The Light Behind Your Eyes (A Harry Styles ff)

Is it better to have loved and lost then to not have loved at all?


4. Fix You



I’d like to tell you something totally remarkable happened, but it didn’t. We stayed up watching old black and white films until we fell asleep. Our bodies on opposite sofas, and I hadn’t been in a deep slumber when I first noticed the sounds of her tossing and turning. When I sat up, I had perfect view of her face, and I took a minute to study it. Beige skin, a round frame and long lashes. Her full lips pressing together , a small dimple forming on her chin. A ‘V’ formed in between her perfectly arched brows, and her lips fell open muttering something I couldn’t comprehend. She had been in a nightmare.

I leaned forth, and called her name. Once. Twice. And by the third time she groaned. Her face distorting before she shrieked out. “No, no, I’m sorry. I’ll get you the money. I’ll do anything” odd words no doubt.

“Angel” I gently shook her, but whatever nightmare she was having had swallowed her whole. She was so wrapped into it that she didn’t hear me, or even feel me. “Angel” I say louder, with more urgency in my tone. I didn’t want to shake her anymore, it felt wrong. Suddenly I realized why being alone for her was something she avoided. In her sleep, there were demons, and there was no one to pull her away from it.

“No, No, No” she is pleading, and I notice her rose tinted lips, trembling. I sit on the sofa and pull her up gently, careful not to make her feel threatened or in harms way. I didn’t want to add to her problem. She says something in Spanish as I bring her to me, before our bodies collide, her eyes shoot open and her eyebrows pucker deeper. She looks confused, alarmed, and calm within moments. “You had a nightmare”, I tell her, feeling the tension in her bones loosen and the rush wash away like a sin.

“It was so real…” she tells me as I release her wrists and her hands immediately run through her hair. I wondered if it were your silly monster nightmare, or had it been something deeper. Something that happened in life that had messed her up so bad that she couldn’t even sleep in peace. She excused herself and made her way to the washroom, closing the door behind her.

I felt awkwardly placed, here was this girl who I barely knew having a bad experience( mind you I didn’t know how to react), and there was the door, and escape back to my reality. If someone had problems, they didn’t talk about it, no one needed me or my help. In my world, there was money, there was people and there was the statistic that most people let money rule their life. Hence, whatever problem they had, money would fix it. Messed up isn’t it?

So do I stay or go? Do I leave unannounced and let her be, or do I stay and be that ‘somebody’ she needs. Do I let her cry in front of me, offer my sympathy….or bolt out of the door like a bat out of hell. Leaving is easier, its less sticky, its less complicated. But easy doesn’t make for interesting, and I know if I left I would always wonder what happened to the girl with the nightmare. What would happen to Angel Rivera. I made my way to the bathroom door and knocked, on the third knock she opened it. To my surprise, she had been nonchalant. Part of me expected to find her a blubbering tearful mess. Thank Heavens she had collected herself.

“You can go” she tells me as she pulls her long hair into a messy bun. “Having you here was a dumb idea”

I am almost offended. Almost. “You had your reasons, are you ok?”

She nods and looks up at me expectantly. I hadn’t noticed until now just how short she really was, the top of her head meeting my chest. “Are you staying?” she asks incredulously, and its in that moment that I decide to do what is out of character for me. She wanted me to go, she urged it, so I decided I would stay, and not only would I stay, I would be the somebody she wanted. Behind the façade, behind the nightmare and the nonsensical shrugs, Angel wanted someone to bed. Doesn’t everyone? One night stands were something I had become acquainted with, but never had one unfolded itself like this. Usually I was drunk( as was the girl), and usually it happened the minute doors closed. But not this, not this time.

“Why am I really here Angel?”

“Don’t beat around the bush if you already know.” Her eyes go desolate, heavy lidded and she brushes past me. I am quick, catching her wrist and bringing her torso to mine. I search her eyes for more than emptiness, hours ago at the gallery, she had such liveliness in them. Had it been me who robbed her of that? Or had it been the nightmare? I wanted to put it back there, to give her the life in her eyes, to hand it to her on a silver platter. Angel Rivera was broken by something, and though I was unsure if I wanted to know all of the skeletons she hid in her closet, I was sure that I wanted to fix her. Somehow. Even if it meant making a fool out of myself. “Harry, let me go”, she goes rigid and tense again.

“No”, and with that, I somehow grow the courage to press my lips on hers.

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