Chapter 15

Disclaimer:  All rights reserved. No copyright infringement is intended.  The song "Where Do Broken Hearts Go" is sole intellectual property of its writers and performers.  This story is 75% fiction, 25% fact...or thereabouts. I research meticulously.  The places are real. Bex, her friends and the plot are mine.  I apologize for the white background on text from middle on.  It is a glitch with blogger.  Let's get on with it, shall we?

Enjoy!!

Gotta Be You

Chapter 15

I’m not an idiot. I know he is avoiding the conversation we’re supposed to be having about the incessant phone calls this morning. In fact, they are continuing as his mouth slowly makes its way up my neck.

“Harry...” I say softly. The feel of his lips on my skin has me a little dizzy.  “H...”

“Hmmm?” His right hand runs a course up my arm.

“Either...” I lose my train of thought as he nips at my ear. I push gently on his chest. “You need to answer that damn phone or tell me who the hell is so anxious to talk to you.”

He falls back on the pillows dramatically.  

“If I hear “Barbie World’ again, I may have to murder both of you,” I growl poking him in the chest.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he pulls the offending object from his back pocket.

“Hello?”

I can hear a distinct female voice screaming at him. I reach for it, but he swats my hand away.  He raises his index finger as if to say ‘one minute’ before getting off the bed.

“Calling a million times isn’t going to change anything. I told you we’d talk about it when I got back to L.A.,” his voice is upset, but not angry. “Enough. Go home. I’ll call you when I get back.”

He sighs throwing the pink cased, apple product into his bag. He zips it up with a bit of force and turns to me. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on?” I re-situate my clothing as I sit up.  

“Shit,” he says looking at his watch on the end of the bed. “We’ve got to pack up. Dale will be calling soon.”

“Do we really need to pack up this minute or are you just stalling because you don’t want to tell me who the hell was just yelling at you?”

“I’m not stalling. I will tell you everything, but we need to get moving,” he says pulling on his boots.

Sure enough, the phone starts ringing. When he reaches in the bag, he pulls out his other phone.

“Yeah...alright...okay. Ten minutes.”

Lacing up my own boots, I ignore him. He snaps his fingers a few times which annoys me. When I look up, he’s shaking his finger at me.

“What???” I throw my hands up in frustration.

“Dale, we’ll be down in a few...” he rolls his eyes and throws the phone back into the expensive bag. “You’re not wearing those.”  

“What? I need to wear shoes, Harry.”

“Not those. They’re horrendous,” he strolls over to the closet and pulls out a black bag. “Here.”

Saint Fucking Laurent.

“Harry...I’m not taking them,” I say crossing my arms in front of me.

“Rebekah, it’s a gift. Please,” he holds out the bag again.

“My boots are perfectly fine.”

“No, they are not! Just open the box. If you don’t like them, I’ll return them when we get to Dubai,” he says pulling the box out.

Begrudgingly, I take the box and open it. My gasp makes him laugh.  

Inside are the most amazing, black suede ankle boots I’ve ever seen. The heel is three inches of stick thin, death trap goodness. Two straps crossing at the front lead to a fierce silver buckle on the outside of the boot.

I’m in love.

“These are unbelievable,” I smile pulling the left one on.

“Can we toss the beat up work boots now?” He kneels grabbing up the other boot.

“No!  Those are my lucky boots!”

“Tog!  Come on. They’re disgusting,” he frowns picking one up like it’s got cooties.

“I’ve worn them on every job since I went back to work,” I whisper.

“Oh.” He places the boot down gently.  “That’s a different story.”

I pick up the worn boots I love so much and look at him, “I can’t get rid of them.”

“Alright. Will you just...will you promise to wear them only on jobs? We don’t want the luck to run out,” he says slipping the other new boot on my foot. He places his hands on either side of my body using the bed to stand. He kisses my forehead sweetly.

“Okay,” I nod.

“Good. Now...let’s see how those legs look in Saint Laurent,” he offers me both hands.  

I slip my hands into his and he gently pulls me up.  We’re almost eye level. He gives me a devilish smile as he checks out my legs.  Leaning in, he slips his hand into my hair and kisses me. It’s not a sweet, soft kiss. It’s full of promise and naughtiness. It’s urgent and demanding.

It leaves me breathless.

He pulls back roughly looking toward the door of the bedroom.

“H!!! We gotta go!” Dale yells from somewhere else in the suite.

“Come on,” he says gathering up clothes on the floor and tossing them into our bags.  I load up my laptop, check my camera bag and make sure my passport is in my backpack.  He runs to the bathroom, returning a moment later with two toiletry bags. He tosses me mine and shoves his into his now cramped leather bag.

“Ready?” I smile at him offering him my hand.

“Ready.”

When we enter the entryway, Dale is pacing.

“Jesus, Harry. The jet is waiting!  I’ve been pounding on the door for five minutes,” he moans.

“We’re ready. Let’s go,” Harry says slipping both our bags onto his shoulder. “Did you want to carry your camera?”

“Yes, please.”

“Come on, come on,” Dale barks.

“We’re coming!”

As we did yesterday, we separate on the elevator. This time, Dale leaves with Harry leaving me with a huge, goateed man. We take the elevator back up a few floors and return to the main lobby.  The man stays quite close, ushering me through the side door of the hotel.  On the other side of the door is a shiny black Range Rover with blacked out windows. He opens the door quickly and waits for me to get in.  Once I’m settled, he gets in the driver’s seat and peels out.

“Um...excuse me...” I say nervously.

“Yes, Miss Oliver?” His south african accent is thick.

“Where are Harry and Dale?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be meeting them in a few minutes,” he smiles. “Just precaution.”

“Precaution...” I mutter as we pass through the front gate of the hotel.

We travel about ten minutes down the road before he pulls in behind a warehouse type of building.

“Remain in the car.”

Having been ordered to remain in my seat, I pout and throw my head back against the leather.

“Hello, Love.  Nice pout,” Harry says entering the car a moment later.

“I don’t like to be told what to do.”

“I’m well aware, Tog,” he laughs.

After Dale and my goateed chaperone move Harry’s bags into the car, Dale takes the driver’s seat.

“Where’s my friend going?”

“He was just lending a hand to get you out of the hotel. We’re running a little behind,” he rolls his eyes. “Let me drive.”

“Yes, Sir. Dale, Sir,” I salute him.  He shakes his head at me.

He pulls out like a bat out of hell and we’re off to Cape Town International.

“So...should we have that discussion?” I ask taking Harry’s hand in mine.

“I’d rather get you on the jet. Then you can’t walk away from me.”

“Is it going to be that bad? That you need to make sure I don’t escape?” I joke. When he doesn’t answer me, I look at him.  “Harry?”

He purses his lips as he looks at me, “Mm...”  I immediately let go of his hand.  “Hey...don’t do that. Don’t close off. It’s not earth shattering. I just don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

“You want to wait so you can hold me captive for 13 hours if I don’t like what you have to tell me...” I snip. “It doesn’t work like that Harry. You can tell me now and let me decide whether I get on that plane with you or not.”

“Christ...” he sighs.  He pulls his hand through his hair, holding it back for a moment or two. “Alright.”

“First off...who is calling you?” I ask turning in the seat toward him. It rings again after I finish the sentence.

“Her name is Kendall,” he says as he rejects the call. He tosses the phone on the seat between us.

“Kendall...okay. And...” I lead.

“We used to date a little bit,” he plays with the rings on his left hand.

“When was the last time you saw her?” I ask.  They used to date. A little bit. Mmhmm...

His phone beeps and we both look down. I just barely read the text preview before he snatches it up off the seat. Who’s Nadine? And why is she gonna be pissed?

“Dale? Do me a favor and pull over to the side of the road. You might want to call the jet and tell them we’re going to be a little late.”

“Rebekah?!?!” Harry says when I grab the iPhone out of his hands.

“Enough,” I say as I shove the thing down my bra. I step out when the car stops.  I pace a few times beside the car.

“Rebekah! Get back in the bloody car! You know I can’t come after you!” Harry yells from the open door.

“Then tell me who the hell Kendall and Nadine are,” I say through gritted teeth at him.  He looks a bit taken back by my temper.

“Kendall Jenner and Nadine Leopold.”

Kendall Jenner???  Who the hell is Nadine Leopold? Kendall is a model and one of those crazy Kardashians. Why would she be calling him and yelling at him? If he’s dating her and didn’t tell me...

“Rebekah!  We’re gonna mess up everything. Come on...” he yells hiding behind the car door.

“Go ahead. Get on the fucking jet, Harry. I’ll get my luggage from Cal later!” I turn and scream at him.

“Rebekah, stop this. Get in the car and we can discuss this like adults!”

I ignore him and keep walking. Now I have it all figured out. He’s dating some chick named Nadine and probably screwing Kendall Jenner on the side. Fucking Singers!  

What does he want with me?  I’m not Kendall, that’s for sure. I'm not gonna sit back and be some piece on the side.

I look down at my feet, growling in frustration.  The suede on my boots is full of dust from the side of the road.  Deciding I’d rather not ruin them since I will be returning them, I stop to pull them off.

“Shit!” I yell surprised to see the car is stopped next to me.  I end up falling on my ass on the side of the road. The back door opens and a very angry Harry Styles gets out.  Without saying a word, he picks me up and places me in the backseat of the car.

“Don’t fooking move,” he points his finger in my face. After snatching his phone from my bra,  He slams the door and gets in the front passenger seat.

“I blame every bit of this on you,” he says roughly.

“Me?!?!...” I start to say, thinking he’s talking to me. He’s on his cell.

“We’re going to be late...no...of course she’s with me,” he says looking over his shoulder. “She’s just... peachy.” I give him my best bitch face and then look away.

“Is she gone? Good. Tell Nialler I said thank you...yeah...see you tomorrow, Cal.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. He and Dale don’t even talk. When we arrive at the airport, Dale pulls the car directly next to the jet. Once the car is stopped, I move to get out, but the door is locked. I watch, a bit stunned that I’m locked in, as Harry gets out.  He walks with his bodyguard to the back of the car and starts unloading our luggage.  I fume angrily while he and Dale carry all of it to the jet.  As soon as I decide to climb over the front seat, Dale comes down the stairs.

“Rebekah,” he says quietly after opening the rear door.

“Dale.”  I step out and cross my arms in front of me. They’re gonna make me get on this plane. I could just run at this point, but I’d rather not cause a scene on an airport tarmac.

“After you.”

I walk with my head down until we get to the stairs.  I step on to the first step and look up. Harry is standing at the door, just far enough back so no one can see him.  Once I get a few steps up, he walks into the cabin area.  

The stewardess smiles at me, “Hello. Welcome aboard. Once you get settled, we’ll be taking off.”

“Alright,” I nod.  I turn into the cabin and find Harry texting on the damned pink phone again.  I huff as Dale nudges me further in.

“We do need to be in Dubai before three tomorrow, Rebekah.”

“You two are aware that this could be considered kidnapping,” I bark as I move further in.

“You walked up those stairs of your own volition,” Dale laughs.

“Just remember I am military trained, Mister Clean.” Harry snickers and pushes the chair opposite him with his foot. He wants me to sit with him. No way, Mister.

“Yeah, thanks for the gesture. Such a gentleman,” I growl and walk past it.  I go to the furthest seat away from him and sit down. There’s no way I’m getting off this jet. I huff again as I put my seatbelt on.  Dale walks toward me and hands me my backpack.  Without another word between us, he walks to the front of the plane and makes himself comfortable. Just as the stewardess said, we take off within minutes of boarding. I pull out my own phone and connect my ear buds. Avoiding anything Harry, I hit my Pretty Reckless playlist and turn up the volume. The worst song imaginable comes up first.

“You don’t want me, no...You don’t need me,” I watch as the stewardess fawns all over Harry. “Like I want you, oh...Like I need you.” Little Miss Cindy Lou Who sings.  

The worst part about songs is sometimes...they hit too close to home. Harry doesn’t need me. Certainly not like I seem to need him. How, in just a few days, I seem to need him to breathe is beyond reason.

“You can’t see me, no...Like I see you, I can’t have you, no...Like you have me...” Taylor sings in my ear.

Does he have me?  Yeah, I’m pretty sure he does. I’m not...in love with him, but there is something there. I see him for who he is. Well, who I thought he was. The news that he’s dating or dated models shouldn’t be as devastating as it feels. He’s a popstar. He’s handsome. Guys like that don’t date everyday women. The realization that I probably won’t ever “have him” like he has me saddens me. Am I the  “out on tour” flavor of the week?

I lift the screen on the window and lean my head on it.  I take one deep breath and close my eyes for a second.  Maybe when we get to Dubai, I’ll have some idea how to not need him so much and let him go.

“You can’t feel me, no...Like I feel you, I can’t steal you, no...Like you stole me,” I sing along quietly as I watch him on his phone. “And I want you in my life...And I need you in my life.”

 ~</3~

Ten minutes later, Taylor Momsen is asking if she’s lost her mind.

No, Taylor... but I may have...

I pull the earbuds out and shut off my iTunes. I stuff everything in my bag, before going into the washroom. The room is spacious, a lot more than you think it would be on a plane. I rummage through the cabinets and find a washcloth and towel.  I run the soft cotton across my face a few times. Looking at myself in the mirror, I see my eyes don’t hold any life. Grace says my eyes always sparkle. Even when I was recuperating, the staff at the hospital would say my eyes were bright.

Why can’t we get our shit together?  We’re happy and learning about each other one minute; pissing each other off the next. Something has to give here. It’s like a roller coaster. I hate roller coasters. Should it be this hard?  

I run the washcloth over my face and neck before pulling my hair up.  Taking a deep breath, I return to the cabin. The stewardess greets me again as I pick up my backpack.

“I’ve brought out a light snack, if you’re interested?” The blonde does her best Vanna White impression towards the table Harry is sitting at.  Dale has moved to the other grouping of chairs.

“Is there alcohol on this plane?”

“Yes, would you like something?” She asks guiding me past the bathroom. There’s a small galley area just before the private sleeping area.  She opens up one of the doors, “A glass of wine, love?”  How did I not notice she was british before this?

“Do you have any whiskey?”

She smirks and nods as she pulls out a bottle of Three Ships single malt. She pours two fingers into a glass and hands it to me.  I down it and immediately  the pear and vanilla stand out. Jesus Christ. Is that supposed to be some kind of sign?  

I hand the glass back to her, “Thank you.”  Turning on my very expensive heels, I walk toward Harry.  I toss my bag into the seat across from him and push the plate of fruit and cheese over.  Taking the window seat, I unwrap the silverware and place the napkin over my lap.  I pull off one of the plump, red grapes and look at him.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

The stewardess gently places two glasses of white wine on the table and disappears.  We eat and sip at the wine, not saying anything.  We catch each other glancing at the other every so often, but neither of us comments. When we’re done, our plates are swept away quickly.  Two bottles appear on the table; one wine, one whiskey.  She winks at me as she places down a new snifter.  I pour two fingers and take a sip.

“We need to...”

“I should have...” He says at the same time.  “Go ahead,” he nods filling his glass with more white wine.

I down the whiskey, “Why do we do this?”

“Do what, Tog?” He says looking between me and the empty glass.

“We’re fine and then...bam! We’re angry and fighting with each other. It’s a roller coaster I don’t know if I want to ride,” I say honestly.  I watch as he takes a slow sip of his drink.  He places the glass down on the table, swirling the liquid as he swallows.

“I met Kendall a few years ago. We tried dating, but with my heavy tour schedule and her career, we just didn’t work.  We decided to just remain friends. I wasn’t seeing anyone last year and it turned into ‘friends with benefits’.  Then, I met Nadine through my friend, Jeff, last fall. We seemed to hit it off.  We saw each other exclusively while I was in Los Angeles.  We tried to keep it going when we started the tour, but at the beginning of March, she decided I wasn’t giving her enough of a commitment. She also thought I was cheating on her.” He looks up at me and shakes his head.

“Go on...”

“Kendall knew I was with Nadine. I haven’t been with her physically since before I began dating Nadine. Kenz and I do talk on the phone.  We have mutual friends, so she knew I wasn’t seeing anyone. She decided to surprise me and flew to Dubai.  She called yesterday wondering why I wasn’t at the hotel.  I told her to go home.”

“Did you tell her about me?” I ask pouring another glass of amber liquid.

“I told her that we’d talk when I got back to L.A. She was less than happy that I was blowing her off,” he shrugs.

So that’s a negative...he didn’t tell her about me. I take a mouthful of whiskey and place the glass back down, turning it in circles on the table.

“She found a photo on twitter of you and I in Cape Town.  She’s not happy, but I don’t really care. She shouldn’t have assumed she could fly out. I never lied to you. I haven’t been with anyone since the last time I saw Nadine. I did plan to tell Kendall about you when I got back to the States.”

Thinking back to our conversations, we never brought up if we were seeing anyone. It was my insecurities that made the assumption.

“We never discussed it, so I apologize. I made the assumption. I’m sorry,” I say swirling the liquid in the glass. “I haven’t dated or been with anyone since Mateo. That was January of last year.”

“Good to know,” he says softly.

I swallow hard and lift the glass to my lips. I drain it to give myself some courage, “Did you plan on telling me about Kendall?”

“Yes.”

“When?”  

“I don’t know, Rebekah! Between the next loop de loop in the roller coaster?” He’s just as tired of this as I am.

“What do you want from me, Harry? What exactly will you get out of this? A good romp in the hay with another older woman? Rack up a few headlines about romancing the damaged photographer?”  The words sting my own tongue as soon as they come out.

He stands abruptly, “That’s not fair.”  He looks at me for a moment and then quickly walks to the back of the plane.

I pick up the bottle to pour another glass. I look between the two, “Fuck it.” I lift the bottle to my lips and take a mouthful.  When I look around the cabin, Dale is looking at me wide-eyed.

Heaving the bottle in the air, “Salute.”  I down another gulp and stand.  I carry the bottle with me while I go in search of my moody Brit.

MY moody Brit.

Fuck.

I find him. Arms behind his head, eyes closed...in the private bedroom.  I can tell he’s angry with me. His breathing is quick; a pronounced divot between his eyebrows.  I slip off my boots, take another swig, and place the bottle of whiskey on the bedside table. Walking to the end of the bed, I  climb on as softly as possible.  He’s taken up most of the surface of the bed. He doesn't move as I crawl over him.

Straddling his hips, I pull my hair out of the bun and lean forward.  My hair closes off the outside world as I take his face in my hands.

Placing a soft kiss to his lips, “That was an awful thing to say to you.” I peck him again. “I’m sorry.”

“Please..don’t, Rebekah,” he says squeezing his eyes tightly. His arms remain behind his head as if he doesn’t want to touch me.

I place my hands on his chest and push myself up, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”  The statement get his attention.

His eyes are dark again. He’s still angry.  He grips my hips and sits up. We’re nose to nose.  His breathing remains quick, while mine is slow and deliberate as I try to reign in everything.

I feel like I lost him before I ever really had him.

“Don’t you dare fooking do this,” he says staring at me. “Do not bury us before we even had a chance to live.”

“Then why does it feel like I've lost you already?” I whisper against his mouth.

“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here,” he says placing a kiss to my cheek. He kisses the other and then my forehead. “You asked me what I will get out of this? I’ll get you. That’s what I want. I just want you.”

“But why??” I ask playing with the buttons on his shirt. “Why do you want me when you can have her?”

“Rebekah...” He stills my hands with one of his. “Is that why you’re so upset? Because of Kendall? If you don’t think you’re as gorgeous as she is, you’re wrong.”

“Pfft...”

“Well, you’re more beautiful to me.”

Leaning over, I grab the bottle of whiskey and take another gulp.  I want to believe him. I want to believe that in his eyes, I’m more beautiful than Kendall the Super Model.

“What does this Nadine do?” I ask before taking another sip of amber. I wipe the side of my mouth with the back of my hand.

He sighs and looks down at our joined hands, “She’s a model.”

“Mmmm...” I say stepping onto the floor. “Another model.”

“Tog...”

“Suppose I should feel pretty good about myself...caught your attention even though I’m behind the camera,” I smile half heartedly.  “Who does she model for? Abercrombie? Runway?” I take another gulp.

“Victoria’s secret,” he says quickly.

“Ohhh...an Angel. Niiiiice.”  I sway a bit with the plane. Or maybe it’s actually the half a bottle of whiskey I’ve downed? “I’m gonna go talk with Dale.” He flops back down on the bed and sighs.

After navigating the walkway of the plane somewhat successfully, I take a seat next at the table.

“Hey, Dale?”

“Yeah, Rebekah?” He turns towards me.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re no good at what you do?”

“No...”

I give him a ‘fair nuff’ nod while I swallow, “I have. Shit photographer...that’s what I was told. Yep...Annndd...I was told women shouldn’t be photojournalists...Yep.”

Laughing at Mat’s oft spoken message, I pull out my phone and text Doc.

Am I drunk?  Yeah...ha ha...I think so.

Whatever...

Sheesh...she’s always so worried. Em needs a good poking.  This Three Ships is tasty.  Hair boy and his frigging models...ugh.

Doc hates when I drink whiskey. She always says, “Puts you in a woeful mood.”

Shit...have I written myself off with Hair boy?  I’m not quite sure why I texted her all of the sudden. The pop star surely hates me. Who wouldn’t? I mean Mateo was right. I am a shit photographer. Look what happened? I couldn’t even keep myself safe. Wound up getting all these nasty scars on my back.

Where in the hell am I?

“Hey...Baldy...security man...where are we?”

“Rebekah...you’re obviously drunk. We’re still somewhere over South Africa,” he says laughing at me.

I laugh hysterically when the short dude gets up and heads toward Moody McMooderson’s room.

Ruh Roh...here comes Hair boy...

“Rebekah, what are you doing? You’re totally pissed.”  He doesn’t look happy.

I gotta tell Doc...she’ll love it!

Oh man...why does everyone want to take away my whiskey?!?!?

The bald one reaches again for the bottle, “You cannit hab my whiskey, shorty!”

Oh...I should listen to Doc a minute...

Meh...she’s just gonna yell at me.  She totally needs a good ‘slap and tickle.’

What did who do?

Maybe I have had too much...I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore.

Oh yeah...that I’m a complete idiot for falling for Hair boy.  He has to be some kind of warlock or something. Yeah...that’s it. He’s put some kind of spell on me. But...why would he do that? He only loves models...Victoria’s Secret models. And Kardashians.

I’m such an idiot.

She’s right, but I’m not gonna admit it. She worries so much about my idiotic life anyway.  She thinks I’m doing all this because I like him. Well...doesn’t that make me the stupid one. Maybe she’s right. He totally hates me because I’m so unstable. I’ll always be that way...and no one will love me.  That’s why I push people away...because if I fall in love it’ll hurt much more than keeping them at arm’s length.

“Tog...give me the phone, please.”

“No...you can’t have my phone,” I hold the phone to my chest.

“Tog...you need some water,” he tries to get the bottle out of my hand. “You need to lay down. How about Dale helps you back to the bedroom? I’ll be right there, love.”

“Okay,” I cry handing him my phone. He’s not getting the whiskey.

                                                    

Author note:  Welp...that was interesting...Drunk Bex.  Will she regret everything in the morning? What happened after Emily found out Harry had B's phone?  Let me know what you think...
All the Love, Lady H. x