Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Harry’s POV

Being around Jeanne this couple of weeks since the bookshop hasn't been as difficult as I imagined it would be. When I woke up the next morning I just wanted to die. I recalled everything I had said to her, but the rest of the conversation was quite blurry. I called Pat and he confirmed the fear that was settled on my soul. She seemed upset when he found me unconscious over her lap, so I understood what I had done. Part of me felt sort of relieved having let things out of my chest, things that had been trapped there for far too long, but the other part knew I got carried away, and that I had chosen the wrong way. How could I blame her for loving her? She had hurt me, yes, but for a reason she couldn’t control. Who you love or not isn’t something you can control. She had the right to live her life as it pleased her, and all the love in the world couldn't change that. How did I let my frustration insult her like this? I had crossed a line, and I knew I had to do something about it.

I went to the kitchen, inwardly cursing myself. Why couldn’t I tell my feelings without attacking her and punishing her? How old was I? Twelve? To make matters worse, if there was one thing that I didn’t want from her, it was her pity. So I should have known being childish and cocky wouldn’t help the cause. It might have helped me feel less vulnerable, but in her eyes it would only make me look more pathetic, if that was even possible. God, the struggle. No matter how much I hated to admit it, Niall had been right all along. I shouldn’t have let my dejection talk. There was a civil, adult way to address things. Alas, that option came last on my list, especially under the influence of alcohol. Getting drunk to gather up some courage when I spotted her car outside the bookshop was the latest mistake in a long string of messes. Could I finally break the cycle and do the right thing for once?

Some folders with the wedding plans Niall had left there the last time he visited were lying around the worktop. Just to stop beating myself I began to inspect them, turning the pages back and forth. Erica was playing with fire letting him be the contact with the wedding planner in London, but because of her college obligations she couldn’t travel with us in May to take care of it in person. I sighed. The big day was getting closer. At least the flowers were chosen. Different shades of tulips. I remembered how she specifically told him no yellow tulips, not even a single one, as they represent hopeless love… In that moment I knew what I had to do. Fresh yellow tulips and a note wouldn’t fix the situation, but maybe they could start mending my behaviour. It was better than nothing. It was better than silence. Silence would have meant I didn’t regret it, and I wanted to let her know I had realised how unfair and selfish I had been. The amount, fifty-two. The note, the only thing I could think of that wouldn’t make it all even more awkward: “I’m sorry. Happy birthday.” It was concise, because I couldn’t dare to bring back the topic after shaming her for being herself as I did. The past, at least the part regarding my feelings, was dead and gone.

The first time we met a couple of days later I was shaking. I had been anticipating it so much I almost died right on the spot when she came all candid as she is and thanked me for the flowers. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it startled me that she could be so natural and spontaneous after all that had happened. Of course there were no hard feelings. For the thousandth time in my life I wished I could be more like her. I tend to be more like her when she’s not involved. Jeanne paralyses something in me. When I’m around her I can’t act normal. I’ve been struggling to do so ever since, because we work together, and because I want to feel comfortable around her as I felt back then, even if our relationship is not what it used to be. I owe it to her, and to myself. I have to learn to be in peace with her.

“Carla Melo,” someone from Production mumbles as the door opens. They’ve been holding the last auditions for the past two weeks. I met one of the prospects yesterday, but it didn’t work. I sense Jeanne moves by my side as if she were about to stand up, so I push my chair back. As soon as I turn right to mimic her actions my knees collide with hers. I’m able to feel her through the fabric of my jeans, the contact electrifying my whole self. All of a sudden my eyes are fixed on Jeanne’s, and the stare seems to linger an unnatural amount of time. Something snaps me out of it and I throw my hands forward, confusedly touching her skin. Jeanne mirrors me so our hands graze against one another’s quite generously. I realise we haven’t stop glancing right into each other’s eyes.

“Carla, you know Jeanne,” I hear Nancy speaking. Jeanne glances away, and adjusting her skirt she stands up and holds her hand out to the person in front of her. “And this is Harry…” I finish my movement too, fighting to brush off the feeling, but look back at Jeanne.

“Nice to meet you,” a mixed-race girl tells me as she lets go of Jeanne’s hand, and holds her hand out at me. Why am I so distracted? I react grasping her hand and shaking it tightly, probably too tightly considering she’s a woman and I have nothing to prove.

“Nice to meet you too…” I glimpse down to the piece of paper on the table. I can’t even remember her name. “Carla.” I make eye contact with her to try to mend my impoliteness. Nancy gesticulates for us to sit down.

“Carla has been reading for us, but we thought it was about time for you to do some reading together…” Drew speaks in her thick, particular accent. Jeanne is squirming in her seat, brushing off her clothes as in another world. What’s going on with her? “Harry?” She insists. I’m practically ignoring her, so I turn around to look at her. “What do you think? Maybe you want to chat a little to break the ice…” I shake my head. That didn’t work yesterday.

“The characters meet out of the blue, so we could read first to see how it works,” I say as I glance towards the girl, Carla.

“It’s fine by me.”

“If you agree I think we could take it further,” Jeanne intervenes, and as she leans forward, a portion of the pale skin of her cleavage is revealed. “The story has quirky characters, and the chemistry between them is vital.” The more she speaks the harder I look at her. What is she up to? “They’re always a bit awkward with each other, even until the end–––she explains–––so maybe we can use the fact that Carla and Harry barely know each other and have them doing the last scene, to get a raw idea of how they really fit together…”

“The last scene?” I can’t help but squint at her.

“Yes,” she replies, folding her arms across her chest in a frankly defying attitude.

“They kiss…”

“Is that an issue for you, Harry?” Jeanne claims. This is your job, Harold. Please, act professional.

“No, but…”

“Are you OK with it, Carla, or is it too intimidating?” She turns to talk to her, overlooking me. I’d overlook myself too if I were her. But why is she doing this? Why does she want me to kiss a complete stranger?

“No, I get what you say,” Carla tells her, very sure of herself. I bet Jeanne is adoring her. Does this make sense? Anyway, it’s happening, and I’m getting nervous. I have to kiss another woman in front of Jeanne, and even if it’s because of work, it makes me feel weird. As Drew bends over the table to give Carla some sort of indications, I approach Jeanne a bit.

“What do I do?” I ask her under my breath. Jeanne looks at me with such eyes.

“You kiss her,” she states. Doesn’t she care?

“How?” A little smile appears on her lips.

“Giving her a kiss–––she shrugs one shoulder. It’s not like you don’t have experience…” I can’t help but roll my eyes. Is she teasing me? Jeanne raises her eyebrows, as she realises I’m quite lost right now. “Kiss her like you’d kiss someone you are afraid to lose, but also afraid to get…” Why does this suddenly sound familiar? Something stirs inside of me. “As someone you are desperate for…” I was desperate for you. I’ve always been desperate for you. For some reason I’m devouring her with my stare, shuddering in anticipation like a cat. “Kiss her like you kissed me for the first time…” She whispers in a final, slight inclination of her torso, and it feels like I’ve been stabbed right in the guts. What the hell is she doing?

“I don’t remember,” I say, trying to get a reaction. Jeanne’s expression doesn’t alter one bit. Nothing. Not even a twitch. I just told her I don’t remember our first kiss, which is a massive lie, and she doesn’t care. I’m absolutely dejected.

"Your hands were on the wall, but forget about that because in this case you are running after her…” No, not this… I can’t have her reminiscing our first kiss. Jeanne glances away and I can tell she’s one hundred percent engrossed in. God, I was doing well. “But do what you did and hold her face by the jaw, eyes closed with the little frown and the pucker before you slowly start to part your lips. You know, in that gentle yet determined way until you realise what’s happening,” she mutters. I squeeze my eyes. She remembers. She knows… “And then when she allows you to, you tilt your head so you can stick you tongue in her mouth, and then you do that thing you do, pressing the underside of her tongue with yours while sucking in–––her voice speaks so softly it sounds as if she were savouring it–––because I’m pretty sure it shows and it’d look good to the camera.” Jeanne points back in a minimal gesture. This session is being recorded. But she knows my kiss down to the last detail. I feel aroused, woozy as I felt when I used to read her. If that is what she wants…

I walk up to Carla and hold her by the wrist, making her stand up. I shot Jeanne a last glimpse. She’s looking at me in a very professional attitude. Without thinking twice I shove my face to Carla. My hands move to her face. I sense she’s petrified, but as my pressure endures she relaxes, allowing me to carry on. Paris erupts in my mind, Jeanne’s words, Jeanne’s lips, Jeanne’s tongue. The memory of her scent floods my senses, intoxicating my soul, and my stomach yearns. I swirl my tongue deeper, hands instinctively sliding to the temples. But this isn’t Jeanne… As I react I pull away and open my eyes. Carla looks at me in awe. What the fuck did I do?

“I’m sorry–––I mumble, letting go of her. I was thinking of someone else.” God, I hope I didn’t scare her.

“I figured out,” she says in a cheeky smile. I look at her puzzled. “Isn’t it what acting is all about?”

“That was perfect, kids. We might be on the right path–––Nancy says in the back. What do you think, Jeanne?” I try to catch a glimpse of Jeanne, but Carla’s hand on my arm distracts me.

“May I…–––she hesitates, glancing around. Are you in a secret relationship with…?” What the fuck is this?

“With whom?” I snap. No. She wouldn’t dare. I feel my body tensing up, and a potent rush of heat is making my face burn. Not freaking Larry. It’s the year of our Lord 2019.

“With Jeanne,” she murmurs. I can’t help but frown a bit, amused. Maybe I overreacted. “Are you in a relationship with Jeanne? Because…” Does she think…?

“No,” I cut her off. I have to stop smiling though. “We are just friends.” For some reason I think I like her better now.

“Oh, I thought…–––Carla squints. I’m sorry.” She glances down, embarrassed. “I’m doing everything wrong. It’s a horrible habit to go around prying into other people’s lives. You had enough of that.” I can tell she’s empathetic; everything Jeanne has been looking for this role.

“It’s fine, you know–––I tell her reassuringly, and she glances up. It comes with the job… Maybe a year from now we’ll have all sort of rumours together, or even more than that.” We could have an army of stubborn, self-entitled believers.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I think I’ll never be ready.”

“You’ll learn. We all do, sooner or later.” I pat her shoulder. I know it can be scary. I wish I had known better in the beginning, but what’s done is done. “At least you’ll be doing what you love, and that’s a privilege we always have to be grateful for.”

–.–.–

Notes

I didn't want to state Carla's race because I don't think it would be the first thing about someone Harry would notice, but I didn't want you to picture the scene with someone Carla is not. Carla is from Brazilian descent. She is a woman of colour, part indigenous, part black and part Caucasian. She has very curly, natural, light brown hair and greenish eyes.

As I told Maja, there's going to be non-stop fluff and sweet Harry and Jeanne's interactions you'll be gagging over it and then I'll drop "that chapter" out of the blue and you won't even know what hit you. Any time now! Hope you are doing great. I'll update soon. Love you all <3