My Saturday is not my typical one. I haven't cleaned the house, haven't taken a long shower, haven't gone to work. 

Instead, I have stayed wrapped in the warmth of my sheets, taking comfort in their shelter, willing my mind to forget the head spinning feeling of Harry's lips on mine last night and the crushing reality of it being an act.

It was only a while ago I was telling Katie that this relationship could be purely physical, entertaining the thought of simply sleeping with this man and satisfying my curiosity. How naive I was.

Now that I've had a taste, the feelings are multiplying, suffocating me as I cry into my duvet and wish I never flirted with the idea of allowing him to make Adam jealous.

After feeling what I did last night, the way my heart burst when he touched me, how my skin burned as he held me, the breath that left my lungs when we kissed, I know that I am undeniably in love with Harry.

Now that I know what his lips feel like, taste like, the cruel devastation of him not being mine is crashing over me like a tidal wave and I can only gasp for air as the next crash hits me.

The flood gates have opened to the emotions I keep buried so far deep they usually have no chance of surfacing however, since tasting the forbidden fruit, I feel worse than ever.

Kissing Harry is like giving a starving man a bite but then taking away the rest of his meal, hunger and desire taking over all senses and driving you a little mad.

I know it's not warranted, this isn't a break up, he was never mine, yet I still feel rejected, pathetic and a little inadequate. Why doesn't he want me? How did I get myself into the position that I care?

Dragging myself out of bed eventually, I shower quickly only to put on another set of pyjamas, hooking my fingers around my covers and take them with me to the couch. I curl my legs up underneath me and distract my frantic mind with hours of DVDs that Harry had sent to my office after the first time he came here.

My focus is constantly interrupted with Harry's persistent calling, leaving dozens of messages asking if I'm okay, wondering why I left so suddenly last night and inviting me to have breakfast, then lunch and then dinner, finally begging me to watch a movie with him tonight.

I text him back each time telling him I'm fine just busy, lying about being at work and not able to talk although I know it's blindingly obvious that I'm avoiding him.

At about 8pm, and a staggering number of calls and messages I finally answer my ringing phone.

"Hey," I say with as little emotion as I can, knowing that if I let even a tiny amount out there will be no stopping the flood.

"Hi my little busy bee!" he sings and I don't know what I expected, but his voice, chirpy and cheerful as if nothing has happened, was not it.

My chest is rising and falling with pent up emotion as I try to swallow the frustrated tears that are threatening to release without warning.

There's a bizarre feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach for lying to him about my actions of the day and yet still his voice is having an effect on me that overwhelms me with sorrow.

I swallow hard and the tiniest of sobs shamefully escapes from the back of my throat and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to God that he didn't notice.

"Lex?" his voice softens with concern.

I tilt my head towards the ceiling, taking a couple of long, shaky breaths in, in an attempt to calm myself down.

"Shit," Harry exhales after a silence that lasted far too long.

"Darling, I'm sorry," he starts carefully, his voice dripping in sympathy and I bite my bottom lip, still not ready to speak. "This is all my fault. I'm an idiot, but I see it now."

My heart stops and my stomach somersaults as another tick of silence fills the air, waiting for either of us to say the words, confess the feelings that I hope linger beneath the surface.

I open my mouth to speak but he beats me to it.

"You're upset about seeing Adam. I should have known it would make you feel like shit but you shouldn't Lex, he's a loser."

I cover my mouth with my hand, grateful at that moment that he can't see the tears that are streaming down my face.

"Lexi?" he pushes after a while and I have to gasp in a breath to be able to reply

"Yeah. Yep, that's it," I gulp.

"I gotta go, Harry," I choke before hanging up and turning my phone off, deciding I've put myself through enough torture for now and resume my position on the couch with a couple of loud outward sobs that are laced in self pity and regret.

-

I must have fallen asleep, a fistful of tissues still in my grasp as I cried hard into my makeshift bed on the couch when I hear the noise that woke me, sound once again.

My brow creases as I get up and look at my front door where the knocking is coming from, wondering how anyone got to my floor without ringing the intercom downstairs and settle with the fact it must be my neighbour from below spinning more bullshit about keeping my "stomping around" to a minimum.

"Hang on!" I yell impatiently, wrapping the duvet around me and shuffling to the door.

"Mrs Newman, I was asleep," I groan as I whip the door open.

Harry stands bashfully in front of me as my face falls at the realisation he is here.

"Uh, someone let me in, I-I thought that would be okay, but now I feel like an arsehole," he blurts out as he takes in the dismay on my features and the fact my eyes have started to well with tears at the mere sight of him.

He steps inside, biting his bottom lip with concern as his eyes trawl my face for an explanation.

He holds up a grocery bag apologetically as I try and think of a way to get him out of here so I can wallow alone in the misery he has caused.

"The internet gave a list of things that are apparently necessities in times like these," he shrugs nervously, his eyes focused on mine, the words coming out of his mouth nowhere near as serious as the expression on his face and I wonder which one is the fake response.

"Um," he fumbles as a tear breaks free and trickles down my cheek. "S-so I brought an awful Hugh Grant movie, your favourite," he persists even though I can tell he knows he should leave, his eyes searching mine with sincerity before continuing.

"Ice cream, lots of ice cream," he looks in the bag as if to confirm it to himself. "And a weird trashy magazine with headlines like 'Find your perfect shade of red lipstick' and 'How to give better head.'" His eyes widen in shock to try and make me laugh but it only makes the emotion crackle in my throat.

I want to tell him that I'm sure there was a disclaimer on that list that warns none of these things should be done in the company of the boy causing the heartache.

"I just want to be alone, Harry," I take a shaky breath and don't bother wiping away the stream of tears.

"Oh Lex," he tuts, putting down the bag and cupping my face in his hands. "Please don't cry, babe," he begs with pain on his face and a look in his eyes I can't read.

At this point, I'm too weak, knowing full well that I'm pathetic to not kick him out right away but as he puts an arm around my shoulders and shuffles me back to the couch I submit to the fact I would rather him be here even though I can predict the pain that will come when he inevitably leaves.

We watch the movie, neither of us talking but Harry looking over me like a fragile snowflake which I both love and loathe.

He flicks off the lids of the ice-cream before holding out both flavours for me to choose, handing me a spoon so that we can eat it directly from the little tubs that look far too small for the magnitude of a crisis like this.

I finish mine too quickly and, still without either of us having uttered a word since he walked in, he takes my empty tub and hands me his to finish.

Harry sits close to me on the same couch, pulling me into him which only makes my heart splinter further, the cut growing deeper and my subconscious slaps itself at how masochistic this whole night has become.

He rubs circles into my back, trying to soothe the aching he can see I'm going through but it's only making it worse.

"Harry, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I'm going to bed. You can see yourself out, yeah?" I tell him, my voice coarse from lack of use and hours of crying as I grab my duvet and throw it over my head like a hood.

I don't look at him in order to save the last sliver of sanity I have left and not have to watch him leave, knowing I can't keep up this charade for much longer and this might be the last time I see him walk out the door.

It's only around five minutes of me pitifully weeping into my pillow later when I hear a quiet knock on my bedroom door, Harry opening it before I can tell him to go away.

My body is too worn out to react as I watch him kick off his boots and crawl into my bed to lay beside me.

He pulls me into his body, my face burying into the base of his neck, his lips kissing my hair as he hushes my sobbing.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and although I initially think he is talking about Adam, there's something in his tone that sounds like it means so much more than that.

"I'm not upset about Adam," I croak to make it clear and with no dignity left to lose.

"I know, baby," he mumbles and wraps his arms around me tighter, the darkness engulfing us and I'm glad for once, that I can't see his face.

We lay like this for what feels like hours, until my cries turn to whimpers and finally I start to feel the drowsiness take over.

"Scared you're going to hate me," he whispers almost to himself as I fall in and out of consciousness and I shake my head against his chest in confusion, knowing that I feel the exact opposite.

"Please, forgive me," I swear I hear him whisper as I drift off to sleep.

A/N:

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Love Ruby
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