Matilda | Harry Styles

SEVEN

It was then I noticed the absence of Harry, and silently cursed myself for doing so. I couldn't help myself. I found myself craning my neck around trying to locate him, but I didn't have to look far. He hadn't joined us on the dance floor - instead, he was seated, alone, in our booth, a drink of his own in his hand. I felt an odd surge in my stomach that told me to go and join him. And talk about what, exactly, Izzy? Don't be stupid. I wasn't sure why he hadn't joined the rest of his friends in dancing - it seemed to go against much of his prior behaviour regarding ensuring that he was much of the life of the group, but then again, contradictory behaviour was quickly becoming pretty frequent for Harry, from what I could see.

It was annoying; the weird pull I felt to him, despite him wronging me. The one thing I had tried so hard not to be since growing up, was a pushover; a doormat, even. I didn't want people to walk all over me as they had done for so many years. The number one rule when taking control of my own life, was to stand up for myself. It was rare, if ever, that I'd done that, but I wanted to, going forward. I truly did.

I used to always want somebody to stand up for me. For years, ever since I could remember, I used to hope and pray that somebody - just somebody - would stand up for me, and have my back. That this mystical somebody would put an end to all my hurt, and stand by my side; they would protect me. But it was only when I moved away - when I finally created some separation - that I realised, nobody, really would ever do that. I needed to be the person to stand up; nobody else. My pain would never really end, if I didn't. Nobody would ever care enough; nobody would ever really help. I had to help myself; protect myself. I needed to be the person that I would've wanted to come and help me when I was growing up; the person I used to dream of coming to fix things, waving a magic wand and making it all better. Because deep down, the only person that could ever really help you, was you.

I didn't want to rely on anybody else ever again. That was why I relished in distance; I'd pushed Calvin away, so far that he'd ended up leaving me. I often found myself pushing back at Grace in times where all she wanted to do was help, or even doing the same to Johnny. I pushed, because without expectation, there wouldn't be disappointment. If you didn't expect people to care, or to help, or to protect - they couldn't fail to do so.

That was how I lived. I hadn't necessarily failed to vocalise my defences to Harry; I had defended myself against his accusations, and his orders not to take this job opportunity - arguably, simply being here, across from him in this club, was the biggest defence of myself of all. I was acting against his wishes, for myself. And I was keeping my distance - my ideal, comfortable distance - refusing to give him anything resembling friendly interaction, as my disapproval of his behaviour. But was that really standing up for myself the way I wanted to? Was simply ignoring him the right way to stand my ground, or was it the cowardly way? It wasn't like he was exactly trying to capture my attention and spark a conversation anyway - I wasn't really doing anything to show him that I wouldn't let him mistreat me, or anybody else.

If I was standing up for myself, surely I would've confronted him the second that I saw Stella press her lips against his cheek? Surely I would've pulled her aside, and told her just how horrendously her boyfriend had behaved? Why hadn't I said anything? Why was I letting him do what he wanted?

And again, yes, I had vocalised a defence to him. I had stood up to him, verbally, when he had attempted to get his way that night at Ally's office. But if I was standing up for myself, why did I find myself drawn to him, so strongly? Why did I feel an urge to fill the seat next to him? Why did the mere graze of our fingertips cause my mind to race? Why was I multiple drinks in, trying to force my mind off him? Why did he have the effect that he did on me, just by standing in my presence, despite everything he'd done? I daren't admit that, really, I hadn't changed at all - I was still letting myself be walked all over; just because I was in a new place, with a new job, and new people, it didn't mean that it wasn't the same old story. He had mistreated me, yet I couldn't force him from my mind, as much as I tried. I couldn't shake the feeling of him; of his skin, the sound of his voice, the intensity of his gaze each time it landed on me, piercing straight through me. It was infuriating.