Ironic (harry styles)

Chapter 1- I Blame Harry

"Doc, would you believe me if I told you I used to be totally against drinking? I remember just last year I used to cringe every time I drove by a bar or a night club," I sneer, shaking my head. Yep, those were the good days, the days before him.

My overly-perky therapist, Dr. Reynolds, nods and offers a sympathetic smile. "Yes, I'd believe it. In fact, I think it's partly due to your former hatred of drinking that made you turn to alcohol whenever you got upset."

"What? That doesn't make any sense." I frown, confused.

"It's a pattern I'm starting to see in all the poor choices you've made. At one point you hated drinking, partying, disappointing your mother, slacking off, boys, allowing others to control you. Yet, you ended up doing every one of those things and--"

"I didn't do any boys," I interrupt.

Reynolds' face flushes with embarrassment. "Oh dear, you know that's not what I meant, I just meant that you--"

I hold up my hand to silence her. "Yeah, I get what you meant. I spent a lot of time hanging out with boys. But I never did anything with any of them."

"Not even with, um..." she hesitates, and I don't blame her. "with Harry?"

Sometimes I still shudder a little at the mention of his name. God, I disgust myself. I shake my head, trying to get rid of the thought of him. "No, no. Not even with Harry. I've done a lot of crazy, stupid shit-- err, stuff. But not that. I still have some shred of dignity left."

Dr. Reynolds smiles, once again, with so much sympathy and pity I can barely stand it. I don't feel sorry for myself and I don't want anyone else to feel sorry for me. I am not weak. I am not like...

"Harry is calling again," Reynolds says as my phone rings loudly on her desk. I don't know why I still haven't changed my ringtone to something other than Marimba. I only used it because it annoyed the hell out of Harry, which of course amused me. I smack my head with my palm.

"You still can't last one second without thinking about him can you, Mari?" I think to my self.

"That's the twenty-second call today, and it's not even noon!" Doc exclaims, suprised. She really shouldn't be, though.

My lips form a smirk. "Yup, typical. He was never reliable, but he sure is persistent," I scoff. "Although I haven't seen him in almost six months. I don't know why he's been calling so much these past few days..."

My voice trails off with my thoughts. I know after everything that's happened I shouldn't feel worried about him. I shouldn't care about him or think about him at all. It's just become a habit by now, and I'm sick of it... But it definitely wouldn't be the first time he got himself into some stupid drama. What if something really did happen? I mean, what else could he possibly be calling me about after all this time? Well it hasn't been that long I guess. But with Harry, time always feels off. It's either too slow or way too fast.

"Have you considered answering any of his calls or texts or maybe listening to his voicemails?" Dr. Reynolds' voice breaks through my thoughts. "There's at least 20 in your voicemail box. It might be good for you, maybe get some answers or--"

"No. Not happening," I interrupt yet again. If I was the same person I was one year and six months ago, I'd feel guilty being so rude. But not anymore. That girl is gone.

"Well, since we are on the topic, why don't we at least discuss Mr. Styles? You've only mentioned him a few times, but it's obvious you two have...or had something quite special."

I roll my eyes and snap, "I'd really rather not talk about him."

"I understand that you have some feelings of resentment towards him, and possibly even blame him for the way you are now, but--"