Loved, heard, seen // Harry Styles

Part One

"I kept expecting him to burst into laughter and tell me he couldn't believe I'd actually fallen for this. That he'd never do this to us, but is proud of me for being so open minded. Kind of like a stupid test I passed that was meant as a cruel joke initially but when I went with it he decided to test my limits. But it never came. When I realized we were getting closer I kept wanting to break down and beg for him to stop the car, turn around, but it's like I was too stunned that this was actually happening to do something. I just froze and watched it all happen. I don't even remember picking the note with your name out of that hat. I was too busy looking at all the women, wondering who was going to have a go at my man–"

Her voice cracked and she began sobbing and Harry hesitantly brought his hand to her back, rubbing it soothingly, trying to console her. She turned to bury her face in his side and he took her under his arm as his own eyes glazed over. He felt pathetic for wanting to cry over it just like she was. He'd agreed to this. It wasn't like he'd found his wife cheating on him in their own bedroom. No, they'd sat down and discussed this, she made sure he was on board 100% over and over, they'd signed up for this and drove all the way up here. He hadn't been forced into it.

...Had he?

The woman pulled away suddenly and excused herself, "I need the bathroom. Think I'm gonna be sick."

Harry stammered something indiscernible as he watched her rush to the ensuite. He couldn't blame her. He'd felt like throwing up the whole way there. But now he felt different. He felt like punching a wall. Breaking something. And he was anything but a violent man.

He clutched the phone angrily, not even bringing it to his ear as he dialled the number again. He watched as it went straight to voicemail again and dropped it to the floor before he could throw it across the room and smash it against the nearest wall. He pressed the heels of his palms deep into his eye sockets, groaning in an effort to reign it in.

He stood up and almost stepped on the phone before kicking it to the curb in his way to the minibar. His wife was clearly preoccupied and wasn't going to be picking up, much less calling him anytime soon. He grabbed an upside down glass from a tray and emptied several mini bottles of vodka in it. By the time the woman reemerged from the ensuite he'd already downed it halfway to what now looked like a decent amount of vodka.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I'm okay, I stuck my face out the window there for some fresh air and managed to keep it down. Can I have some?"

"By all means. Choose your poison."

"I don't care. Make it strong."

She plopped herself back on the edge of the bed and checked her phone again, and Harry rushed with her glass of vodka double before she could try and dial again.

"Thank you."

He watched her try to gulp it down before retching and he couldn't help but chuckle. "Careful, else you'll definitely end up throwing up."

"Ugh. Maybe top it up with coke, is there any?"

"Yeah." He took it back and poured a whole can of lime coke over it before placing the glass back in her trembling hand.

After him sitting back down next to her and both nursing their drinks for a while, she asked in a small voice, "What now? Do we just... wait here?"

"I kind of have to... I drove us here."

"And I don't know how to drive."

"... Another?"

"Yes, please."

After raiding the minibar they were both sufficiently able to ease up a bit. She kicked her heels off and he rolled the sleeves of his cardigan to his elbows. He felt stuffy but didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable and remove it even if he did have a wifebeater underneath. She asked about his tattoos and they tried their best to make idle chit chat in an effort to pass the time. Eventually they both sat against the headboard trying to distract one another with different topics of conversation; the design of the hotel room, the quality of the bed linen, the stain on the carpet by the window, the view, the lack of proper parking space, the inconvenient location of the hotel, the bumpy drive to it, the reception lobby, the way everyone else looked- something neither had noticed, too busy with their inner turmoil.