My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I tried to control my anger for Paisley's sake. I'm surprised I've been able to control myself as well as I did back there. What that dick Will said was way out of line and quite frankly very, very rude. I knew I didn't trust him. Fuck. 

That's not what makes me mad, though. What makes me fucking angry and mad is what I did. She shouldn't have to go through this kind of stuff. It's all my fault. If I would have thought about anyone but myself for once, none of this would've happened. 

The ride back was silent. I didn't know what to say and I guess she didn't either. It crossed my mind that she might be mad at me for basically initiating her and Will's break-up, but she couldn't just let me stand by when she's interested in a dick like that. 

We got to her house all too soon, because I hadn't yet figured out what to say to her. I pulled into her driveway and put the car in park. We both sat there in silence for a minute, the moonlight shining through the window and shining onto her face, highlighting only the right side of her face, leaving the other half dark. 

"Paisley, look, I-"

"Come inside, Harry." She said, her voice quiet and sounding weak. 

"A-alright." I said, getting out of the car and following her up the sidewalk and into the house. When we came through the front door, an immense amount of light hit the two of us, making it clear how much Paisley had actually been crying. Her cheeks were red and eyes puffy. 

"Hi mom. Harry and I are upstairs." Paisley yelled and headed straight for the stairs. I was slightly nervous about being here because I know from the first time that her mom doesn't quite like me, but I tried to brush it off because that's not important right now. 

We got to the top of the two sets of stairs and into Paisley's attic bedroom. Instead of turning on the lights, she clicked on some twinkle lights that went around the walls of her room. They gave of a warm glow as Paisley went to sit down on her bed, patting the space next to her. I slowly walked over, not breaking eye contact as I sat down. 

She said nothing but leaned into me and set her head on my shoulder. I instinctively took my arm and wrapped it around her, pulling her closer into me. This was closer than we'd ever been; She was so close to me, I could feel her breathing on my neck. I leaned back against the wall, getting more comfortable. 

Neither of us said anything. We just sat there in silence. It was when I heard her sniffle slightly that I realized she was crying again. Shifting my body and turning so the two of us were facing each other both sitting criss crossed on her bed, I entwined my hands with hers. Seeing her this upset made the guilty feeling even worse, because I was the one who did this. It was all on me. 

She was the last person on earth who deserved all of this in her life. She was a good person, caring about others, putting others before herself, doing all she could to make others happy. But I guess that's the problem with good people: they are like candles, burning themselves up to give other people light. And I greedily took the light she gave off. 

"Paisley, I'm so sorry." I whispered, so quietly that I could hardly hear the words myself as they were falling off my lips. They way she looked at me as I said it made my eyes suddenly fill with tears, emptying the saltwater onto my cheeks as I blinked. I grabbed her and pulled her into me, wrapping my arms around her as she nuzzled her face into my chest. "I'm so so sorry." I whispered into her ear as we both cried in each others arms. 

The tension has left the room, only to be replaced with pure emotion. A thick, heavy emotion that I've only experienced a few times before. As I lay holding this broken girl in my arms, all I can think of is how I caused all of it for her. I wish I could just go back; just go back and not have driven home that night. An immense feeling of loathing and self-hate took over me, as I couldn't even rationalize how I was feeling. 

As the minutes passed, both of our breathing seemed to slow down, as well as the beating of our hearts. My shirt was soaked through, the moisture of her tears seeping through the material. But I didn't mind; I'd rather have my shirt wet than have her keeping the sadness to herself. 

My mind hadn't slowed down, however, and thoughts were racing through my mind at an insane speed. How she has managed to change me into a better person, is unknown to me, but I am grateful. How is it that some of my greatest memories are with her, yet so are the worst and most shameful. I'll never understand why this beautiful girl in my arms was sent to me, but life is a greater riddle than some of us think it to be. 

It occurred to me how late it was, and the fact that neither of us were emotionally stable. Somehow, we got thrown into this whirlwind of situations, together. 

She shifted in my arms and leaned back, creating a distance between us that I didn't like, but I didn't say anything about it. When I was holding her in my arms, I felt like I could protect her, keep her shielded from the harshness of reality. She looked at me with tired eyes, the blue iris' holding not their usual sparkle, but a dull ache. 

"Are they really that bad?" She asked, in a small voice, and the fact that she was still worried about how her scars looked made another wave of immense pain shoot through my heart.

"No, Paisley, no." I whispered, shaking my head at her and grabbing her hands and placing them inside of mine again. "They're beautiful. They make you look beautiful. They're my fault. All of this is my fault and if I could, I would go back and change it. I'm so sorry, Paisley." I said, pausing in between to look her in the eye and make sure she knew that every word coming out of my mouth was genuine. "I know this might not mean anything to you, but those scars are my favorite thing about you. Because, those scars brought you to me."

She paused for a moment, her face showing concentration, as if she was thinking about what she was going to say before she said it. "I wouldn't change it." She finally said. 

"Change what?" I asked, not knowing whether she was referring to the accident or everything that had to do with Will. 

"My experience with you. The accident included." She said, and I didn't know what to say. How does one respond when the person they hurt most in the world tells them that they aren't remorseful about the way you hurt them? It's unfathomable to me, how forgiving this girl in front of me is. How tolerant she is of the pain, not that she puts on herself, but of the pain that others have caused for her. 

"How can you say that?" I question, the breaking emotion I was feeling made evident through my voice. "How can you handle all of this?" I asked.

"Accepting, is all. It's all I can do. Accept what has happened," She said, taking a deep breath, "And deal with the consequences." There was a break of conversation again, the both of us being so absorbed in our thoughts and our feelings, and each other. "I'd be lying if I said it was easy, that moments like these didn't suck. That having someone tell you you'd be prettier without the scars someone bestowed upon you is not the worst feeling in the world, and that feeling emotionally empty and weak more often than not is fun." She said. "But it's okay." She finished. 

"I'm so sorry." Was all I could think to say. 

"Stop being sorry. I've forgiven you, and I'm grateful to have you in my life now. Now I see what a great man you are, and how you've changed for the better, and how you're so supportive of me and all that I do, and even though things get bad, having you makes it worth it." 

I grabbed her and pulled her to me again, not able to handle the words that were only now processing through my brain. There was no doubt in me at that moment that I loved this girl, but then my mind reminded me of what I'd done to her and the good feeling went away again. I held onto her tighter than ever, both of our tear-stained faces in each other's shoulders. My heart was heavy, and the emotion in the room was ever present.  

Leaning down to her ear, I whispered, "One day, someone is going to hold you so tight, that all of your broken pieces will stick back together again." And she pulled back and looked at me, her eyes now more hopeful and the same color blue as that damn night when everything changed.

"That someone is you, Harry." She said, the power of the words hitting me immediately. Sometimes, someone says something really small, and it just fits into this empty place in your heart. All the regret, all the sadness, all the guilt was released from me. Why it took me this long to let it go is unknown to me, but in this moment, when I feel no regret, no sadness, and no guilt, I know what I have to do. 

I slowly pull my head from her chest, making her separate from me also. I carefully bring my hands to her hair, pushing it behind her ears. My hands move to her cheeks, where they settle lightly against the delicate skin. And then before I can have a second thought, my lips are pressed right against hers, my eyes tightly shut as I hope to God that she will feel the same way that I do for her, and wish that whatever brought us together, whatever twist of fate it was, ends up not being a mistake. 

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Macy xx