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And do me a favor, and ask, if you need some help
She said, do me a favor, and stop flattering yourself
And to tear apart the ties that bind
Perhaps "fuck off" might be too kind
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Harlow Dean
Harrys enjoying himself tonight by the looks of things. Although judging by the size of his pupils and regular trips to the bathroom, there's definitely a reason for this happiness. He's also being friendly tonight and hasn't asked me to fuck him so he's definitely on something.
Saying that, I've not spoken to him in the last hour and the club is away to close. He's not even sitting there with the rest of his friends which is weird, he never seems to leave their side.
Now I'm paranoid. I don't trust him to be alone in the private areas of the club. He's a fucking gang leader and definitely a criminal.
Hopefully his friends know where he is, hopefully they're sober enough to actually talk because I'm actually really paranoid. On their table are three little bags of white powder sitting there in the open, exactly what I don't like having in my club. Great.
I pick the bags up, grabbing their attention considering they were far too engrossed in whatever the hell they were laughing at to realise I'm standing there.
"Hi Harlow, can I get that please?" Asks Louis, holding up his hand in an attempt to take the bags of coke, however I just pull my hand away immediately.
Nice try.
They're about to leave and I'd rather they got home safely than take things further than they've already gone and end up somewhere they shouldn't. I don't even know these guys well enough to feel bad, but as the owner of the club I have a duty of care and I don't want these guys doing something stupid when they leave.
Nonetheless, they're all pretty fucked right now, I'm sure these three bags wouldn't have much of an impact considering their current state anyway.
"Where's Harry?" I ask them.
"Your guess is as good as mine sweetheart," chuckles Niall, causing Zayn and Louis to burst into laughter yet Liam just looks at them confused because clearly never found that funny either.
"Out the back for a smoke a while ago." Says Liam, pouring the rest of his drink down his throat.
Does Harry know that the back of the club is for staff only? He doesn't work here and he really has to stop going back there, it's not his club to waltz around freely in.
I thank Liam for being the only useful person amongst them and head outside the back of the club in the hopes to find Harry in one piece. If he's out there fighting with someone I'll genuinely lose my shit. Even if he is just smoking, why does he feel like he can go through the staff corridor and smoke in the staff car park? He's
There he is, sat on the curb just to the side of the step with a lighter and pack of cigarettes on the floor in front of him. He's not smoking, although the boys did say he's been gone for a while so that would make sense. Why's he still out here though?
"Harry?" I query, to which he snaps his head round to look at me with heavy eyes.
Oh my lord he's so drunk, I can literally see it in his face.
"Hi Harlow, your ex was here" Harry says casually, turning back to stare at the ground in front of him.
What the fuck?
No, really, what the fuck?
Why was Owen here and why is he not here anymore?
My anxiety is currently absolutely through the roof, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my chest and I feel physically sick. This is by far one of the worst feelings in the world and all he said was that Owen was here.
"Wh...why? Where is he?" I nervously ask him, closing the door and standing in front of Harry who continues staring at the ground like there's something interesting down there.
"Oh, I didn't ask, oops." He laughs, "I just told him to fuck off and then he called you a slut so I punched him and then he went away like a pussy." As soon as he finishes his sentence he grins at me like he's proud, waiting for praise.
Oh for fucks sake.
First of all, a slut? Really? How the fuck am I a slut? I haven't slept with anyone in months, not that that would make me a slut anyway. He's one to speak, Mr 'I cheated on you because I was bored'. That sentence haunts me still so I'm absolutely fucking baffled by him saying I'm the slut.
It's been over a year, move on you fucking obsessed weirdo.
Secondly, did I not go off at Harry for fighting people at my club this morning? As in like 14 hours ago? I knew he wasn't listening to me.
Also, why does Harry of all people care about Owen calling me a slut? Him of all people.
"Harry what the fuck?" I sigh, sitting down on the curb beside him with a good metre in between us.
He's clearly wasted right now, it's not even worth me having a go at him considering his current status. I'm not even sure if I'm mad, that's the thing. I'm annoyed he's argued with someone pretty much everyday he's been here, but he was the last person I expected to be mad at someone calling me a slut, it's somewhat faith-restoring.
Never mind, Owens a Vulture now, that'll be why Harry got mad.
Oh well, it's nice to imagine that he has a conscience.
"Yeah," He says quietly before doing something that totally catches me off guard.
He leans his head against my knee and just sighs as I'm sat there looking at him like he's got 6 heads. What the hell is going on and what on Earth am I supposed to do? Why is he touching me? This better just be the drugs talking, because this is gross. His forehead is literally on my knee, what the fuck?
I'm so touch starved that this has me cringing like crazy.
"I can't see." States Harry, as if that was an answer as to why his head is on my kneecap.
"Cause your eyes are closed dickhead." I say back, causing him to giggle.
He just giggled, literally giggled. Harry 'I'm such a crazy gang leader who loves sleeping with people and being a dick' Styles, just fucking let out the most un-manly laugh ever.
I'm not gonna sit and say what is many and what isn't, because that would be very hypocritical of me considering my hatred for the term ladylike. However, that laugh was not one that goes with his asshole image.
Why is his head still on my knee though, why, why, why, why, why.
Yeah, this is creeping me out. It is not like this is even him pretending to be my boyfriend because I'm 90% that couples don't just rest their foreheads on each other's bare knees when they get this drunk or high.
If this was Demi what would I do? Give her a shake and tell her to get her shit together but I have a feeling I can't just shake this 6 foot tall gang leading man.
Fine, I'll be nice.
"Sorry, I'm so fucked up right now. The world's spinning like crazy you know, sometimes I wish I was a sheep." He says, not even thinking twice about what he was saying.
Well, I was gonna give him a pat on the back and ask if he's okay but now I'm really trying not to laugh. That's probably really mean but who wouldn't laugh at that? It made sense until he said he wanted to be a sheep, what correlation do sheep have to the world spinning like crazy?
God help him, and me.
"Why?" I ask out of my curiosity.
Probably shouldn't be the question I'm asking right now, but I'm just intrigued, shoot me.
"Why what? Why are you always asking questions?" He complains, finally lifting his head to stars at me with a look of disgust.
You know what, he's drunk. I'm not gonna take that personally.
Jesus Christ, mood swings worse than mines.
"You just asked me two in the space of five seconds." I argue back defensively.
Reasonable argument? No not really but it's not like I'm about to start fighting with a man who obviously isn't in the best state of mind, no matter how annoying he is. It's not even just the fact he's drunk and evidently on something, a man sat round the back of a club on a curb in the dark and all alone must have something going on, regardless of how intoxicated he is.
"You know you don't always have to act like little miss know it alright? You can fuck off back inside to your precious little club, I'm phoning a taxi and I'm going home." He scoffs while rolling his eyes at me.
I don't know why that hurt, but it did. It's so stupid, it shouldn't have.
Where's my bad bitch alter ego when I need it?
I hate him, I really do hate him but I can't let him go home like this. As much as I'd love to let him get in a taxi and fuck off out of my sight, my conscious has me feeling sorry for him for some reason.
"You need a drink of water Harry, come on" I sigh, standing up and holding a hand out to pull him up.
I'm a hypocrite, leave me alone.
For a second he looks me in the eye and he just looks sad, he doesn't look like Harry Styles. His eyes fall back to the ground again and he takes his bottom lip between two of his fingers, running his other hand through his hair.
Why do I feel bad?
Stop it. He's a total dickhead.
"Sorry" Harry quietly speaks, keeping his gaze fixated on the ground.
Did he just apologise?
Somebody punch me, I don't believe it.
Why are apologies so hard for people like him? I don't understand it at all because it doesn't make you a weaker person at all. Accepting that you're wrong only shows you're human and that you're brave enough to admit you're not a perfect person. Perhaps that's why he never does apologise, he doesn't want to admit he's wrong.
I don't know who this man is, but it's not the Harry Styles that's constantly pissing me off for his own satisfaction, this Harry is vulnerable.
"Will you get up already? I'd love to pull you up but I have all the strength of a piece of uncooked spaghetti, unfortunately." I joke in an attempt to lighten the very depressing atmosphere we've fallen into.
Apparently it worked because Harry cracked a smile and stood up. He made some joke about me not quitting my day job to become a comedian and followed me inside to my office. I didn't think taking him back into the club was a good idea, we're also closing soon so it's not really worth it. I doubt he'd have stuck to water if he went back out there.
He doesn't Chuck himself down on the couch as if he owns the place like he usually does, instead he just hovers at the door and scratches the back of his neck. I've never really done drugs so I have no idea what he's feeling but he said he couldn't see earlier so maybe he's a little disoriented or something.
This is very foreign to me, I hate being nice to assholes.
I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge in the office, which does only consists of water and some raspberries, and I walk over to Harry who is standing in a complete daydream. When I hand him the bottle of water it startles him and it clearly confuses him too because now he's the one staring at me like I've got 6 heads.
"Why are you being nice to me? It's weird." Harry asks, brows furrowed in the middle with confusion.
I know right? I hate it.
"Because I have a really guilty conscience." I tell him, "Now sit down please, I don't want you to break anything else."
He lets out a little chuckle at that one, knowing it's the window that's currently replaced by cardboard I'm referring to. The same window that hasn't been replaced yet but whatever, I'm not even mad. I'm sure he'll have it replaced soon, very fucking soon.
He didn't even break the window, but I'm still gonna blame him. Is that fair?
I'm a bad person.
"I don't know when to stop, one line always turns into like 20 and then that turns into pills and then it gets too much." Harry says unexpectedly, looking up at me with an expression that changes to regret as soon as those words fall from his mouth.
Why do I have a feeling this is a much deeper situation than the one I thought it was?
"That tattoo behind your ear? What is it?" He asks, changing the conversation completely.
I feel like I should just leave it at that. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it but I do feel bad for him now. I feel like he's the type of person that doesn't talk about his own problems and that's really sad. Maybe it's just the drugs, maybe this is just a side effect and he'll go back to hating me when he's sober. It wouldn't surprise me considering he thinks I'm just 'little miss know it all'.
Why can't I stop thinking about that?
That's the thing with being an emotionally unstable person I guess. You always remember the bad things people say to you instead of the good. Someone could call me beautiful two million times and then say I look bad once, and I'll be thinking about that one time forever. It doesn't matter though, nobody really says I'm beautiful anyway so that's not necessarily a problem of mines.
I'm just sensitive.
"It's a hand with a heart slipping through it's fingers because my mum and I used to sing the song slipping through my fingers when I'd be getting ready or something. It's stupid really, I just got it when-"
"That's a good song, a good film." He interrupts with a smile.
I'm so confused by him, one minute he's happy, the next he's angry, then he's sad and it's making things so difficult because I don't know what to do or say.
"I'm so drunk" Laughs Harry, tossing me the bottle of water and falling back in the couch into a fit of laughter.
Dear god.
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I'm so attached to Harlow that writing Harry being mean to her hurts.
But that's because I know everything about her, stuff you guys are yet to find out ;)