Good girl with bad habits (Harry Styles)

Chapter 3.

Drugs were no stranger to her. She tried almost all of them. She was not an addict. She just searched for ways to forget about everything and to destroy herself.

Not everything was pleasant and had good consequences, though. That was a reason why she wasn’t an addict. It was just a temporary pleasure. A temporary escape from reality. With bloodshot eyes.

She liked vices. They were good escape from reality. Alcohol made her even more wild and reckless then she already was. It made her free.

She was a, what they call them, happy drunk. A complete opposite of who she is sober. She hugged people, she laughed, and she danced. She was a flirt. A seductive minx who would get whatever she wanted. And the other day would remember very little. All she would feel was misery.

She wasn’t always like that. She was happy once. She did know how to smile and laugh. She used to have a lot of friends. But all that was gone in a matter of days. Her whole life burst like a bubble. Violently, quickly and silently.

The encounter with the mad male just half an hour ago was a last straw of the day. The last drop that spilt the glass over. Cigarette smoke didn’t help her anymore. Her only regular vice, was not good enough at the moment.

Her self pity party needed to stop. She hated it. She hated crying. She hated the way she looked after it. She hated the anxiety the memories caused her.

Getting up from the sofa she started searching for something. For a small package with green relief that she used from time to time to relax. She searched the jewellery boxes on her shelves. She searched the trays.

She searched every single place where she used to hide her stash, but there was nothing. It was nowhere to be found, looks like she used it all up. She lived alone, but she still hid alcohol and occasional drugs. It was a force of habit. A habit she couldn’t get rid of.

She needed relaxation and she needed it now. She quickly got dressed, grabbed her wallet and hit the streets. While passing the new neighbours apartment, she heard loud rock music and a raspy male voice screaming to it.

She heard glass breaking. It sounded like a bottle being smashed into the wall. A sound she was very familiar with. She smashed one against the wall so many times she stopped counting.

Leaving the building she kept thinking about the new neighbour. What his story might be.

Was he a mad man?

Was he broken soul like she was?

Or was he simply troubled and rebel without a cause?

He looked lost when she saw him. He looked bitter and angry at the world. He looked like he didn’t know how to cope with the world and all the troubles it brought him.

He looked the way she looked a year ago. The way she looked until she stopped caring about everything. The way she looked until she simply gave up.

The cold air hit her and she nudged her face deeper into the scarf she wrapped around herself. She kept walking down the empty streets of London in search of some familiar faces that would have the cure for her misery. There was not a single dealer on the street.