°°
Well, now then, mardy bum
Oh, I'm in trouble again, aren't I?
I thought as much
'Cause you turned over there
Pulling that silent disappointment face
The one that I can't bare
°°
Harlow Dean
"It's so cold in here" Harry complains, sitting there on my couch staring at me with his drunken eyes.
"Yeah someone through a rock through the window." I jokingly remind him.
Cardboard windows, how classy.
You'd think I'd be used to dealing with drunk people considering that's what I do for a living but when it's the drunk man who you're in a pretend relationship things are different...for some reason.
If it's just a normal drunk man at the club it's easy to just ignore the drunken comments made towards me as I'm trying to sober him up. I don't know them personally so it doesn't offend me when they start talking shit, although the majority of them are nice enough. However when it's Harry things feel different and I don't know why I took him calling me little miss know it all to heart, but I did.
"I'm sleeping here." States Harry as he kicks his boots off and lies himself down on the couch.
He was literally complaining about it being cold two seconds ago...
Weird man.
Weird, weird man.
"Do you have any more drugs?" I ask, to which his eyes light up and he lifts his head to look at me with excitement.
Oh god, he thinks I want to do them doesn't he?
Fuck.
"Not because I want to do them, you just probably shouldn't take anymore. " I quickly add in a desperate attempt to clear that up.
Not to be that bitch but I couldn't do drugs, not if I really wanted to. Everything I've seen come from them has destroyed me and I've never even been the one to touch them. I couldn't do it to the people around me and all I really have is the cat, Willow and her separation anxiety wouldn't cope without me.
I miss Willow.
...maybe I'm the one with separation anxiety.
"Well even if you wanted to do drugs with me you couldn't because they're all in my system." Chuckles Harry, resting both his hands underneath his head whilst lying on his side staring at me.
This is making me feel weird, I haven't got a clue what I'm supposed to do with him in this state.
I'm just gonna forget that he's Harry for a minute. I'll pretend that he's just a heavily intoxicated man who wandered back here and needs some help. It's not like it's unusual for me to have to pretend around him anyway.
"What did you take?" I sympathetically ask him.
Do I even want to know?
"Coke." He replies.
Okay well at least there's just one drug he's on, mixing them doesn't sound too good so at least he hasn't done that. From what I remember learning about drugs in the course I had to take before opening this club, I'm pretty sure mood swings are a symptom of using cocaine. That explains a lot.
"And some pills"
Great.
"One like turns into twenty, that turns into pills and then it gets too much"
I know I said I was pretending this isn't Harry, but I'm questioning whether he even does this for fun. I do feel sorry for him in this setting, I hate that I do but going on personal experience, some of the happiest people can be addicts. Maybe I'm thinking about this too deeply, but I know the consequences and I'd do anything to prevent someone ever being put in the situation I was in.
Watching that happen to someone isn't worth it.
"I'm gonna get you a bucket and some iced water. Stay here and don't touch anything."
Just as I say that and head out the room, something has me turning round just to check he's okay, and I'm glad I did. His hand was over his mouth and eyes were screaming fear, this motherfucker is about to be sick. Not on the rug, please not the rug.
Fuck, my inner cat lady really is shining through.
"Hold it, Harry, look at me," He does, he turns to face me and his face has drained of colour. "Hold it."
All he does is put his thumb up to me and I'm glad he did that instead of spoke because I'm terrified of what might happen if he does actually open his mouth right now.
Everyone's clearing out the club by now and I was squeezing in behind the bar pouring a glass of water and ice whiskers grabbing the nearest bucket. The bar staff didn't bat an eyelid, for all they're concerned it's just for a random person.
You'd be shocked at the fact this is almost an every night thing at the club, we don't like people leaving when they're vulnerable, usually the people on the doors deal with it though.
With my much needed items, I swiftly dash back to Harry whilst praying to someone above that he hasn't thrown up on the rug or broken anything, himself included. However he's not sat on the sofa, grasping his mouth closed for dear life, he's on his knees with a piece of paper rolled up and a whole line of coke in front of him.
How did he do that so quickly, jesus christ.
Wrong question Harlow, wrong question.
"Harry!" I shout, closing the door loudly expecting him to hear, but he doesn't, either that or he's ignoring me which is also highly likely.
I place the glass of water down on the table and the bucket on the floor and with one breath, the whole line of cocaine is gone, scattered a ross the table, on Harrys trousers, just in a way that he won't be able to consume it. Yup, I blew it away. Now Harry looked like he's going to murder me.
He said he didn't have anymore and he lied, of course he did. But hey I'm not going to judge, we've all got our demons and maybe this is one his or maybe not. Regardless, he needs the help right now and there was just seconds between me finally getting his attention and him sniffing that line, blowing it away was the only thing I could think of.
"Why'd you do that birdy?" Harry frustratedly groans, running his hand through his hair, visibly distressed.
Thank god he hasn't been sick on the rug, thank god.
"Drink." I say, handing him the large glass of water he so desperately needs right now and placing the bucket on his lap.
Thankfully Harry holds the glass up to his lips and takes white a big mouthful of the water, however he doesn't swallow it, he keeps it in his mouth and now he's just staring at me with his puffed cheeks. I sit for a few seconds and just wait for him to swallow it, but he doesn't. Instead he just audibly swirls it round in his mouth, weird.
"Swallow it for gods sakes" I tell him through a sigh of my own.
His mouth turns from a pout into a smirk as he picks the bucket up from his lap and spits the water out. Clearly he doesn't like doing what other people say. I don't suppose he's used to being told what to do considering he's usually the guy in charge but at a time like this, he's incapable of that.
"You're acting like a child,"
"You're treating me like one." He shoots back instantly, sounding pretty harsh as he said it.
I'm treating you like a drunk man Harry, not my problem you can't listen to other people.
This is a side of him I never expected to see, not yet anyway. He's so out of his mind right now and that's the only thing keeping me from arguing with him, no matter how much I'd like to.
All I'm gonna say is thank god I'm not dealing with the hangover tomorrow.
The silence is uncomfortable, that prompts me to pick the glass up and hand it back to him, giving him the look that tells him to drink properly this time. I reckon he'd drink it if I said it was vodka, maybe I should tell him that, I doubt his mind could fathom this difference right now.
Again, he spits the water out as soon as he takes a sip and I don't know if this is him trying to be funny or just him protesting against sobriety but either way, I'm trying so god damn hard to conceal my frustration.
Suddenly his face changes, fear takes over and the colour once again drains completely from his rosy cheeks. It doesn't look as if he's going to do it, so I shuffle closer and hold the bucket up to his face for him, his hands falling limp at his sides. I pinch my eyes shut as he throws up into the bucket, or tries to anyway.
Even just the sound of him retching makes me uncomfortable but I did feel somewhat bad for the man. Whether anything was coming up or not I don't know, I couldn't look but his face is still ghostly pale.
I can't say I expected to be sitting on the floor of my office whilst Harry Styles, the guy who leads The Pythons, is throwing up into the bucket I'm holding for him.
There he goes again, spewing into the bucket and this time there was definitely something that came out. Not the most glamorous thing I've ever heard but at least I couldn't smell anything, thank god for my blocked nose due to my hay fever.
This brings me right back to the first time I went drinking with my school friends, I came home at two AM and puked up probably every meal I ate in the last week. My mum wasn't mad, she just sat beside me with her hand rubbing those reassuring circles on my back. That was the relationship we had, there weren't many boundaries between us, she was my best friend.
My mum was 18 when she had me, much to my grandmothers disapproval although as soon as I entered the world she was happier than ever, every ounce of disappointment had vanished. My grandma always said her biggest regret was getting angry at my mum when she found out, even now that she's dead I bet it still haunts her.
The fact my mum was young definitely helped with a lot of things but I suppose that the age of your parents shouldn't really be a factor when you're considering how nice they are as a person.
Anyway, these flashbacks have me feeling as if I'm my mum in this situation, it feels like I'm looking at 16 year old Harlow who had just downed a bottle of Vodka thinking it was the same as a 4% cocktail.
Hesitantly my hand meets Harry's back, I don't know why it does and I feel so weird and uncomfortable doing it, but I slowly rub up and down his back as he carries on vomiting into this bucket he's now holding himself.
This isn't very 'I hate men' of you Harlow.
"I feel like death," He groans, placing down the bucket in front of him and just staring into the ground like he was contemplating his whole life.
My hand now rested still on his back and I don't think he even noticed. I'm glad he hasn't because I think I'd die on the spot if he started teasing me about this. He's in no position to wind me up right now though, I just held his puke bucket while he vomited in front of me.
"Is that it all? Got it all-" I'm interrupted by him picking the bucket up again, followed by that awful sound.
I'll take that as a no.
"Done now." He sighs, wiping his mouth with the bottom of his shirt.
I would've given him a napkin or something if he gave me the time, I bet he'll regret that when he's sober.
Luckily for him, little miss paranoid over here is always stressed about having bad breath considering she drinks black coffee, so thankfully I've got plenty of chewing gum on my desk. I leave him sitting on the floor, pondering to himself while I grab him some very strong minty chewing gum.
I'd say I'm not saying his breath smells, but that's exactly what I'm saying. I luckily can't smell his breath because I have a blocked nose but he just spewed, of course it smells.
"Thanks Birdy." He says, accepting the gum without a snarky little comment which surprised me.
"Right well let's get you home. You're definitely done throwing up?"
Best to be safe than sorry.
"Yeah but I don't wanna go home. I can't go home Harlow, don't take me home." Pleads Harry
I don't know where he can go if not home, but I'm not going to be a bitch and do the opposite of what he asked, even if he's absolutely out of it. Usually I'd happily not do what he's asking but that wasn't just him telling me not to piss him off, that sounded genuine.
He can't stay here because we're not open on a Sunday and I don't fancy leaving him here alone, I also don't fancy staying here so that's off the table. I don't know where his friends have gone and I don't know if they'd be much of a good influence on him right now, so that's also off the table.
Fuck. My. Life.
"You can stay in my spare room, or is there somewhere else you want-"
"You hate me Harlow, don't offer because you feel bad. I'll go home." He speaks regretfully.
He's sad, genuinely sad and I hate when people are sad, it makes me feel upset too. If I could take everyone's sadness just so they never felt it I'd honestly do it in a heartbeat.
I feel awful for hating him now, the guiltiness hit me like a ton of bricks.
I'm just confused. He drives me absolutely up the wall on purpose, constantly asking if I want to have sex with him and now I feel bad because I hate him. I never seem to win.
"You're not going home, you can sleep in the spare room and I'll drive you home in the morning. You can get a taxi if you want or one of your friends can come but I'm not taking you home right now because you obviously don't want to go there, so come on, let's go." I say through a slight smile of mines.
It didn't take much convincing after that, he stood up and stumbled his way outside to my car. There wasn't much staff left at the club that passed us, a few barmen but Demi was gone which definitely saved me an interrogation.
When we get in the car I hand Harry a plastic bag just in case. If he was sick in my car I think I'd genuinely have a breakdown and leave him in the middle of the road somewhere. I've been nice so far but throwing up in my car would tip me over the edge, hence the plastic bag.
"To protect Fifi, got it." Harry says, pointing a finger at me.
That caught me off guard, did I tell him I call the car Fifi? I swear I didn't tell him, I wouldn't tell him because he'd just laugh at me and tease me about it. Maybe I did tell him, I can't remember.
The fact he'll wake up sober and start hating me again fills me with anxiety but at least I'll be able to tell myself I was nice to him. If he wants to hate me then fine, but I'll remember exactly who it was that held his sick bucket for him.