the writer // harry styles au

chapter 15

Harry

I feel like if I kicked this lamp post it would fall and crash into a million pieces, like my heart. I'm so angry - at myself and Alexis. I let myself fall for her. I fell for this problematic, beautiful girl who has now totally fucked me over in a matter of weeks. Fuck! I want to go up to her flat, pound on the door and tell her to explain - to let me explain. I want to be the one that's going up into her room to make love to her until the sun comes up. So I could wake up and see the sun creaking through the curtains, reflecting off her face. I just wanted her.

But I don't have her. Some guy in tailored pants and arms that looked like they could hold her better I did got to take her up to her bedroom and make love to her all night. Fuck! Fuck him!

I had walked all the way from Alexis' sidewalk to Zayn's flat. The doorman knew me, so I just went straight up. I started banging on Zayn's door because he needed to wake the fuck up and listen to me. I just needed to hit something, too.

Zayn came to the door, squinty eyed and yawning. "What the fuck, man? It's, like, 2am," he said.

I walked into his apartment, explaining, "Alexis went out with some other guy and they're probably fucking right now. I saw them standing outside her flat-building, making out."

Zayn let out a breath of air. "That's tough, man. But what the fuck does that matter? You haven't made anything exclusive yet and have only gone on, like, 4 dates. Don't over react, idiot."

He sat down on his couch, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. I dropped into the space next to him. He didn't know that I was in love with Alexis.

"I'm in love with her," I told him.

Zayn laughed. Laughed. "In love with her? Dude, you've know her for less time then it takes me to get through a bottle of scotch."

It did sound stupid. Every time I said it out loud I felt a little bit more stupid and idiotic. She obviously didn't love me back. I mean, why would she go out with some other guy and then make out with him on the terrace if she was in love with me? So, she's obviously not in love with me, and that makes me look even more insane. If she was in love with me as well it would be this amazing love story; girl and boy fall deeply in love after several weeks of awful dates and great sex.

"I need to get over myself, man," I said to Zayn.

He pushed my head, laughing, then saying, "No, you don't, man. I'm just a narcissist. Don't listen to the shit that leaves my mouth. You probably do love her, you stupid fuck. If I were you - and let's hope to God I'm never in this position - I'd go to her flat and tell her. She can do what she wants with the information. Forget about you, fuck you - who cares. Just tell her."

He wasn't wrong, that's for sure. The man's a poetic and knowledgable soul. He couldn't be totally wrong in this situation.

So I got up from Zayn's worn away couch. In an attempt to escape his smoky, messy and surprisingly homely flat, he caught me before I could grab the broken doorknob. My hand stayed on the cold, rust-invested knob.

"Styles?" he said, turning his head in the direction of the door. He had a smoke in his mouth and a light in his hand. I could go for one of those right now.

"Yeah?"

"Could you read my book-in-progress?" Zayn rarely asked for favours liked this. He'd been writing this book for about a year and a half now, changing the plot up every two seconds, thinking of new disastrous things that could happen to his, most probably, narcissistic characters. Even if Harry wasn't much a fan of Zayn's type of novel's, he did quite enjoy Zayn's previous achievements. There was 'Land of the Un-Dead Dead', which was quite an insightful read of Zayn's pick of society; then there was 'Full Stop', and novel about the male understanding of females, which was quite brilliant. I wouldn't mind seeing what he'd whipped up this time.