Skin. All I could feel was skin; bare skin. Some areas soft, some jagged beneath the pads of my fingers, my eyes slowly opening to reveal the source. His tanned skin and toned stomach on show as his leg was pushed between my thighs, my eyes flicking from his body to his face; his face. His hair lay sprawled across his forehead and onto the pillow; his face soft, at peace - quiet breaths blown between his parted lips. My thumb ran subconsciously over his cheek, my touch feathery light on his skin. I noted each detail of his face; the dark freckles dotted over his cheek, beside the single mole lower down on his face; the fineline where his dimple lay incredibly faint due to his lack of expression.

"I love you," I couldn't help but murmur into the dimly lit room, the sound of my voice echoing from each surface. It wasn't light outside; it couldn't be morning, though I didn't have the heart to check - I was enjoying Harry's arms around me far too much.

"Check the time, and then you can cuddle with me some more," Harry mumbled suddenly, his voice thick with sleep, "I know you're bloody itching to." A faint smile pulled at his lips as his eyes remained closed, and I reached over to grab my phone.

"It's 12:30," I informed him, thankfully confirming we hadn't slept the whole night through, "We missed 12."

"Mm, Happy New Year," he muttered, his eyes remaining closed as he tugged me closer to him once more, pecking my lips quickly.

"Happy New Year," I chuckled in return, "we should go downstairs - people will be wondering where we are."

"Let them wonder," Harry said dismissively, burying his head into my neck in attempts to sleep some more.

"It's New Years," I said simply, "Come on."

"I don't-" my door flew open, cutting our conversation short in an instant. Harry's eyes flew open, a look of confusion and annoyance on his face.

"Anastasia, are you in here? Don't you realise you've - oh my goodness!" the voice turned from curiosity to anger within a mere second, as I quickly pulled my covers further over the two of us.

"Mother.." I trailed off, glancing at Harry to see his head buried in his hands, unable to be read.

"What the fuck is going on?" my mother screamed, and I almost gasped - I'd never heard that woman curse in my life, "Well, it's clear what's going on. I knew that you were whoring around with this idiot since the moment I met him - I'm so appalled-" she raged, and I found myself trying to reason with her.

"Mother, please, it's not-"

"Shut up, Anastasia - you can't say a damn thing - look at you! Your father and I raised you better than to be a disgusting slut - how-"

"Don't talk to her like that," Harry said slowly, removing his hands from his face as a frown appeared on his face.

My mother's face reddened, her eyes widening, "Get out. I mean it, you have ten minutes to get out of this goddamn house before I call the police."

And with that, she was gone - her heels thundering down the stairs, and I could imagine her clearing her throat and flashing a counterfeit smile in order to gain approval of her associates.

"Where are you going?" I asked as Harry stood up from the bed, pulling his clothes on with little expression on his face.

"Home," he said simply, fastening his belt and reaching for his t-shirt.

"What? Why?" my face fell, "You don't have to go, she didn't mean-"

"She's furious, Ana," his gaze hardened, and he tugged his shirt on, "She needs time to pipe down a bit, and I doubt she needs me around to do so."

"So what, you're leaving me?" I frowned, sitting up properly in bed and grabbing a robe from beside it, slipping it on so I could stand up to meet Harry.

"That's not what I said, Ana," he sighed, pushing his hands over his face, "I'll be back tomorrow, yeah? I just - let me clear my head, that's all."

"You'll be back tomorrow?" I asked, stepping closer to him.

"Back tomorrow," he promised, pressing a kiss to my forehead and walking over to my window and sliding it open, "I love you."

The weight eased a little from my shoulders, "I love you too, Harry."

Morning arrived quickly, and the anticipation of what my parents were going to say only fuelled the anxiety I felt in my gut. I was nervous; terrified. I didn't want to hear what they had to say, and I didn't want them to dictate my life - but I knew they could. Though there was the other part of me who was at the point of not giving a fuck what they said - what was the worst they could do? Take my phone away? Ground me? I knew my mother was furious; I didn't know about my dad.

"Ana," Celia gently knocked against my door, and I took a sharp intake as she stepped through the doorway, her voice slow, tone sad, "Your parents would like to speak with you."

I bit my lip, standing up from my bed, "Thank you, Celia.." I walked over to her, and our eyes met for a moment, before she grabbed me, pulling me into a tight hug. I tensed for a moment before relaxing within her embrace, my slight height advantage causing her to bury her head in my chest.

I could've sworn I saw tears in her eyes as she pulled back from the hug, but I chose not to question it; only shooting her a puzzled look before heading for the stairs.

"Anastasia," my father's voice sounded from the living room and I looked towards it, "In here please."

I exhaled deeply, pushing the door open to reveal my mother on the couch and my father in his typical armchair, glass of whiskey in hand - it was only eleven in the morning.

"Sit down, Anastasia, don't lurk," my mother said sharply, and I scurried over to the empty couch, taking a seat.

The silence within the room was cold; deafening, and far from comfortable. I glanced at my mother; crimson lips pursed, eyes narrowed. My father - knee shaking slowly, rotating his glass in his hand to swirl his drink.

"Do you understand what the problem is, Anastasia?" my father spoke up, eyes fixated on the floor.

I stayed quiet, causing his eyes to flicker up to meet mine, "Answer me."

"I don't know, daddy," I lied, and I heard my mother scoff from across the room.

"You promised me no more shenanigans, did you not?" he narrowed his eyes at me, and I nodded solemnly, "You told me that boy-toy of yours was out of the picture."

I swallowed, "I know, but-"

"But nothing!" his voice thundered easily over mine, causing me to jump back a little in my seat. My father never shouted; never - he was always calm and collected.

"Dad, I'm-"

"We know who he is, Anastasia," my mother butted in, and I frowned in confusion, "his background. We know about Caleb Shaw."

"So? Harry wasn't at fault for what happened," I defended Harry, "he was absolutely heartbroken after Caleb died."

My mother scoffed again, and I clenched my fists in attempts to relieve some frustration, "I couldn't care less, Anastasia. That boy is trouble. Not to mention the fact he's practically living in a hut on the outskirts of town. And his mother," she wrinkled her nose in disgust and snarled, "is a maid of ours. Though I bet you already knew that, didn't you?"

"What does it matter who his mother is? Celia is excellent at what she does, and so what if they don't earn hundreds of thousands of dollars? They have each other; that's what matters," I argued, and I watched my father's scowl deepen.

"Since it doesn't matter, I'm sure you'll be unbothered to hear that Celia has been relieved of her duties here," my father took a sip of his drink, and my eyes widened. They fired Celia? That would've explained her sentiment upstairs, and her clear upset - what would they do now? I knew Celia struggled to make ends meet as it was; my parents had just gone the extra bitter mile to make her life that much more difficult.

"What is wrong with you two?" my voice cracked, "Why do you have to do this?"

"You've been led off the rails, Anastasia, and I won't allow it. No daughter of mine will act like a whore with impunity," my father snapped, "you will not see that boy again. They will not step foot in this house again."

"Dad," my voice was barely a whisper, and I knew tears were streaming down my face, "please don't do this to me."

"What?" he hissed, "you're sad you won't be able to disgrace this family any further? You will not spoil your reputation by messing around with a boy like him."

"I love him," I sobbed, "it's not messing around, Dad - please."

"I don't want to hear shit about love!" my dad pointed his finger at me now, his roar echoing throughout the room.

"And cut out the tears, Anastasia, you're acting pathetic," my mother snarled, and I buried my head in my hands.

"Please," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper, now disregarding the tears rolling down my cheeks, "Harry is everything to me. We're not messing around, I swear - I'm so in love with him, and-"

"Get out of my sight, Anastasia," my dad huffed, taking a long swig of his drink and emptying the glass, "you need to get your shit together."

"But-"

"Go!" my dad pointed to the door, and I scurried quickly out of my seat and out of the room, the tears falling without fail.

"Celia," I ran up the stairs, calling her name in desperation, "Celia, are you here?" I charged down the hallway, glancing in each and every room, only to find it empty. I finally reached her room, throwing the door open to find a discarded area; entirely abandoned. It was like she was never here - the bed neatly made, the closets empty, and the floor and walls bare.

All that remained was a sheet of white paper that lay on the bed. 'Ana', it read. I picked it up hesitantly, my eyes scanning over the page.

Ana,

My darling Ana, I trust you won't let your parents see this.

Thank you for being so kind to me for my duration of work here - you are nothing short of a beautiful girl inside and out; you make my boy very happy, I know that for certain.

Do not let this life ruin you. You're a gem; you are precious. The money and power is sickening and cruel - your parents will inflict that on you, and I beg you not to let them.

Don't worry about Harry and I - we will work things out, and we will be okay. Do what your parents tell you; it's only a matter of time.

Thank you for being you, my dearest. I'll miss you.

All my love,

Celia S. x

It was then I fell apart, dropping to my knees on the floor. This was it; this was really it. Celia and Harry Styles were out of my life for good, and I could feel it tugging at every inch of me with a sharp pull. My heart was breaking; the ache was far too prominent and it felt as if my chest could rip open to reveal my wounds.

I needed them; both of them. I couldn't go back to a life without the two of them; what was I supposed to do when I saw Harry at school? In public? We would find a way around my parents ridicule - surely; we had to.

I loved him. I loved him so incredibly much, but it was overruled; overwritten and ignored. It didn't matter.

I brought my knees to my chest, my back pressed to the bed as my sobs sounded throughout the silent house; the letter clutched in my hands.

This was a life without Harry Styles.