Through The Dark || Harry Styles

35. LUCY

A/N: *SURPRISE DOUBLE UPDATE BECAUSE I LOVE YOU*

LUCY

Three Years Earlier

My new dress has been completely wasted on this.

I know that's not what I should be worried about as I sit at this crappy bar by myself, the sound of indie rock playing through the speakers and stale beer wafting up from the carpet. But the fact that I spent my hard earned money on a new outfit, only to be stood up, really, really annoys me.

A waitress passes me and I exhale a frustrated sigh, her sympathetic smile knows all too well what predicament I'm in. I'm sure working in a bar, they see this all the time. All dressed up and nowhere to go.

Well, I did have somewhere to go, but apparently, my date didn't.

My stilettos are perched on the barstool as I look around. I'm in a nice part of London but this bar is a far cry from the fashionable crowd that dines in the fancy eateries nearby. The proximity to the French restaurant I was meant to eat at was one of the reasons I stumbled in here, but also the hope that the dingy signage and worn leather seats were an indication that each drink wasn't going to cost me the £20 I can't afford.

It's getting late, but not late enough for people to be rowdy and most of the tables are being occupied by couples on dates or on their way to other, cooler places after a few drinks.

While those around me are lounging in jeans, I'm aware that I am extremely overdressed in my new 'date-worthy' little black dress and my hair pinned in this bloody updo that took me more than an hour to perfect.

Gesturing to the bartender, I make a silent pact with myself to stop dating losers. I'm twenty-three, I'm done dating boys. I need a man. Preferably one with morals and responsibilities and long term goals.

In my defence, I thought this guy was different. He's studying, comes from a nice family and we were set up by a colleague; one who I have now lost complete faith in.

Our first couple of dates went really well, he was courteous and sweet and made me laugh. I stupidly let myself hope that there was potential for more, something serious, but just like the men before him, he came up short.

To my left is another woman around my age sitting at the opposite end of the bar, she's almost as dressed up as I am, although there is a lot more skin on display. I wonder for a moment if she is here alone, too. Maybe my night will be salvaged by making a great friend who can join Amy and I on our girls nights as we eat fries and talk about how shitty the London dating scene is?

My bubblegum dreams are burst when I realise my new bestie is scowling at me as if I'm a threat before she scans the crowd, her lips pouted and her fingers constantly playing with her hair. She pretends to look wistfully into the distance as she sips her pink cocktail and I can see her act a mile off.

She's here to snag a man, not a friend.

I inwardly groan.

"A vodka martini, please," I tell the bartender who flings a tea towel over his shoulder and rests on locked arms.

"Don't drink alone, Scarlett," he retorts, and it's only then that I really look at him.

Holy hell he is gorgeous.

"I-I'm sorry," I stutter for the first time in my entire life. "I'm not Scarlett, my name is Lucy," I correct him and watch as his whole face lights up with a tooth-baring grin.

Okay, fuck the morals and responsibilities, my new long term goal is the bartender.

"Not a Clark Gable fan?" he asks as he mixes different spirits into a tumbler.