Salvation (Harry Styles)

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

I can't help what I'm feeling now

I just want us to be somehow

Harry hands the blunt out to me. I hardly think about the idea of sharing a smoke from the same blunt as Harry because my clear painted nails reach for it, holding it almost like it's foreign between my thumb and index finger. The end of it continues to burn as Harry rest the palms of his hands behind him and he studies me. I can smell the aroma as I bring the smoke close and part my lips.

It was hard, trying to not sputter and cough as the toxins swirl down my wind pipe, into my lungs. I took the blunt away as soon as I inhaled and tried to keep the air inside me like Harry did.

I end up coughing up the fumes anyways.

"How did you find this place?" I ask in attempts to catch some fresh air ─ which doesn't work ─ and to wipe the grin off of Harry's lips as he takes another breath.

"You remember Niall from the party, yeah? Well, he told me about it. Said this was the best place to not get caught."

"Oh," I utter, gazing at the gray smoke that leaves his mouth. He hands the blunt back over to me after flicking away the ashes. "So, how long have you been doing this?" I wiggle the smoke in my head.

"Um," he sighs with puffy cheeks, rummaging through his mind. "When I was, like, sixteen, I guess."

Whoa, I think shockingly. That's young. I mean, I'm just a year above that, but under the circumstances, it's young. I try to vision a young Harry with a round face and a lanky body without tattoos. Then I add a blunt of weed between his teeth, and it just doesn't add up. In my head, I picture him completely different than what he probably was.

"That's..." I try to find words, but none come to me.

"Young?" Harry offers. I nod. "Yeah, it is. Rough time in my life when I started experimenting."

This time when I put the blunt between my lips, it's not as bad smoking it. I have a hard time keeping it there without it burning, but I barely cough. Harry takes it back and I puff mind into the night, watching it dance. Then I realise that I'm not much older than Harry was when he first started to smoke. Just a year, that barely anything. I don't think I'll do it as often as he does, but I know if I keep staying around him, this won't be my last time. The feeling it gives me already, the calm and relaxed nature, the little buzz, makes me want it more.

"Anymore questions?" He chuckles, and I assume the drug is getting to him and that means I'm not far behind. In fact, I feel the atmosphere change and become lighter. I smile as I think, is this what getting high feels like?

"A couple," I giggle.

"Fire away."

It occurs to me that Harry probably wouldn't be this open if it weren't for the drugs, that he's that stubborn when he's not letting loose.

"Why did you start 'experimenting'?" The question rolls off my tongue. He doesn't seem to think about it as he answers.

"Mum and Dad separated. We had to go to court about who would take custody over me since I was a minor. Of course I had no say in it because no one cared about what I wanted; I was just a kid to them. Dad said that my mum wasn't in the right condition to take care of a child. Maybe he was right; she didn't have a stable job. But my father is no better. He sells drugs, all kinds of them, for a living. My mum has never done drugs-"

Harry had to stop to calm down as I watched and listened. The only thing I can think of is to hand him back the smoke that we've been passing back and forth. It's almost done for.