When I reopen them, I ask Effy, with all of my hope, if I could ring Jules from her phone because she wasn't picking up for me.
"Why in the world would I let you do that?" she says, with an almost entertained smirk.
"Because I need to speak to her. Explain myself. I don't know what she's told you, but---"
"She hasn't told me anything."
"She... what?"
"Yeah, she just gathered her shit and left. Said she'd ring me when she landed but no word on why she was so quiet or leaving so quick." Effy's features begin to relax and when she speaks again, it's much softer. "Okay, Jules is a quiet girl. I've known that since I've met her and you know that too, don't you?"
"Yeah," I answer through barely parted lips.
"But this morning when she came home, wiping away mascara stains and holding her shoes instead of wearing them, she wasn't just quiet. She was dead silent. I've never seen her like that before. She wouldn't tell me anything no matter how many times I asked, but she didn't have to. I knew it had to do with that idiot of a boy band member she's been seeing."
The edge has returned to her voice as she watches me behind a threatening glare.
"Look, it's not what---"
"I don't know what you did, Harry, and I don't care, but you better stay away from her. I mean it," she coldly says, and slams the door.
A couple seconds pass while I gaze at the peeling paint before collapsing to the floor, defeated and slumped against the wall. The damage I've done and the mess that I'll have to salvage might be worse than I'd originally thought. I keep visualizing Effy's account of Jules this morning, but my head throbs with enough guilt to make me break into tears right then and there, in the corridor of her building where an elderly man emerges from his flat and looks down at me oddly.
"Mornin' lad," his hoarse voice greets. "Rough night?"
"No," I answer with forlorn. "It was a lovely night. Perfect, actually. It's the morning that's rough."
He chuckles but it transforms into a bout of coughs, and pats his chest as he recovers. "Ah, always is, isn't it? Here's something that should makes things a bit easier." He produces a box of cigarettes from his oversize coat, flips it open and points it at me.
"No thanks, I don't smoke."
"Good," he says, jabbing one into the corner of his mouth. "Keep it that way."
We exchange another wave before he rounds the corner. I listen to his slow footsteps down the stairs until I can't hear them anymore, and I'm left by myself again.
Jules isn't coming back for another two weeks, at least. On one hand, that's two weeks for her to cool down so if I wait and talk to her, she'll be more likely to forgive me. On the other hand, that's two weeks for her to decide that I'm worthless and she absolutely doesn't want to have anything to do with me anymore.
I know I'll drive myself mad if I keep sitting here wondering which it will be. I have to do something. But before that, I have to do something else.
It starts to snow when I leave her building and it feels colder and sharper than before. The icy flakes are blades against my skin, as if they know what I've done and are punishing me on Jules' behalf. While inside the cab, Samanthora texts me again, breaking her own record in a single 24-hour period.
U coming tonite???
Of course I'm coming. It's not everyday that one of my best mates turns twenty-two. Even if the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful girl in the world hates me, I couldn't miss out on Louis' birthday. Also, I need to see Samanthora, hopefully for the last time, to straighten things out with her once and for all.
@twelve
Thank you so much! Means a lot. xx
5/12/14