You Can Trust Us (You/Fifth Harmony)

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Ally’s POV

The next morning, I wake to the ray of sunlight shining through the window. Y/N is still asleep, but we’re still cuddled against one another and I have no way of getting out of it. I could wake her up, but she seems to be in a deep sleep and I’d rather not disturb her just yet. Of course, we need to talk about last night, but she’s going to be hung over and needs to sleep.

Since there’s nothing I can do right now, I relax again and start stroking Y/N’s hair. It’s starting to become a bit unruly. Maybe I can talk her into getting a haircut.  

After a few minutes, my eyelids begin to droop and I fall back asleep. When I wake back up, she still hasn’t moved. So I carefully remove myself from her loose grip, get off the bed, and tiptoe out of the room. When I reach the kitchen, I start pulling things out of the cabinets and fridge. Luckily for her, I know a few things about curing hangovers.

After about an hour of prepping, I hear Y/N trudging herself down the hall. When I look her way, I see her practically dragging herself, holding her face with one hand and using the wall to guide herself  with the other. She groans painfully with every step. It’s quite amusing, really.

“Morning, Sunshine!”, I greet cheerfully. And loudly.

“That was unnecessarily loud”, she grumbles.

“Aw, does your head hurt?”, I ask sympathetically.

“YES.”

I point to the kitchen table. In front of her seat is a glass of water and two Advil. She looks up, nods, and drags herself over. I can’t hold back a giggle after she plops down on the chair.   

“Shut up”, she mumbles.

“I expected something a bit more clever”, I say.

“Sorry, but my head hurts like an asshole and I can’t be my usual self.” She takes the pills and washes them down with the water.

“Honey, we talked about the swearing”, I scold.

“I know, but you’ve already caught me doing the worst thing I could possibly do, so it’s not like things can get worse, right?”

“Actually, they can”, I say. “So you’d better do something about that swearing habit.”

“Okay”, she answers.

“So, are you up for any kind of food right now?”, I ask.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“I made eggs. You should be able to hold it down.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this, I take it?”, she asks before drinking more water.

“No. Being a designated driver for college students also usually means taking care of their hangovers.” I set the plate of eggs in front of her and take her glass to refill it.

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

“Sometimes”, I admit. “I have nothing against taking care of people; I just wish they would make better choices.”

“So do I, but apparently it’s not in our nature to make good choices”, Y/N states bitterly.

I don’t respond to this. Instead, I refill her water glass, grab my own plate, and sit down at the table. I slide the glass over to her. She quickly takes a sip and goes back to eating.

We eat our breakfast in silence. When Y/N finishes, I tell her to take a shower. She nods her head wordlessly and goes to the bathroom. I put the dishes in the sink. As I’m turning on the water and rinsing the plates, I realize that the bottle of liquor is still in Y/N’s room. I turn the water off and rush to her room. The bottle sits uncapped on the floor next to the bed. I grab it and go back to the kitchen, setting it on the counter. Barely a minute later, I hear the shower being turned off.

Wow. She showers fast.

I then realize that she’s always showered fast. I’m not complaining, since it saves water and money, but really, what teenage girl takes five minutes to shower?

About ten minutes later, Y/N comes out of the bathroom. Her hair is mostly dry and brushed, and she’s dressed in her usual jeans and t-shirt. This time, it’s a Black Sabbath shirt. I raise an eyebrow at her, and she looks down at the shirt, then back at me.

“Mom’s favorite band”, she explains. I nod in understanding. “Why is that there?” She points at the bottle.

“Come here”, I say. She does, and I grab the bottle and walk to the sink. When she stops in front of me, I hand her the bottle.

“I’m going to watch you dump the rest of that down the drain. There will be no more drinking here, or anywhere. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

I look at her expectantly. After a moment’s hesitation, she tips the bottle over the sink and pours out the remaining contents. Then she rinses out the bottle and hands it back to me. I go out to the garage, put it in the recycling bin, and go back in the house. Y/N is on the couch watching TV when I come in.

“We need to talk”, I announce.

She turns off the TV. I sit next to her on the couch. Her eyes are set on the floor, on looking anywhere but at me. So I take her chin in my hand and tilt it up, forcing her to look at me.

“What really happened last night?”, I ask. “You’ve been living here for a few weeks now, and not once have you given an indication that something was wrong. And you don’t strike me as the type to spontaneously decide to drink, regardless of how you feel.”

“Well, think about it.” She pushes my hand away. “Would you be okay if you’d gone through what I’ve gone through?”

“No, but I’d know better than to drown my sorrows in the bottle.”

“You’d think that. But you don’t know ‘till you’ve been there yourself.”

I ponder this. She makes an excellent point. I can’t and never can claim to understand her past horrors and problems.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help you”, I counter.

Y/N furrows her brow. It’s her turn to contemplate. A moment later, she speaks again.

“I don’t need your help. Or anybody’s help.”

“Last night disproved that”, I point out.

Y/N scowls and pinches her lips together-something she does when she’s mad or frustrated. I know now that I’ve got her beat.

“Whatever. Just leave it alone.”

“I can’t, and you know it.”

“What the hell do you want from me?”, she exclaims angrily.

“I want you to talk to me! You can’t just keep everything bottled up, Y/N. It’s destroying you. And if you’re being destroyed, so are the people around you. You’re not the only one affected by anything that happens. So you need to suck it up and tell me everything.”

By the time I’m finished, I’m nearly out of breath. It’s not often that I yell like that. Yet I’ve done it quite a few times in the last couple of days. That’s like a record for me.

Y/N takes a deep breath.

“Do you really want to know everything?”, she asks hesitantly.

“Yeah”, I respond. “I do.”

She takes another deep breath and averts her eyes. She then takes several more, then looks back at me and speaks again.

“I have a lot tell you.”