Coming Home

H.P.O.V

Louis says his day went by well.

That Presley had so much fun, she didn't want to leave.

And I had believed him... until I saw her. All green faced, arms around her stomach. Atrotious shirt on. She sent me small smile and retreated back into her room, demanding Louis give back her shirts or she'd burn his dick off and feed it to our fans.

"Where did you take her?"

"The local amusement park." Louis grinned and shrugged. "Her stomach wasn't on our side I guess."
I frowned. Presley always loved places like that. Never got sick, even if she didn't want to get on the rides.

"That's... Really?"

"I know," Louis nodded, serious face on. "She was... not normal. Like, if you mention Ben she gets defensive and I don't know, Harry. Something happened to her while we were gone."

"She's not going to tell me," Louis knows she won't either. It's just obvious. "I'll go check on her then."

"Okay. Good luck tomorrow. My day went by smoothly, but we did have our awkward bits. Can't imagine yours without any." I can't imagine my day going by smoothly at all. Forcing Presley to do this alone was awkward enough. I can hope. But hope is a bitch.

I knocked on Presley's door, only getting a mumble in return. "I'm coming in." I warned. And if I catch her without a shirt on? Well, I won't say I'm disappointed. "How are you feeling? Lou said your stomach was bugging out on you." Presley's laying on her bed. Her hair is up and in a knot on top of her head. Wisps of hair hanging loose. Her hand is resting on her stomach, shirt riddled up and wrinkled.

"M'fine," she grumbled. She picked her head up and looked over at me. "Never get on the zipper. Never."

"Okay?" I told Louis, the amusement park was something he should be doing on the third or second day.

"Want to watch a film? I'll let you pick." That's a cheap bribe. I know.

"It's not your turn until tomorrow?" Presley questions confused. Her eyes are wide and her mouth plump.

"Thought it'd be fun?" I shrug.

"Not very appropriate," Beth says. "This deal is business."

"This deal is everything but business, love."

"Either way it's not a good idea." Presley drops her head back down and covers her eyes with her arm. "What are you doing here anyway? Don't you have your own zip code?"

"Louis called," I want to keep my motives as discreet as possible. "Come watch Matilda with me."

"You hate that movie," Presley groans. And I do hate that movie. Never understood how or why the small girl develops telepathic powers or why her parents are brutes. The headmaster scares me and her older brother is a prick. "I don't feel well, Harry. Go play mind tricks on someone else."

"Oh, but your my faviorite." In many ways. "I'll carry you down if you'd like? We don't even have to go downstairs."

"We are not sharing a bed. I've still got some morals."

"Okay," I move and sit on the edge of her bed. "Should we go to the hospital? You look a bit green."

"No," she waves her hand. "No. I just need a few minuets for my stomach to settle."

"Your stomachs never been a problem before?" I'm slowly becoming nervous. Presley was never a sick person. Rarely even had a cold. She was very clean and sanitary. Her stomach acting up now seems odd and so unlike her.

"It's just a bit more sensitive, I guess."

"How? You must have done something." I'm not trying to sound accusing. Don't want her to feel judged. But I can't help if my tone of voice comes out harsh. Presley's always been my one exception to anything.

"It just is okay?"

"No," I say, moving her hand away and placing mine in its place, her body goes tense and still. But her skin is so warm and soft and I want to lay my head on it while she runs her fingers through my hair. "Not okay. What happened?"

"First of all: stop touching me," she says, weakly pushing my hand away and giving up after the first failed attempt. "Secondly: nothing happened. Nothing that's your business."

"Don't try that," when it came to her well being I could give a fuck about her feelings toward me. I need... I will always need to make sure she's fine. "Did you have an accident? Take something that ruined your organs? What happened?"

"You're going to make me throw up," she sits up and pushes my arm back. She scratches her head and sighs. "Harry, I'm tired. If you don't need anything, can you please leave? I want to go to bed."

"You're not tired," I narrow my eyes and bite back my smile. "Bab-- Presley," if Presley notices my word slip she doesn't say so, and I'm very thankful. "I'll give you two options. You can tell my why your stomach is acting up, or you can watch a movie with me. You pick."

"Today is not your turn!" Presley whines, huffing.

"But it is Louis' and I'm sure he has some questions he'd like answered."

"So Matilda?" Presley asks annoyed. She sits up, hand still on her stomach. "I fucking hate you."

"No you don't," sometimes I'm not so sure. Other times I'm positive she doesn't.

"Tell me again why you all of a sudden want to spend time with me? You ran away for a year and then when you did come back, you had so many personalities, it would confuse science."

Presley doesn't soften her voice, doesn't even mumble an apology. She focuses her eyes on me and shrugs at my flinch. "Just wanted a bit of company." I squeak, trying my damnedest not to cry.

"Call your fiancé. Watch it with Louis. Leave me alone-- you're good at that." Her words have no heat behind them, aren't even coming out rash. It makes it all so much more sincere and real. It sort of feels like, you've just been stabbed and kicked in the same place, as everyone laughs and throws dirt on you.

"I've already talked to Jasmine," more like she talked and I listened. I don't mind it as much anymore. Jasmine just needs the attention from me. It's just who she is. "Louis is going to pick up Eleanor from your place and if you want to have that talk, then you should really let me change first. My jeans aren't very comfortable."

Presley's head snaps up, "no. I'm not having any sort of talk with you. No heart to hearts or weird therapy session. No."

"Well I suggest we watch Matilda then. Eleanor has it recorded."

"Okay, fine, whatever, le-- oh my God!" Presley squealed, throwing her arms around my neck, griping hard. "You absolute fucker! What are-- you're a fucking maniac!"

"I said I'd carry you, didn't I?"

"You say a lot of things you don't mean," Presley says softly, with a huff of breath. "Harry this isn't right. We shouldn't be spending time together."

"Maybe," I shrug against her arms. "Or maybe this is exactly what we're supposed to be doing. Spending time together, I mean."

Presley shakes her head, her lips are in a tight line, "you're fucking with my head," she mumbles. I'm fucking with a lot right now. I can't stopmyslef. Once we reach the living room, I place her on the couch and hand her the remote.

"Start it while I make coffee?" She nods and fumbles with the small device.

I don't know what I'm doing, or why I'm doing this to her. Don't know why I left if I was just going to return. I did have good intentions. Had her best interest at heart. Even when I ignored every call. Every message. I almost caved, until one night they stopped.

And three months later, I did get a call. It just wasn't from her. It was her mum. I couldn't understand her, didn't make much sense of what she was saying. She was hysterical and crying. All I made out was "Caleb's dead." Before I dropped the phone.

Two months later I was on my way back.

"Why are you taking so long?"

I turned and grinned. "Coffee takes patience and lots of love. Don't you work in a café?"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed two mugs. Once the coffee pot beeped she reached over pouring it and filling two mugs. It wasn't until I saw the small jar of cinnamon that my heart sped up. She dusted a spoonful and half before doing the same in hers. She stopped abruptly and turned, eyes wide and surprised. "I'm sorry," she squeaked out, picking up the mug and moving toward the sink. "I have no idea why I did that. I'm sorry, let me--"

"No," I grab her arm and move her away. "Please, it's perfect. Haven't had it like this in so long." Not since I left and Jasmine can't comprehend that three spoons is too much.

"I-- uh, ok," she retreaded, handing me the warm mug. "I didn't mean to-- you don't have to drink it. I won't be offended if you throw it out."

"It's okay," and I'm not sure if we're talking about the coffee alone. "Is your stomach feeling better? I can make you tea?" She shakes her head and walks back, heading straight for the couch.

Suddenly twilight became so much more relatable. And I only watched that because Presley wanted to.

****
"What's the best part about working at the café?" Presley smiles and shrugs.

"I don't know if I woke there anymore," she mutters sadly. She meets my gaze and shakes her head again. "Ben's really upset," she adds with a sigh. "But if I had to chose, it'd be George."

"Who?" Oh God, please don't let it be another man. I'm already up against two.

"He's the nicest man I've ever met. He's like, sixty-five and he's so sweet. He always hugs me and says hello. He'll stand outside the café waving and greeting everyone and he gets so excited when we give him a strawberry scone. He's so cute."

"He's sixty-five you say?"

Presley rolls her eyes and nods. "He reminds Ben of his granddad. It's sweet." The movie is playing behind us. We've missed the first half because I ask too many questions. And now we're going to miss the second half because I still have so many questions left. Even if we've been talking for a good bit, and it's only been awkward when Jesse's or Jasmine's name comes up. It's been tense when Ben is brought up and it's close to unbearable when Caleb and Louis are mentioned. But other than that, it's been okay. It's been familiar and I like that.

"You're a good friend," that was one of my favorite things about her. She was always ridiculously loyal. No matter what you had done. How wrong you were. She was always on your side. And maybe that's why she doesn't want to say what's really wrong with her stomach, or why she's so dependent on Ben now.

She sat up and scratched at her hair, "maybe we can be friends?" She asks herself more than anything. And the idea of being just her friend doesn't sit well with me. It doesn't feel right.

"I don't want to be friends with you," I say before I can think it through. Presley looks taken back. Her eyes are confused and her brow is furrowed.

"I don't understand," she admitted, frail and small. "I thought you said this is what's supposed to happen? Us spending time together?"

And I still believe that. I believe that with everything I am. I just don't think I can handle falling under the same category as everyone else. Not when Presley, herself has a completely different meaning from anyone I know. From Jasmine.

"It is supposed to happen. I still think that. I just... I don't want to mean the same as Ben or, Louis. I don't want to fall into that category. It's not enough," by now my head has gone fuzzy and everything has gone stupid. Everything is being thrown in my face, and I'm putting Presley in a very compromising position. I know that. I'm just selfish enough to care. "It's not enough having you close and having to pretend you mean the same as Eleanor. Like I don't want to jump your bones, and kiss the living fuck out of you. That it doesn't make me angry when Ben or Jesse are all over you. I've fucked it up. I've fucked you up and I don't want you to move on."

"But--" Presley is adoring a very conflicted expression. Her eyebrows are burrowed together and her eyes have a million questions in them. I know what she's going to say. I know she has Jasmine in mind. She may even have Jesse there too. We both know it's not fair. I know it's not.

I just seemed to stop caring.

"I don't want you to move on." I repeat, leaning in and kissing her cheek, lingering and breathing her air. I stand and look down. "I'm not going to let you." I add. I walk away before I lose it and kiss her face off. Before I beg her to leave with me right now.

There's so much left to say. So much I have to apologize for and explain. So much she has to tell me and trust me with.

It's all so much and not enough. I'm still trying to figure out how that's possible.

Notes

I wrote this in thirty minuets and let me tell you... I am everything but sorry. Also I've discovered a love for socks it's almost unhealthy and you're all my precious sponge cakes. Imy and (\^.^/) have a good day....except that's too much pressure so have the day you have. Unless it's bad one. Then have a better day.
Peace. Love. And some other shit.