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You can't start a fire
Worryin' about your little world fallin' apart
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Harlow Dean
Being at the club tonight, I just felt happy and I haven't felt like that in so long. I've been having such a hard time recently and recently things seem to have taken a turn for the better, finally.
I sat with Harry and the guys for a while, listening to them tell their drunk stories and laugh at things that aren't even funny. Everyone would make a trip to the bathroom with a bag of a mysterious white powder but hey, at least they've learned to do it in the bathroom without me having to get mad at them.
Harry didn't go to start with. I've noticed that since that night he was sat on my office floor throwing he hasn't really let me see him like that but I know he's struggled with drugs in the past so maybe it's a good thing he doesn't join them.
I did tell him I didn't mind and that I'd make sure he's okay and won't let him take it too far, because it's his life not mine. If he wants to do drugs I'm not stopping him, I'll just stop him from going too far or hurting himself.
Although he said he didn't want to, and then said he found a new drug he's even more addicted to that's much better than coke...that drug is me for some reason.
I didn't sit with them for long, I did have to actually do my job and be a decent manager, so I left them to themes,eves and I'd my rounds of the place. In that time I did see him go to the bathroom with a little bag of coke and whether he did drugs or not isn't my business. As long as he's okay and he's not being completely reckless then I'm not in the place to tell him what he can and can't do.
I don't really know what I'm supposed to do to be honest, because everyone knows drugs are bad and you shouldn't condone them, but I'm not Harry. He's done it for a lot of his adult life so I'm assuming that he knows the risks much more than a girl who's never touched an illegal drug in her life.
I obviously wish he didn't do drugs, but it's not my place to tell him what he can and can't do.
I'll just be here to observe quietly and make sure he's not taking the piss.
Another interesting thing that's happened recently is that I told the strippers the truth about Harry and I. By the truth I mean I told them we were faking a relationship because of his gang but it doesn't matter because we're actually together now, and the only reason I told them is because I had to explain the reason why Demi left.
They were all so mad and they felt sorry for me, however it only made me realise that I'm actually not as lonely as I thought I was. I thought the only people I had in my life were Harry, Demi and my cat. I lost two of them and thought my life was over, however didn't realise I had a whole army of girls at my club waiting to catch me when I fell.
The second I walked in to see them tonight, Luna threw herself into my arms and passed me a glass of champagne, to which I declined due to the fact I'm driving home tonight. We took Harry's car, which means I have to drive his Range Rover but I'm sure it'll be fine.
"How's lover boy tonight?" Luna asks, winking at me and then sticking her head back in the mirror to attach the fake eyelash back onto her lash line.
"He's good," I smile, "he cooked tonight."
They all turn their heads to look at me with their mouths open and then smiling in excitement as if they were waiting for details.
"Went all out, candles and everything. He cooked a vegan carbonara from scratch and it was actually really nice." I tell them with a grin like a teenage girl who's telling her school friends the story of her first kiss.
It feels the same, because I've never been in love like this before and having people to gossip with about it makes me so happy, because they actually care and it's so heartwarming. My club really is just one big family.
"So fucking adorable!"
"You guys are actually a match made in heaven, I swear. He looks at you like you're made of gold, H." Chloe points out with her hand on her heart and a pout on her lips.
"Her hearts made of gold, close enough." Luna chuckles, wandering back to rest her elbow on my shoulder. "We're so happy for you, it's nice to see our unbiological mother in love with a guy who isn't 5 foot 9 and a total douche."
I love her.
A few minutes later and I wandered back out to the bar after giving the girls a pep talk and waiting for them to walk out in their dangerously high heels and ruin somebody's life. My pep talk was returned by one from all of them though. They told me such nice things and now I feel unstoppable.
I'm walking down the corridor like it's a runway again.
When I get back to the club, immediately I scan the room for Harry because apparently that's the first thing I do when I step into any room these days.
It's at the bar that I find him, with his head in his hands and elbows resting on the counter top as if he's rethinking his whole entire existence. In front of him is a glass of clear liquid which I'm hoping is water, although I wouldn't be surprised if it wasn't.
"You alright?" I ask him, running my hand up his back carefully as he lifts his head from his hands to look at me with dark circles surrounding his eyes.
I dip my finger into his glass and then into my mouth, only to be relieved when I do in fact taste the very bland taste of water and not infect the burning sensation of vodka or tequila.
"I'm trying to stop myself from doing anything dangerous." He mumbles, placing his head back in his hands. "Sorry."
"It's fine," I reassure him, rubbing his back and sitting down on the stool next to him, "never apologise to me, Harry."
It's weird how spending so much time with someone leads to you developing their catchphrases, because that one used to be Harry's favourite saying.
He lifted his head with a smile and laughed when we caught eyes, clearly liking the face I had just stolen his favourite line. When his dimple comes out to post it genuinely melts my heart, because it only ever makes an appearance when he's genuinely happy.
"I feel like shit." He groans when he puts his forehead back into his palms. "help me birdy." One hand drops from his forehead and lands over the top of mine, squeezing it slightly as his eyes clutches shut.
I need to learn more about how to help Harry, he does so much for me and I don't even know what I've actually done for him in comparison to what he's done. I don't like when he's distressed, and he's obviously distressed right now which hurts my feelings.
I place a hand over the top of his and turn my hand that's below his hand over so I can interlock my fingers with his. I've got both hands wrapped around his hand and I lean over to rest my chin on his shoulder as he stays hunched over with his forehead resting on his palm.
"D'you wanna go home?" I ask him, to which he shakes his head. "Does your head hurt?"
"No...yeah, but it's only because I haven't done that shit in so long and apparently my body hates coke now." He mumbles.
"This is the last place you want to be with a sore head Harry, c'mon we'll go home."
The music is far too loud for him to be feeling great right now, and the strobing lights definitely won't help matters either. Besides he said he was trying to stop himself from doing something dangerous so maybe it is best that we go home, because I don't think staying here much longer really does benefit him that much right now.
"Nah, I'll be okay."
He's just saying that because he doesn't want me to leave the club for him, as if that's a major sacrifice I have to think twice about. So without even saying anything I take back to my feet and try and urge him to join me, because whether he likes it or not I'm taking him home. The club clearly isn't the best place for him right now.
"Harry, let's go home." I tell him.
When he looked into my eyes he knew there was no debating. He looks tired and he looks ill, he knows it himself too. With a reluctant nod, Harry finished the rest of his water and reached for my hand, and then we snuck out to the car because he said his friends will tease him for not handling his drugs well anymore.
He quite literally threw himself into his passenger seat and let his head fall back against the white leathered seats as his eyes shut and a frustrated sigh left his lips. I climbed into the driver's seat and started the car, the second I did Harry rolled down his window.
The drive home seemed to last forever. We didn't play any music because I don't really know how he's feeling right now, but it doesn't look good. He was very quiet, especially for him because usually he'd be making some sort of joke but not tonight.
When we did eventually get back to my house, Harry headed straight upstairs without a word and I decided to search for some painkillers and grab a glass of water for him. It was only two minutes I was downstairs for, but in that time Harry managed to undress and get into bed so that he was looking at me all sorry for himself when I did get upstairs.
It's working though, I do feel for him.
I placed the glass down on the bedside table and pushed his legs back to sit down next to where he was laying so I could give him the painkillers.
"Feels like my head is going to explode." He mumbles, taking the painkillers from my hand and swallowing them dry. "I don't know why I did coke, I'm stupid."
I look down at him in pity, pushing the hair off his forehead as he pulls the covers up over his shoulders. Leaning over I press my lips against his hot forehead and stand up to head off to the bathroom.
On my way I grabbed a t-shirt that I'm pretty sure belongs to Harry because I can't remember buying one that says 'women are smarter.' I like it though, it's comfy and makes a good pyjama top so if it is Harrys, then it's mine now.
In the bathroom I run a facecloth under the cold tap for Harry and eventually tiptoe back through to the bedroom, where Harrys lying looking like he's on the verge of death.
"Is it like a hangover?" I ask him, pulling back the covers to climb in and sit with my back against the headboard.
"Yeah, a hangover mixed with a migraine that isn't a migraine yet." He tells me, readjusting so his head is in my lap, allowing me to press the towel on his forehead. "Where'd you learn how to do that?"
"My grandmother used to think a cold cloth could fix any illness ever, kinda ingrained into my memory now." I tell him, pushing the hair out of the way so it doesn't get damp.
He smiles in acknowledgment and then reaches for my hand that isn't holding the damp cloth in his forehead. In between his two hands he holds mine and uses his thumb to draw circles on my palm.
"Will you sing me something?" He whispers, bringing my knuckles to his lips where he kissed them as if he was trying to persuade me.
"I can't si-"
"You sing like an angel." He interrupts, "sing me one of your favourite songs. You have dancing in the dark tattooed on you, and that heart and hand behind your ear that reminds you of slipping through my fingers 'cause of your mum."
I'm impressed he remembers that actually. The dancing in the dark tattoo is fairly obvious considering I have the words 'can't start a fire without a spark' written on me, but I told him about the tattoo behind my ear so long ago. It's just a hand holding a heart that's white literally skipping through it's fingers because that was my mum and I's song, so I'm happy he remembers.
The sad thing about those fond memories of my mum braiding my hair, helping me pick out an outfit, drivin through the city listening to Bryan Adams and even as a fully grown woman where I'd ask my mum to help me do my hair for me, is that I was never the one who slipped through her fingers, she slipped through mine.
That song was like a dream, one where I was growing up and my mum never wanted to lose me. She never did though, I treated her the same at 24 as I did when I was 4.
I really do wish I could've frozen the picture back then.
"I don't know what to sing..." I whisper, forgetting the fact he had just suggested to songs I love with my whole heart.
Harry shrugs, "anything, it'll sound like heaven regardless."
Dancing in the dark it is then.
The damp cloth was now balancing on Harry's forehead as he lay there with his eyes closed. My hand was tangled into his hair, brushing through it as he continued drawing circles onto the palm of my other hand.
"I get up in the evening..." I start to sing quietly, keeping my hand running through Harry's hair.
A smile formed with each word I sung, his dimple coming out to make an appearance yet he lay there still completely still with his eyes closed. His thumbs stopped drawing circles on my palm and for a second I was debating whether or not he was asleep or not, although when he slowly opened his eyes I was proven the opposite.
Only a couple seconds later he did fall asleep though, so still quietly singing the words to dancing in the dark I moved the cloth from his head and gently moved him back so his head was on the pillow. I lean over to plant a kiss on his forehead and pull the covers up over his body.
"You can't start a fire, worrying about your little world fallin' apart..." I sung quietly, taking myself into bed next to him.
It's funny how lyrics sometimes feel like they're aimed straight at you, even if they're from a decade you weren't even born in. Perhaps that was the reason for Harry suggesting this song, and perhaps not. Either way, this song feels fitting.
I let my eyes close, the tiredness creep in and that feeling of comfort brings another smile to my face, one of pride.
"Even if we're just dancing in the dark."
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Not to scare anyone, but the next chapter is the last one before the fights AKA before everything goes tits up:)
Reminder that Harlow's face claim is Liz Gillies, who can actually sing and play piano too by the way. Which is why I chose her for Harlow:)