Cigarettes & Songs | h.s

thirty

I huff as I hear my heels clicking through the floorboards of Harry's apartment, completely sobered up and not saying a word to anyone as we arrived home.

I bend down to grab a loose hair tie I found on the floor, trying my hair as I feel sweat dripping down from my face. I am so fucking tired.

Physically, from all the dancing and alcohol consumed at the dimly lit club, and not to mention the sweaty sex with Harry in the bathroom.

And mentally, because of Danielle. No matter how many times I try to forget her, she's always there, lurking around and making sure I don't fully fucking heal. I am so tired of her.

My mood flipped instantly when I saw the text, I practically begged Harry to take me home already. He sensed my sudden mood change, understanding me right away and telling the guys that we should get home, lying to them about me drinking something foul. They all nodded understandingly, getting up and helping me walk and handing me a water bottle.

I felt bad for cutting the night short, (even though it was almost 2 in the morning) but I felt so nauseous. It surely wasn't the alcohol, since I knew my tolerance and this was nothing compared to other nights where I'd go clubbing.

It was just seeing those words come out of Danielle's mouth—or rather through her texts that made me feel incredibly sick. I could almost feel the bile rising in my throat from reading those four singular words over and over.

I plop down on the edge of the bed, completely worn out from the entire day as I slip my black heels off.

"Baby? Are you okay?" Harry finally speaks, his voice raspy and unsure.

I snap out of my thoughts, nodding my head as I reach for the zipper at the back of my dress. I peel it off me, feeling myself breathe a bit better.

"You sure? You haven't said anything since the bathroom at the club..." he mutters out, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm fine Harry," I suddenly snap. My harsh tone takes him back a bit, making his eyes widen and huff.

"Look, I'm sorry–" I begin to apologize but I suddenly stop myself. Not entirely sure why.

He stands there awkwardly, hands in his pockets and his hair unruly, waiting for me to explain myself.

"Long day," I shrug and he lets out a disappointed sigh, nodding his head before tossing me a shirt and a pair of his boxers to sleep in.

He enters his bathroom without another word, and suddenly I feel so alone. I know I'm alone physically, I sit down at the edge of the bed and begin to strip my clothes off and stretch and I know that I'm by myself in this room. But it hits me how alone I really am, I'll only have Ashly for a while before she leaves for DC, I'll only have Arielle until she realizes she can't take care of me anymore, Danielle already left me, thought I was too much and ran and I'll only have Harry until he needs to get back on the road.

I fear the day he realizes I'm not worth it, the day he realizes I am nothing but a liability to him.

It's been inevitable this whole time, I was meant to be alone.

I don't really understand myself, or why I started to spiral at the thought of everyone leaving me. But the realization makes me feel nauseous and I could already sense the bile rising in my throat. I'm always a mess, and I'm so tired of it.

A tear rolls down my cheek and I don't even realize it, but this time I don't stop them from falling and creating a salty and sticky feeling against my skin. It's only when the bathroom door opens and Harry emerges from it when I wipe the tears away with the back of my hands. I quickly pass by him, entering the bathroom with my head down so he doesn't notice, trying to contain my sniffling.

I strip the remaining particles of my makeup with Harry's soap, knowing that I've been neglecting my physical appearance for far too long but not caring anymore. We live on a floating rock, it doesn't fucking matter.

I brush my teeth, wanting to be at least a tiny bit clean as my breath probably smells like tequila shots and death. I finally brush my hair out and make my way out into his room and my heart falls.

Harry lays on the right side of the bed, what we've both decided would be his side so I could sleep on the left. He's brought the blanket up to his body, laying on his side with his back turned away from me.

He's too good for me, and I take him for granted.

I try my hardest not to make a sound, not wanting to check if he was asleep or not. I sigh, knowing he'd probably want space from me and my sudden attitude, he's human after all. I grab the pillow on my side of the bed and make my way out of his room and into the living room, plopping down on the couch.

I debated on whether I should just sleep on the weird loveseat he has in his room but decide against it, so I continue to adjust myself until I could find a comfortable position on the couch. When I finally find it, I sigh. Feeling a wave of exhaustion hit me and I finally drift off to sleep.

I don't know what time it was but I suddenly felt a weight at the edge of the couch where my feet rest, and a familiar scent fills my nostrils as he positioned himself behind me. I snap my eyes open when I feel his arms around me, pulling me impossibly close as if I were to slip away. I begin to smile at his gesture.

"Where'd you go? Was looking for you in the bedroom," he murmurs, voice raspy as he's half asleep.

"Thought you wanted some space," I shrugged, not wanting to go into the whole spiral I had in his bathroom for no reason.

He lets out a breathy sigh before moving, positioning me so that I was underneath him and he is on top, our faces dangerously close.

He's wide awake now, looking deep into my disastrous face and he smiles.

"Now why would I ever want that?" he rasps.

"Because I'm too much," I gulp. "If I had ever met a person half as fucked as I am I'd want a break from them too."

"I never want to be away from you. Ever." he states, planting a soft kiss onto my forehead. I couldn't help but smile at him and his confessions.

He glances at the clock and sighs, flipping me back into my side so he could cuddle me again. I savor the moment, the softness of his skin, the weight of his arms on me, his scent taking over my nostrils, his eyelashes fluttering. Everything about this man was art. And he was my muse.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not even half as talented as Harry with music. I couldn't possibly be like him, in any way shape or form. He was simply just my muse. My inspiration. My source of happiness. My only reason for living.

And before I could stop myself, I open my mouth and out tumbles a confession of my own.

"I like you too."