The Boy Wore Black || Harry Styles

The Boy Wore Black - Chapter 28

The room was dark, aside from the small security light that beeped on and off in continuation.  I hated those lights.  They always seemed to keep me up, the constant flashing drawing my attention like a moth to the flame.

Even in the bedroom I had stared at them, some nights quietly daring myself to look away, but I always ended up watching it go on and off, on and off.  Now, I wished I would have had enough sense to leave on a lamp to accompany my drunken inhibitions.  At least I could have prepared myself for navigating through the mess of shoes strewn about my floor carelessly.

I cursed and kicked at one as Harry released my waist and shut the door.  "Are you playing football, or are you trying not to trip over your mess?"

"Both."  I kicked at another one but missed.  "Seriously?"  I groaned and leaned over, opting to grab it from the floor and inadvertently overthrowing my equilibrium with the force of gravity on my body.  "Shit."

 "Easy there."  Harry moved behind me, catching me before I once again stumbled into the floor.  "You're almost as big of a lush as I am."

"Doubtful," I said through the fuzzy haze.

I hesitantly relaxed into his hold, taking the chance to steady myself while I still had the chance.  I hadn't asked him for his help, but I wasn't prideful enough to deny it when the floor was going up and down as much as it was right now. 

"How much did you have?" he asked.  "Or is that a question you're going to fight me for an answer on?" His tone dropped as he pulled his arms back toward his chest to straighten me out. 

"I had enough."

"Claire."

I drank in the sound of my name, noticing the inflection that came with his accented voice.  It had to be the alcohol heightening my senses, whilst it took away the sharpness of others.  Either that or I was just having a harder time controlling myself than usual.  It had to be the senses.  Surely.

"Why aren't you at The Tonight Show?" I asked, turning to look at him somberly.

"We finished with the interview a couple of hours ago."

I furrowed my brow.  There was no way I had been in the downstairs bar for that long.  Surely I would have given at least a little regard to the minutes passing by.

Okay, who was I kidding?

I didn't give a damn either way.  It wasn't like I didn't have all of the time in the world.  I was stuck in New York with a world of problems I hadn't come here with.  Alcohol was a release that I had willingly taken.

"I guess you didn't watch that interview either."

It wasn't a question, but more of a leveled assessment that came from him.  At least that's what I thought originally.  As he pulled away and moved toward the kitchen, I took his body language to mean something different.

"If you're mad I didn't watch you on television, get over it."  He chuckled again, the sound vibrating through the silent hotel room as he flipped on the light.  The sudden contrast of brightness made me squint.

"Honestly, Claire, the interview was probably dull and boring.  Had I been in your shoes, I would have chosen to drink too."  He turned, resting his back against the kitchen counter.  "I guess the only question I have is why you were drinking in the first place."

"Because I wanted to," I answered solemnly, not missing the pursing of his lips as I replied.  "Why can't I have a few drinks every now and then?  It's not illegal."

"I never said it was."

"Then quit giving me an accusatory expression."

"I'm not."