Irresistible (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

73: Small Comfort In A Terrycloth Robe

What on earth just happened?

My entire body feels numb, the only thing I can feel my heart as is pounds slowly but heavily in my chest with each shallow breath I manage to take and although I should have realized this the second Harry pushed me away to escape back into the house, the gravity of the situation finally sinks in.

He's not coming back out.

I fish my bra out of the hot water and clasp it around my back. The fabric feels rough against my skin, the wet lace coarse on every inch it touches.

Like a fool, I look around Harry's outdoor space to make sure no one's looking before I step out but, obviously, no one's here. Trying to cover as much of myself as I can, I climb out of the boiling water and tiptoe to my small pile of clothes. The cool night air hits me and makes me shudder with goosebumps. Sad and alone, I pull on my dry clothes over my soaking wet body until they are very uncomfortably covering me.

And yes, it is as pitiful as it sounds.

I clean up our champagne glasses and the near-empty bottle and head back to the house, making sure to lock up behind me. As quick as I can, as to not get caught, I check on Prince and Lea who are sleeping soundly in their own crates and run upstairs.

My heart drops when I find myself outside of his bedroom door, my natural impulse to go to bed with him as strong as ever, but it's closed and I can hear the shower running. I feel like a stranger here.

This morning I wouldn't have thought twice about walking inside and getting ready for bed but now... well, now I feel like the girl who slept here the first night we met, incredibly out of place and wishing I was home.

Ironically enough I was soaking wet that night as well.

So, I find solace in the room Harry once told me I couldn't use anymore and shut the door behind me. I debate clicking the lock to ensure my privacy but given how our first Valentines Day turned out I'm sure I won't be needing it.

The guest room I once used every weekend so long ago now feels empty and foreign. Harry's clothes aren't strewn over the chair in the corner and there isn't a picture of him with his mum, Gemma, and Robin on his bedside table. Prince's dog bed, that he almost never uses, isn't set against the wall next to my side of the bed, and my open and overflowing weekender isn't piled under the window. There isn't a single thing of his in here and worst of all it doesn't smell like him, not the slightest hint of his signature tobacco and vanilla scent in the air.

This truly is the worst Valentine's Day in history.

I take the quickest shower possible using the shampoo that isn't his and dry my hair with the towel that hasn't been touched since his housekeeper laundered it months ago. With all my clothes soaked and drying on the rack, I have no other option but to wrap myself in the guest bathrobe and crawl into the perfectly made bed that hasn't been slept in since the last time I did.

All these things used to be so familiar to me, commonplace and yet they are each as foreign as the first time I entered this room and Harry was offering to grab my a bowl of rice for my dead phone.

Who would have guessed back then and after everything we've been through, that I'd be back here in the same position.

I pull the duvet up to my chin and curl up on my side of the bed still listening to his shower run just on the other side of the wall.

He's probably taking so long because he doesn't know how to face me.

But he needn't worry, I'll make it easy for him. Afterall, why make something this horrible more difficult than it has to be?