Sunflower Vol.6 [H.S]

twenty one

I think I love him.
Marina Young's POV

     I was accustomed to the side effects of love being negative. Being brought up, the four lettered word was never said aloud. Perhaps it was the cause of uncomfortableness when it comes to admitting it. The time my first boyfriend ever told me the three words, was when the angel and devil on my shoulder appeared for the first time. The saint telling me that he was the one I was meant to spend the rest of my life with since no one else would say those things to me. While the demon gagged and suggested I run away.

I wanted to believe that over time it was no longer part of the problem. Until more relationships came, more moments where a man had told me it. Then I was back at square one. Finding myself back in pigtails and staring at the image of the both of my parents, not being able to repeat those things genuinely. That was up until I met Dylan, he was the exception and was the first person I had said the three words to before he could. The angel whispered in my ear that he was the man I only wanted to be with. And I decided to only listening to it.

I blocked out what the devil said back until he told me it was too hard to love me.

Then I heard what it said, screaming in my right ear making the saint to be no longer heard. The devil made sure to remind me that the association of those type of confessions are not meant for me. It makes sure to inform me every random moment to never feel the way I felt after Dylan. But for the first time in over year, I could hear the angel speak. When I stared at him it told me he was different, that when his lips pressed against mine to just tell him. Every now and then after the demon reminds me what I was made for, the angel will softly say I deserved more.

I was back to fighting to pick who to listen to. "Sunny, love, you listening?" Harry asks me. I look up from whatever I was staring at, zoning out, to get my attention back on Harry. I smile faintly as I shake my head and wipe my hands on jeans.

"I'm sorry." I say. "I was thinking." I confess and place a chunk of my hair behind my ear as I clear my throat. "What were you saying mon cheri?" The French nickname rolls off my tongue without thought and it seems like Harry enjoys it when he raises his eyebrows. I watch as he takes a seat beside me on the couch.

"Mon cheri?" He repeats, questioning my words. I shake my head when I lean back, still staring at him.

"I'm sorry, I never said that before. It sort of just slipped." I confess and Harry scoffs. He leans back with me and keeps eye contact with me. Harry smiles so softly. "It means my darling."

Harry nods. "Don't apologize." He says. "I liked it ... I like it when you speak French."

"J'aime bien quand tu m'embrasses." I get out as soon as he says that and furrows his brows now when he smirks, a dimple on one side starting to form. "Quoi? Vous ne comprenez pas ce que je dis?" I add and he starts to smile a little more as he takes a soft breath of air.