Eucalyptus & Honey |H.S.|

Chapter 23 - Someone I Don't Want Around

TW: Mild Self-Harm and Anxiety

Harry's POV

Fuck.

There was nothing I wanted more in this moment than to smash my phone, forget who I was, and stay on that dance floor with Stevie.

To tell her I loved her.

Because there was no fucking denying that I did.

But I couldn't do any of that. Not at this moment. Because if I did, everything would be ruined, and I would probably lose her forever.

If I hadn't already.

I headed to the back of the club and locked myself into one of the individual bathrooms, flicking on the light. It was a red light bulb rather than a typical white light, and I was grateful I didn't have to look at my guilt-ridden face in a fully-lit room.

I clenched my jaw and answered the phone before it could go to voicemail.

"Miss me?" came the voice that haunted my fucking nightmares. It was always the same fucking thing. If someone was within hearing range, I would be forced to say 'I miss you'. But tonight, I made sure no one would be able to hear me when I talked to this bitch.

"Fuck you," I said, voice filled with every ounce of hatred I had within me. "Aren't you supposed to be keeping my Mum company all night like the motherfucker you are?"

He had the audacity to fucking laugh. "C'mon, Styles, I know you can do better than that."

"I'll show you just how much better I can do if you even think about touching her." At this point, I wasn't sure if I was actually seeing red or if it was just because of the lighting in the bathroom.

He tsked into the phone's speaker, and said in that fucking irritating voice of his, "Now, Harry, that's no way to speak to the man who can ruin your life with the click of a button."

He always made the same fucking threat, and I knew he meant every word, which is why my heart never failed to pound against my ribs no matter how many times he said it. He wasn't even that threatening. But the shit he had on me served as the threat in itself.

I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my fist so tight that I was pretty sure I broke the skin of my palm. I was not in the fucking mood. I was definitely not drunk enough, and I was pretty sure I just lost the most important person in my life because of this fucker.

"What the fuck do you want, Marc? I'm not in the mood for this shit."

His voice changed from the condescending tone to the commanding one that he loved so much. Either way, it made my skin crawl. "You have a job to complete by midnight tomorrow. I'll text you the details. You fuck it up, you know what happens."

"Great. Always a pleasure doing business with the piece of shit that you are."

"You too, Styles. Oh, and I'll make sure to tell Anne you say hi." The fucker hung up before I could even think of a response.

My heart was still pounding in my chest with the perfect mix of anxiety, self-hatred, and pure fucking anger. "Fuck!" I yelled as my back leaned against the locked door.

My stomach began to twist and I felt bile rising in my throat as tears of frustration stung in my eyes. Why the fuck did everything have to be so fucked up? Why couldn't I still be out there with the most perfect fucking angel, kissing her and telling her I loved her the way I wanted to? Instead, I was locked in the bathroom like some fucking coward that I didn't really have any other choice but to be.

I was so fucking mad at myself—even more than Marc. Because this was all my fucking fault, and there was nothing I could fucking do about it.

It was my fault that Marc had anything over my head in the first place.