Make Me Beg ➸ Larry Stylinson

fifty one

Harry's POV:

It's been two grueling days since Louis left, and everything feels wrong without him. The house is painfully empty, I'm horridly drunk all the time, and everything feels like a blur around me. I don't know half of what I'm thinking, but I do know Louis hasn't failed to leave my thoughts even after he left my house.

My phone keeps dinging with notifications from Louis and the sounds keep ringing in my head as a reminder, but I ignore them. I miss him, but at the same time I don't want to talk to him - not now, not in the condition that I'm in.

Instead, I reach for the bottle of whiskey, only to find it empty despite it being full just this morning. I grab the nearby vodka instead, drinking right from the bottle and feeling the bitter sting in my throat when I swallow.

I haven't changed or showered these past two days, and I've barely moved off the seat by my kitchen counter, which is littered with empty glasses and bottles. I tried to get myself to eat something for breakfast this morning but gave up after nearly tripping over my own feet on my way to the fridge. I'm not even sure if my stomach could handle a proper meal after almost two days straight of liquor and half-stale saltines that were laying within my reach on the counter.

A banging on my door interrupts my cloudy thoughts, and I grunt and put down the vodka bottle when I hear the side door open and close. I must have forgotten to lock it after Louis left, and it's a miracle no one has broken in before this.

"Harry!" Niall's voice shouts and I try to turn myself around in my chair to look in his direction and manage to knock a glass off the counter in the process, where it shatters at my feet. Defeated, I give up at the simple task and groan into my hands, not wanting Niall to see me like this.

His footsteps stop momentarily when he sees me and I look over my shoulder to see Niall - well, two Niall's actually, but I'm sure there's only one - before he's rushing to my side and careful stepping around the glass shards.

"Harry, you look awful!" He exclaims, "And you smell like you just took a bath in your alcohol cabinet... your empty alcohol cabinet. How much have you been drinking?!"

I didn't even know the cabinet was empty, because it's usually filled to the brim with an assortment of drinks and spirits for when I have friends over. But the thought of no more drinks puts a small frown on my face, and I grip the vodka bottle tighter in my hand as if it's the only thing that'll keep me alive. 

"Not too much," I slur out, " 's only a sip here and there,"

He pries the bottle from my hand, placing it out of my reach, before clearing the multitude of glasses off the counter and putting them in the sink. "Have you eaten anything? You look paler than I do in the winter, and I'm Irish."

I shake my head no and the motion alone is enough to make my throbbing headache return. I rest my head on the counter, wishing I had yet another drink to make the constant pain go away.

"You need to take care of yourself, Harry. This isn't healthy at all. You guys had your first fight, that's all that happened," He passes me a cup filled with water, but I just stare at it. Niall simply sighs and opens my fridge, looking for food. I don't even know what's in there anymore. The last time it was restocked was when Louis went to the store to get ingredients to make me the chicken dish he knows I love.

I miss him.

A handful of munites pass, where I just keep my head rested on the cool countertop, in what might be a bit of spilled alcohol, but I can't tell. Sometime after that, Niall passes me a plate with a simple sandwich on it - my first real food in days.