Little White Lie || Part 2

                                    

                                          
When you arrived back at the hotel suite, Harry had barely managed to pile your luggage by the empty closet when he turns around to ask, "Do you want to join me in the shower?"

                          
He had already begun fingering the hard clasp of his belt and was looking at you with a shy smirk. But something in you freezes.
                          
There was something about the way he was looking at you, with those sly eyes, that made you almost want to vomit. Pushing past him, you quickly sprint to the bathroom where you heave out your guts into the waiting toilet bowl.
                          
Hot tears were streaming down your cheeks as you feel Harry's freezing hand close down on your back. You shrink away from him, flushing your insides down the drain, heading over to the sink to wash away the stink of bile from your lips.
                          
"Sweetheart?" His voice is quiet now, and you know the question that he is about to ask.
                          
You blurt, "I already had a shower just now. I'm just going to lie down for a bit...if that's alright." You had added that last part in as if it was an afterthought, and leave the small room before he has a chance to reply.
                          
You have stripped out of your casual attire into your pajamas and had just managed to pull the white sheets over your body when you hear the sound of the shower starting. You know that if you keep acting this way, Harry would begin to be suspicious. Hell, he was already picking up on your change in attitude.
                          
Turning away from the center of the bed, you press your eyes shut and try to doze off. Everything will be better in the morning, you reason with yourself. Nothing happened. Nothing happ–
                          
You jerk out of your sleep with a start.
                          
It was dark now.
                          
Harry's arms are around your waist, and his bare chest was peeking out from under the covers, the moonlight barely illuminating it. You hover over him to press the power button on his phone. The time at the top of the screen read 3:17.
                          
Moving slowly and with precision, you climb out of his grasp. The floor is cold and barren to your bare feet, so you quietly slip on a pair of hotel slippers that, you assume, are Harry's. The suite was nothing to complain about, but it was certainly more modest than a person would expect of Harry.
                          
But the two of you were just in this city for one night, and Harry had booked this room before he even knew you were coming. If he had known, you knew you two would currently be sleeping in the most luxurious hotel in the entire Southeast region of the world.
                          
Only the best for my best, Harry had murmured against your ear the first time the both of you had gone away together. He never spared a single expense for you. It was his own way of showing his love for you.
                          
That recollection only makes your chest clench harder as you peer back at his sleeping figure peacefully stretched out on the bed. You know it's only a matter of time before he finds you gone–maybe a half hour max.
                          
You've seen it happen at home too. First, his fingers would tingle at the lack of your body warmth, and then his legs will kick against the sheets trying to find yours. His eyebrows would furrow, and then finally, his eyes would flicker open. His voice would be hoarse as he calls out your name into the darkness, and his body would not relax until you are snuggled back up in his arms.
                          
Shuddering from the thought of him waking up to find you gone, you hurry to the small pantry at the corner of the living room area of the suite. The tea bags that were provided were not marked with any visible flavor, and so you just pick out a random one to place beside your cup as you wait for the water boiler to turn on.
                          
While waiting, you find yourself walking towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the entire sleeping city. Absentmindedly, your eyes try to search for the television station, but it was nowhere to be found.
                          
Or maybe it never existed in the first place. Maybe it was all just a bad dream.
                          
The moonlight was strong as it spilled in past the curtains.
                          
The water was going to take a while to boil.
                          
Why not?
                          
You tug down the waistband of your loose pajama pants and gasp silently. "Fuck," you let out under your breath, tears prickling the sides of your eyes. There was no doubt about it. It wasn't a dream.
                          
"Kitten?"
                          
His voice makes you jump, and you immediately drop your hands to your sides. The waistband of your pants snaps back onto your hips with a harsh elastic slap. Harry's making his way towards you with a tired but confused expression.
                          
He's only in a pair of loose shorts, and it's hard not to admire how perfect he looks having just woken up. But you don't have time to think about that, because he's asking, "Did I see right?"
                          
"Huh?" You're taking two steps back from him, but there's nowhere else for you to go. Harry's in front of you in less than a second. "Why are you up?"
                          
Of course, you already know the answer. His reply is short, "You weren't in bed." Then he shakes his head, getting back to what he came up to you to inquire about. "Are those...?" His hands are prying at your pants, and you push him away. "Love, what are–?"
                          
"Stop it!" You shout in an outburst. This catches him by surprise and he immediately straightens up to look at you. "I..." you didn't know what to say, though. "Go back to sleep, Haz. I'll be right behind you."
                          
You had thought this would be enough for him. But Harry starts to cry.
                          
"Darling," he shakes, and you suck in a rigid breath. "Please let me see."
                          
You say absolutely still and silent as Harry bites his lip. His hands fumble. The moon was still high in the sky, and there was no mistake. Harry cries, "Baby, what–? What happened?" Before you can reply, he's tugging the hem of your t-shirt up and it almost sends him down on his knees when he sees the bruises on your waist as well.
                          
His green eyes are shaking as they look up to you. His lips are moving, but there's no sound coming out. You swallow a lump in your throat and whisper, "Yesterday...when you were doing that interview...? It...it must've been...it must've been during a commercial break or something...and the.... the, um, host came in and...and I just came out of the shower. I was...I was just in my underwear and stuff and...he just...he just came up to me and–"
                          
But you couldn't go on.
                          
You collapse into Harry's arms and he immediately starts to press kisses down your collarbone. You can feel his tears staining your shirt. Harry's voice is ragged and tense as he asks, "Did he....did he...?"
                          
"No," you quickly cut him off. You knew the worst scenario was running through his mind. "No, he didn't. I...I got away before he could...he could do anything, really."
                          
All of a sudden, Harry picks you up by the waist and starts walking back to the bedroom. You barely manage to blink before he's sitting you gently down on the edge of the bed. You watch him pick up his phone and dial somebody's number with his fingers still shaking.
                          
It rings for a long time. Harry's anger is like a ticking time-bomb. The voicemail machine must've got him, though, because within a few seconds, Harry is screaming, "YOU FUCKING SICK SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!" You wince at his tone, and he sees it. His features soften for a moment when he walks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
                          
And then he's yelling again. "I'M TURNING YOU OVER TO THE FUCKING POLICE. FREE UP YOUR SCHEDULE. YOU'LL BE FUCKING SEEING ME IN COURT."
                          
Harry's mood drastically changes when he kneels back down in front of you. His features are soft and you run your fingers across his cheeks to brush the tears away. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," you murmur, and he leans his head against your hand. "I just didn't want to...I just didn't want to worry you, that's all."
                          
"Worry me?" His voice is torn. "Angel," he clasps your hand in his, "please please please worry me. I love you more than anything and anybody else in this fucking world, and I never want you to be scared of troubling me."