Chapter 11

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. As always, Bex & her co-horts along with the plot line are mine. If I owned One Direction, I'd have them sing me a lullaby every night. This is fiction. It's my take on what could have happened if there really was a Bex Oliver.

Enjoy!

Back For You

Chapter 11

Just past Midnight...

Apr 2, 2015

Leaning against the door jam, I watch him for a moment.  His shoulders are slightly hunched as he sips out of his own cup.  Other than lifting the cup to his lips every so often, he’s very still. It’s strange to see him be so still. I continue to watch him, hoping to memorize him.  After Dubai, I don’t know when I’ll see him again.  After a few more stolen moments, I decide to bite the bullet.

“Some turn down service...” I say as I pick up the cup.  I take a sip and realize it’s chamomile tea. “Hoping to lull me to sleep with the chamomile?”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word.  He just continues to stand there, facing the window drinking, what I assume is also tea. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out.

Placing the beverage back on the nightstand, I lift the blanket on the bed and slip in.  I fluff the pillows loudly, hoping to catch his attention. If he notices, he doesn’t react at all.  I don’t want to turn the t.v. on, so I crawl back out and retrieve my cell from my bag.

Emails. Bank notification. I send a payment to Emily for my portion of the rent. There’s a few texts from the girls.  I climb back into the bed and open our never-ending chat.

Emily sent a pic of her and her younger sister trying to pick the lock on my dark room.  Sophie is a nursing student back in Ireland. She was hoping to get a job here. She keeps changing her mind though.

Grace tells me she met Matt Lauer on her day trip to NYC.  Apparently, he’s not as nice as he appears on t.v.  He’s a bit of a “wanker”.  She has also booked our flights to the U.K. in June. It’ll be my last “hurrah” before I go back out in the field.

I see him moving out of the corner of my eye.  When I look over, he’s removing his shirt. He tosses it over the back of one of the chairs.  He’s stone faced. No anger, no sadness. His eyes scan my face as he unbuckles his belt.  He tosses it next to the shirt, before pulling the blankets down on the other side of the bed.  

I look away, placing my phone on the nightstand with the tea cup.  The sound of a zipper makes me jump a bit.  The mattress dips a little as he climbs into the bed with me.

“What are you doing?” I ask, playing with the edge of the bed sheet.  “I thought you were already on your way to Dubai?”

“Decided I wanted see you,” he says. “I’ll fly out tomorrow.”

“We talked about this.  I don’t think...”

“That’s the problem...I think you think too much,” he says as he pulls me toward him.  “Why can’t we just get to know each other and see what happens?”

“Harry...”

“Rebekah...”

I stare into his green eyes and wonder what I’ll be like when he breaks my heart.  

“What has you thinking so hard...again?” Harry says as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.

“What will become of me when you break me,” I state frankly.

His brow furrows and a crease forms between his eyes, “When I break you?”

“I’m not a teenage girl, Harry. I don’t believe in fairy tales.  I don’t see the world like they do. I’ve seen lives taken, countries destroyed...I know what your lifestyle entails. You’re on tour; I’m gone all the time on assignment. We’ll never see each other, you’ll get bored and find someone new.”

“Rebekah...”

“I’ll fall in love with you and you won’t be able to handle my job. We’ll argue all the time. Then, it’ll get to the point where you’ll start to ignore my calls. One day, I’ll find out you’ve moved on,” I say as I distance myself from him.

“How do you know that’s what will happen?  Can you see into the future? Or has this happened before?” He asks as he sits up. “Rebekah, answer me.”

“Yes...it’s happened before. That’s how I know it’ll happen again.”

“You’ve dated Harry Styles before?  He did this to you?” His tone is indignant.

“Harry...”

“No, you can't  say I’m going to hurt you. We don’t know what will happen.  And I’d never treat you like that! I would never ignore your calls or just go off and find someone else.”

“Tell me this, Mr. Styles,” I say turning on the bed to face him. “Would you be able to turn on the television and watch reports of car bombs, military air strikes or a natural disaster and not worry that I’m in the thick of it?  That you wouldn’t blow up my phone with messages about how you want me to quit my job because ‘a woman shouldn’t be in the middle of that’?  Would you get angry when I have to fly off in the middle of seeing you to cover one of those things?”

“Well, Miss Oliver, I don’t know. I’ve never had to experience that, so I don’t know how I’d react. I would like to say that I would trust you to stay safe while doing your job. I think I would be a bit upset that you’d have to leave, but hope that I would understand that it is what you do for a living.”

“You hope,” I say shaking my head.

“Yes...I hope. Just because some prat treated you that way doesn’t mean someone else will too.”

“We don’t even know each other. You might get to know me and decide I’m not what you thought,” I lean back on the headboard and stare at the ceiling.

“And...you might get to know me and think I’m a complete dickhead,” he replies poking my leg. “Can’t we just see what happens? I came back here because I didn’t like what happened between us before the show.”

“You were a dickhead.”

His green eyes grow large, “I was a dickhead? What about the fact that you were a complete nutter?”

“Are you calling me crazy?”

“You were acting that way! I found you in just your bra and pants...anyone could have walked in!  Niall, Louis, Liam...any of our security,” he says ticking off everyone on his fingers.

“Just like you walked in?” I ask scowling at him.

He shuts his mouth quickly and looks away.

“I didn’t expect to see you almost naked in Niall’s dressing room,” he remarks quietly.

“You just started yelling at me! How was I supposed to react? I won’t be spoken to like I’m a child or like you own me.You scared the hell out of your opening act!”

“I’m sorry,” he says reaching for my hand. “I was just...shocked. That kid was hitting on you...”

“So what!?!  He’s 17 years old. If you had given me a chance, I would have politely explained he was too young. But what happened with you?  You were fine when we were discussing your fans and then...you just changed.”

He sighs as he turns on to his back, “It’s nothing.”

“Come on. Talk to me. Was it something I said?”

He looks at me, his eyes look a bit sad.  His jaw sets slightly.  

“It was, wasn’t it?  I offended you in some way,” I say laying on my side.  My left hand is still in his; I entwine my fingers with his.  “I apologize if I did.”

“Did you mean it when you said you wouldn’t be able to handle the fans comments?”

“The comments?  What do you mean?”

“You said you wouldn’t be able to handle being screamed at like that,” he says turning himself toward me.

“Oohhh,” I sigh looking down at our linked hands.

“It’s an unpleasant part of this, Rebekah. Like I said, they’re passionate. Most aren’t like that. In fact, they’re usually very sweet,” he says playing with the ring on my finger.

“I’m sure they are,” I answer quietly, “but why does it have to be an unpleasant part?  Why do they think it’s okay to say things like that?”

“We have a lot of fans who are younger, older and in between. They think of us as ‘their boys’.  Maybe they feel entitled to say when they disapprove of someone we’re keeping company with. I really don’t know.”

“Have any of the women you’ve dated told you their feelings on the subject?”

“Of course, but what can I do? They don’t usually say things like that if they see us out together. It just seems to be when they’re alone or with their friends. But then...there are fans who embrace them. They follow them on social media, make sweet comments. I try to keep my private life private, but sometimes the paps will get a pic or two.”

“The bane of the photography world, paparazzi,” I snarl a little.

“Did you mean it?”

“One thing you should understand about me is I don’t take bullshit from anyone. I don’t know if I could listen to them call me what they did today all the time.  I’m afraid I might just bite back. Which in turn, could make things more difficult for you. It might make things worse,” I sigh.

“Believe me, I got that the minute you yelled at Cal.”

“Do you really want to have to defend me and what I may say?”

He lifts my chin, looking me directly in the eyes, “If we decide to take this further, I will defend you to the moon and back.”

“You shouldn’t be put in that position!”

“Think about this...if we were dating and you heard someone say something awful about me, would you not defend me?”

“I would do that even if we end up just being friends.”

“Then why wouldn’t I?” He shakes his head a few times.

“So that’s why you were so upset with me?”

“There was so much that happened today...I didn’t like how I felt and how things were left. That’s why I decided to fly out tomorrow,” he says as we both hear a buzzing in the room.

“It’s not mine.”

Harry leans over the side of the bed and reaches for his jeans. He doesn’t quite reach and ends up falling over the side. A hand pops up with a cell phone attached.

“Got it...it’s mine!”

He gets back on his feet, tapping something out on his phone.  It’s the first time I have an unrestricted view of his body.  He’s clad only in Calvin Klein boxer briefs.  Making sure he’s still engrossed in his phone, I take in as much as I can. He’s thin, but not too thin.  His arms and pecs are defined, but not overly so.  I can see a six pack just above those fern leaf tattoos, which sit conveniently across his Adonis belt. There’s only a partial view of his thighs because of the height of the mattress.

“If you’re done getting your fill of me, I’m gonna get back in the bed, yeah?”

Immediately, I close my eyes in shame and shake my head, “Sorry.”

“Turnabout's fair play, no?” He yanks the blankets off of me.  “Interesting choice of sleepwear.”

I reach out to slap him as he leans over, catching him in the arm, “Gimme back my covers.”

“Before I do that, I want to talk about your scars,” he says as he lays down beside me. “I’ll share if you share...” he adds as he covers his chest with his arms.

“I was injured on an assignment,” I say brusquely. He raises an eyebrow at me.

I sigh, “I was covering the bombings in Iraq between the Shiite and Sunni Muslims. There was another explosion and I was hit with debris. I was wearing protective gear, but...” I swallow hard, thinking back to what happened.

“But, I was crouched down getting a photo when it went off. That part of my back wasn’t covered.”

“May I see?” He motions for me to turn over.  I take a deep breath and flip to my stomach. He gently lifts my camisole, as if the skin is still healing.  “How long ago?”

“August twenty-thirteen,” I choke out as he runs his fingers softly along the raised skin.

“What hit you?” He grazes the worst of the scars and then lowers the material.  I turn my head on the pillow to look at him.

“Debris from a car...part one of the axles and a tire, which was still on fire, hence the scaring. I didn’t realize my skin was burning.  It hit me so hard; I landed face first on the ground. My camera shattered. I was in so much pain from the impact, I didn’t know I was on fire. Another correspondent saw my jacket on fire and threw his own over me.” Harry wipes a tear from my cheek.

“They didn’t want to turn me over because they thought my back was broken. The military came and took me out of there.”

“Did you have any other injuries?” He scoots in closer to me, laying his head with mine on the pillow.

“Luckily, nothing worse than whiplash, which is an utter miracle. I should be paralyzed right now.”

“Were you afraid to go back out?” He watches my face closely.

“Scared as hell, but this is my life. Photography is what brings me joy. I can’t imagine doing anything else.” I smile at him.

“Why not do what Cal does? Or do advertising photography?”

“I grew up in the documentary world, Harry; Showing the world what is going on around them. I like photographing history. If I, and my colleagues, don’t cover it, who will?”

“News channels...” he comments softly.

“They edit the hell out of their reports,” I scowl. “Anyway...don’t you have something to share, Mr. Styles?”

“I played Barney the Mouse once...” he smirks.

“You’re being a shit,” I say poking him in the side.

“Alright, alright...I have four nipples.” He laughs.

“So you’ve said. Well...”I nod towards his body, “let’s have a look then.

”Ugh...”

“Come on. I told you what happened to me. You said you’d show me if I told you.”

He turns onto his side and closes his eyes.

“I only see two, Harry,” I say surveying his chest.  He groans and points to just between the two wings on the right side. I lean a little closer.  It is a nipple! From a distance, it could be taken for a mole.  “Alright...” I say quietly. He points to the top wing on the left side.

“Welp...yep...you’ve got four nipples,” I say moving back to where I was on the bed.

“I think I was supposed to be a twin and something happened,” he says flipping back onto his stomach.  He bunches up one of the pillows under his chin.

“Like that one book...oh! What was it called?” I snap my fingers trying to remember the name of the book I read.  “I’ll remember it at the worst time. Anyway... the guy starts hearing a voice in his head, telling him to do things. They find he was supposed to be a twin. The twins eye or nose or something is on the back of his head. Do your nipples make you do weird things, Harry?” I joke.

“That’s not a real book, is it?” He asks looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “No...my nipples have never made me do weird things.”

“So, now you know about my scars and I know about your dual set of nipples...I’m hungry!”

Harry looks at me and smiles, “Yeah? What do you have a taste for?”

“I don’t know...” I smack my lips a couple times.

“Room service,” he smiles.

“Oh! Sweet stuff...dessert! ” I say reaching over him for the hotel phone. I almost topple off the side like he did.

“Woah!” He grabs both my hips. “You okay?”

“Yep!” I say straightening up after dialing the extension for the butler service. After about ten rings, they answer.

“Hi, is it possible to get a few things?...Oh, thank you! Can I have two of your best desserts? No, please pick.  Thank You!” I hang up the phone and smile down at him.   

I’m straddling Harry Styles. Shit.

“Hi.” He smirks.

“Ooh...sorry!” I say moving to get off of him.

“Where ya goin?” He says maintaining a full grip on my hips.

“This is awkward. I shouldn’t be sitting on you like this.”

“It’s not bothering me a bit,” he continues smirking, dimple on full display.

“I just don’t feel comfortable like this.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he smiles as he sits up. His hands run a path up my arms. They end up entwined in my hair.

“I have a question...”

“Alright,” my breath is a little shaky.

“May I kiss you?”

Remembering just how good his lips felt the first time, I nod slowly.

“Use your words, Rebekah...” he laughs.

“Uh...mm hmm...you can kiss me,” I stutter.

He pecks my lips once, and then again. Almost as if he’s testing the waters. Deciding he’s taking too damn long, I initiate the next one by taking his top lip between mine. He groans low in his throat. I grip his forearms and squeeze lightly hoping he’ll take the hint:

I’m here.

I shouldn’t...but I want this.

Just as his lips touch mine, there's knocking on the door to the suite.

“Goddamn it!” I drop my head onto his shoulder. “I just called!!! 24 hour Butler Service bites!!”

“Impeccable timing. What do I need to do to just get a good snog with you?” He says falling back onto the bed.

Crawling off of him, I put on one of the hotel robes to answer the door.

“Good evening, Miss...may I?” The man says motioning into the suite.

“Yes, please.”

“I've brought up a few things.” He smiles as he passes me.  “Oh!  Good Evening...Sir.”  The man is visibly shocked.

Harry is standing in the doorway of my room in just his jeans.  His hair has been pulled up into a bun. He nods at the butler, but doesn’t say anything.  Harry just watches the man enter the small kitchen.  

The Butler puts two plates on the counter before retrieving a few forks.

“Oh...I’m sorry,” I say stepping in behind him.  “You don’t have to do that. I’ll do it.”

Harry steps over, placing some money in his hand, “Thank You. Have a good night.”

The man looks at his hand and smirks, “You too, Sir.”

Harry walks him to the door as I take the lids off the plates.  The sound of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” fills the suite.

“So...what do we have?” Harry says behind me.

“Some Macaroons...cheesecake...Fleetwood Mac?”

“One of my favorite bands...I’d do Stevie in a heartbeat,” he laughs dipping his finger in some sauce that’s on the plate. “Mmmm...” I immediately smack his hand when he goes for another.

“I’d do McVie...Christine, not John,” I say picking up the silverware.  His eyes grow large before he laughs, realizing I’m joking.

“I’d watch that,” he remarks as he pushes me against the counter.

“Hey now,” I push him back.  “I’m hungry.” He shakes his head and walks out to the living area of the suite.

As I pick up the plates, I start to think about where the hell I am.  Instead of photographing some conflict in the world, I’m sharing a suite in South Africa with a member of one of the world’s most successful boy bands.  To some, this would be the dream of a lifetime.  I know he’s famous, adored by millions of females. This is a place I never envisioned I’d be.

“You got that?” He says next to me.

“Sorry...was just...somewhere else,” I say turning to pass him.  

“Tea?” He says hoisting the small teapot in front of my face. Setting the plates on the counter again, I fill the kettle with water.

“Listen carefully to the sound,” he sings beside me. “Of your loneliness, like a heartbeat drives you mad.” He continues.

“Say women they will come and go, when the rain washes you clean, you’ll know, you’ll know,” he croons as he retrieves our cups from the bedroom. “Well it’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams, have you any dreams you’d like to sell,” he pushes me against the counter again. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainin.”

I smile as he wraps his arms around me and say, “Players only love you when they’re playin’.” He shakes his head at me.

“I’m not going to play you.”

“I hope not, Styles,” I watch as he puts the tea in the small teapot.  

Setting the plates on the cocktail table, I sit down between it and the couch.  I hear him in the kitchen moving around.  He enters a moment later with a tray filled with the tea kettle, napkins, and our cups.  He starts for the dining table.

“The tea is ready?”   He smiles at me.

“There’s this thing called a table...” He laughs before setting the tray down.  

“I don’t need to eat every meal at a dining room table.” I say as he sits on the couch.

He scowls at me.  We each take a macaroon, which he dips in the sauce he tried earlier. His tongue comes out just before the food enters his mouth. Then he dips it again.

“You just double-dipped! That’s rude!!” I say sitting back against the couch. I fold my arms giving him my best pout.

He shakes his head and lifts the re-dipped cookie to his mouth. His tongue comes out again. He reaches for another and repeats his prior actions. Dip, tongue, re-dip, tongue. I’m kinda fascinated by this and I don’t know why.

“Aren’t you going to have anymore? Or has my double dipping ruined it for you?” He says before looking over at me.  “What? Do I have puree on my face?” He rubs the back of his hand across his chin.  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Um...what was your least favorite subject in school?” There’s no way I’m going to admit I was fascinated by the way he ate. Picking up a fork, I dive into what looks like cheesecake. He digs his fork into the eclair.  

“Chemistry,” he takes another bite. “Oh, this is caramel iced.”

“Did you work before all of this?” I pick up a pink macaroon and take a bite.

“I worked in a bakery on the weekends, you?”

“My parents wanted me focus on school. I volunteered at soup kitchens and things, but never truly worked until my internships,” I say taking a forkful of the eclair.

“Do you have any siblings?” Vanilla cheesecake and tongue routine.  He lifts the teapot and pours some into both cups.

“I have a younger brother. He’s studying to be an orthopedic doctor. Do you have any?”

“Mhmm...” he says just before he takes a sip of tea. “I have an older sister, Gemma.”

“You all entered a singing contest, right? What did you want to do before that?”

He chews a piece of macaroon as he sits back against the couch, swallowing he says, “I thought about being a Lawyer. I wanted to study Law, psychology...a few different things in college.”

“Law...you probably would have made a terrific lawyer,” I remark while I take some of the puree. It tastes like dates.

“Why do you think that?”

“You’re charming as hell,” I smile before wiping my mouth.

“Charming...” he shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean for that to sound bad. You seem very intelligent, but you do know that all you have to do is smile, say something funny and people will fall at your feet.”

“That’s not true,” he denies with a wave of his hand.

“I like that you don’t have an ego.”

“I’m just me. The fans made us what we are. If it wasn’t for them, I’d probably still be working in the bakery at home.”

I’d like to say I’m surprised, but for some reason, I can see him selling cookies and bread.

“You said your dad works for BBC America...does your mom work?” He reaches up and wipes the side of my mouth with his thumb, then proceeds to lick whatever was on my face off of it.

“Mmhhmmm...” The tongue has made it’s reappearance.

“Oh...I get it now,” he laughs.  He picks up a forkful of cheesecake and slowly brings it to his mouth. I watch the tongue come out. He smirks. “It’s the eating thing.”

“What?” I mutter.

“You’ve been staring at my mouth,” he says leaning in toward me.

“Do you...I mean...you’re aware that when you eat...uh...you’re tongue comes out first, right?”

“The fans brought it up a while back.” He smiles, raising the fork and taking a bite.

“Mmm...” It’s all I can say.

He finishes chewing and tosses the fork onto the tray.  

He tastes like vanilla and pears.

Author note: Hm...How many of you guessed correctly?  I had an amazing conversation with @Snow_ladybug about this the other day.  Leave me some love. With Himself barely being seen, I'm lonely and love starved. ;0)
~ Lady H. x