1D Sexual Frustrations

Harry : Limbo

"Where have you been?" I repeated slightly louder, feeling the frustration building. She huffed, ignoring my questioning, then dropping her bag and reaching down to remove her shoes, her palm against the wall for support. I watched her struggle to balance: clearly she was drunker than I was. 

“Y/N where have you been?!" I was shouting now, my voice immediately commandeering her full attention. My eyes followed her as she sauntered barefoot across the hardwood floor, reaching the island in the middle of kitchen and slamming her phone down. I looked at the device, wondering what might be on there, who she may have been texting and calling whilst I was gone. My gaze returned to hers. I didn’t anticipate it being this difficult, seeing her after what had happened. My jaw tightly clenched, I realised I resented her: the way she looked, her beauty, the power she knew she had over me. I felt like it controlled me, like I could cave and forgive her actions, just from being stood in front of her; but the lull of alcohol flushed my cheeks and fuelled the anger I was still holding onto.

"You can’t fucking stroll in here Harry, unannounced after two w-" her voiced was raised, and I could sense I’d fuelled her temper with my questioning, but I cut her off before she could finish, out-shouting her. 

“Yes I fucking can, I own half this house!" my arms were now unfolded, and I thrust forward, my stomach pressing against the other side of the island. I stared at her through the dim light, the solid chunk of wood and marble separating us, as if it were the barrier between our relationship. Once again she’d somehow turned the situation around, making me feel like I had done something wrong. I had every right to come here, and I had every right to know where she’d been. She was still my girlfriend. 

"You’ve been out. Where did you go? Who were you with?" I realised how I sounded, jealous and angry, but thats exactly how I felt. Much to my dismay she continued to ignore my questions, snatching her phone off the surface and heading for the stairs. I stalked her trail, following her up and into our bedroom. She stumbled along the way, as did I, realising the extent of my intoxication, leaving me barely able to walk straight. I didn’t want to have a drunken row with her, but I guess I should have expected that, turning up here at 4am. As she walked into the bedroom, she stopped sharply, turning around to face me, my body loosing balance slightly as she’d halted my furious pace. She stared up at me, her eyes bloodshot from the heavy night she’d clearly had. I couldn’t tell if she was going to cry or slap me. Every ounce of me prayed it would be the latter. I couldn’t handle it when she cried. I waited for her to speak, to do something, but she stood her ground, big eyes piercing into my mine: a silent war. Searching my mind, I couldn’t think of anything to say, mainly because I still didn’t know how I felt. I’d taken time away to ‘think’, but I knew deep down I just wanted things back to how they were, but if I forgave her too quickly, it would only further prove the extent of the hold she had over me. She’d slept with someone else, given her body to another man. Her body was meant to be mine, and mine only, but not now. She’d committed the ultimate betrayal, and although I was furious, I couldn’t decide which weighed heavier on my mind: her deception, or my want, my need, to have her back. My head was beginning to hurt and my feet ache, and I could still taste the sting of vodka in the back of my throat. 

"You couldn’t even tell me to my face!" I broke the silence. My voice was loud, but the words were slurred. I stood leering forward, causing her to step back slightly, her furious expression showing no signs of remorse. As her body backed into the dresser against the wall, I was stood looming over her smaller frame, my jaw and fists tightly clenched. I didn’t like her dressing like this, especially after what had happened, because I knew other boys would be looking, thinking things they shouldn’t be, thinking they could have a piece of her, not knowing she’s mine. These jealous, irrational thoughts soon began to consume me. She still hadn’t answered my questions, and the thought of her going out clubbing, no doubt acting like she was single, enraged me. I couldn’t tell if it was the vodka or my anger, but I felt myself becoming hot, frustration boiling inside me. She was aware I had a tendency to be aggressive and overprotective when I’d had too much to drink, just as she would become more argumentative, so combined with the tension between us, we both knew tonight would end badly. She raised her hands to my chest, pushing me back slightly.