Until Your Last Breath

Peyton Grey was just an ordinary girl. Well, an ordinarily invisible girl. All through her primary and secondary school life, she was bullied, picked on, and shot down by every male body in the city of London, England. Her parents - split. Her friends - nonexistent. There is only one person in this whole world that can make her feel safe and at home, and that is her best friend, Harry. They've been attached at the hip for as long as they could remember, and whenever she's with him, she feels complete. He says he'll be here for her forever, but her world is flipped upside down after one simple event changes the course of history. Will they rekindle the love between them, or will the incident make them question, "Will you be here until my last breath?"

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6. Farewell, My Love

Harry's POV :
She broke the kiss, staring at me intensely. "Umm, I-I have to go. I'm sorry," she stuttered, racing off to the edge of the roof. I hurried after her, "Wait!" But there was no use. She had already maneuvered back through the window, and I could hear the sound of her heels scampering across the paved street. The slamming of her front door made me jump, and I ran my hands down my face. "What have I done?"
Peyton's POV:
I quietly passed my mom's door, making it into my bedroom in record time. I crashed on top of my bed, and before I knew it, tears were flowing. I'm not stupid, I knew that Harry didn't really like me! The dinner, the roof, the kiss - all of it - was just an act. An act to make me less mad about him going away. He figured that if he could butter me up enough, then it wouldn't make me hate him for leaving me when I needed him the most. I can't believe he would do something like this to me! I thought I could trust Harry more than anybody, but I guess I was wrong.
As I lay here on my bed, tears streaming down my cheeks, I suddenly feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. I feel so embarrassed. I told him that I liked him for EIGHT YEARS. It had probably taken every power in him not to laugh in my face. I unzipped my dress and tossed it in the corner, kicking off my heels in the process. I threw my hair into a messy bun, and crawled into bed, tangling myself in the sheets. I closed my eyes, and drifted into a deep sleep.
Harry's POV:
This morning when I woke up, I felt horrible, but I couldn't understand why. I mean, I kissed the girl of my dreams last night, but for some reason, something was telling me that it was a mistake. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret kissing Peyton, but I feel bad doing it now. Why did I wait until two weeks before leaving to tell her how I felt? I'm such an idiot. That's probably why she left last night. How could I have done that to her?
~~~~~~~~
The next few weeks at school were, to say the least, awkward. I saw Peyton every morning, and each time I wanted to run up and kiss her like I had before. Heather still antagonized her, and no matter how badly I wanted to put a stop to it, I had to stand back and watch. It wasn't that I didn't want anything to do with her, it was just that whenever I tried to help, she just brushed me off. I had been getting the cold shoulder from Peyton for two weeks, and I was leaving for London tomorrow. I couldn't stand the thought of leaving her with our relationship like this.
The day before I was leaving, Peyton's long brown hair caught my eye as I exited the school with a group of my friends. I said goodbye to then, and sprinted towards Peyton's late model silver Corolla. "Peyton! Wait," I yelled after her. She spun around to meet me, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead. I gulped, and slowly approached her. "What do you want, Harry," she snapped. I winced, "Umm, I'm leaving tomorrow, and I would really like it if you would come to the airport with me. You know, so I can see you before I leave." She gave me a quick once over, assessing me from head to toe. Running her hand through her hair, she let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, I'll be there. Five o'clock, right?" My eyes went wide with shock, "Y-yeah. Five. I'll see you there."
~~~~~~
Peyton's POV:
All day, thoughts of Harry had been running through my mind. All I could think about was how much I'll miss him. Grabbing my jacket, I got in my car and put it in drive. It was about a ten minute drive to the airport, so I had time to think about what I was going to say to Harry. Yes, I was still extremely pissed at him, but I intended on giving him a chance to explain himself.
Pulling into the parking lot, I gathered my belongings, and walked to the terminal Anne told me to meet them at. I turned the corner, spotting a head full of curls off in the distance. His flight didn't leave until five, and it was only four fourty-five, so it gave me enough time to talk to him. They spotted me before I could reach them, and Harry shot out of his chair, racing over to me. He enveloped me in a hug that I thought would crush me to pieces. "Peyton, I'm so glad you came," he said into my hair. I pulled away, already feeling myself getting emotional.
"Harry, when I woke up this morning, I told myself that I was going to tell you off the minute I saw you. But now that I'm here and seeing you, all I want to say is," I stopped. I couldn't think of what to say, but I didn't have to. Harry took me in his arms, cupping my face with his hands. His thumbs wiped the fresh tears from my cheeks. He looked deep into my eyes and whispered, "I love you." He smashed his lips onto mine, his kiss was sweet and slow. I wrapped my arms around his neck, closing the space between us.
We didn't pull apart until the intercom blared through the airport speakers. "Flight 264 to London now boarding," it announced. I looked up at Harry, his eyes beginning to water, too. I smiled, "Don't cry, Haz." He pecked my lips once more, "I'm gonna miss you, beautiful." "Flight 264 to London; boarding last call," the speakers called. I gave him one last hug, "Goodbye, Harry. I love you." He pulled away and turned around, and I watched as he walked through the hall and onto the plane, leaving nothing of him behind.
That was the last time I saw Harry Edward Styles.
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