Elaina Basset
Never in all my life did I think I'd end up cleaning a wound on Harry Styles' forehead...but here we are.
It's been an unbelievable 7 hours since I got to Harry's villa, and this moment was just the icing on the fucking cake. It's 4 in the morning right now.
Everything that led up to this moment...well I'm still a little blurry on that...
At nine last night, all the guys left the villa except for Harry. I wasn't expecting to be left alone here with him. I was nothing if not uncomfortable, especially after that interaction we had in the guest bedroom.
It's safe to say we don't like each other. Neither of us want to be in this situation where I'm staying with him, but it's what Zayn wants.
I had no clothes here. At 10, before I went to bed, I toughened up and made myself approach Harry.
"I have nothing to wear to bed." I murmured, standing awkwardly in the threshold of the living room as he manspread on the couch.
He grumbled something under his breath as he got up, walking past me and up the stairs while I followed him like a lost puppy. He walked into his bedroom, while I just stopped in the hallway and waited outside.
He came out with a black shirt and sweats—the shirt seemed to be his but the sweatpants appeared like they'd fit me perfectly.
"Whose are these?" I questioned, examining the sweats.
"Don't know. Some chick left them here a few weeks ago." he told me with a casual shrug.
Cute.
I rolled my eyes, mumbling a 'thanks' before going back to the guest bedroom. Luckily, there was a guest bathroom attached to this room so I wouldn't have to leave and walk around the house to use the other bathroom.
I changed into the sweatpants and Harry's shirt. It felt weird wearing his clothes, even if it was merely a t shirt.
I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, wishing more than anything to be in my own bedroom sleeping on my own mattress.
The unfamiliarity might have been the reason I was tossing and turning majority of the night.
I would fall asleep for like 15 minute intervals before jolting awake again and groaning in frustration as I moved around on the bed. I even tried sleeping upside down. I was desperate, but nothing seemed to be working.
It was around 3:30 in the morning when I finally decided I wasn't going to get a full nights sleep. I got up out of bed, cursing silently because I was exhausted yet I couldn't sleep.
I walked out of the guest bedroom, the upstairs level dimmed from the lack of light.
I walked past the hall of rooms and out into the main part of the second level. My curiosity got the best of me as I turned my head toward that one area Harry and I passed when he showed me around. The area with the bookshelf.
There's red curtains hung up and tucked to the side at the entrance.
I know it's wrong to invade people's space, but then again, I'm here unwillingly so I think I deserve this at the very least.
I bit my lip with hesitation as I stood a few feet away from the threshold. Eventually, against my better judgment, I went in.
What I'm met with is a wall of bookshelves. I'm talking hundreds of books. There's red velvet couches and seats, a desk with a lamp overhead. It's like his own private library in here. I was in awe.
I'd never picture Harry in a place like this. It's so calming and quaint. It's beautiful.
My fingers ran across the spines of some books, paperback and hard cover. He had all of the staple classics, like Moby Dick and To Kill A Mockingbird.
Maybe this place just came with the villa, because I can't picture him as much of a reader.
After taking in the beauty of that area, I eventually went downstairs to the kitchen. I was hoping that maybe some water would help me get to sleep by some logic.
I searched the cupboards for glasses, eventually finding some and filling one up with water.
I'm in an uncomfortable situation. I'm here, not knowing why, while I have no necessities or toiletries or clothes.
I need Zayn to get better so I can get the fuck out of here.
As I drank my water, my blood froze when I suddenly heard movement at the front doors.
Chills went up my spine as I slowly set my glass of water down, listening as I heard the doors unlock.
I didn't have the time to hide, because within the next second, the doors busted open and a body came stumbling through.
My first thought was an intruder—that someone was breaking in, here to rob or hurt Harry and I. But instead, I'm left in shock when I saw Harry come down the hall.
I immediately grew confused—I thought he was up in his room this whole time.
Upon a single glance, I could see that he was kind of disheveled. His hair was a mess, he wasn't walking straight, and most concerning of all...his head was bleeding.
"Harry!" my voice raised with concern, seeing his state. I would've just left it alone but he didn't look good.
He cupped his ear as he looked at me for the first time. "Christ, quiet down." he murmured. "So fuckin' loud for no reason."
He threw his keys on the counter, and then walked past me to the fridge.
"What the hell happened to you? You're bleeding." I pointed out the obvious.
Scanning the inside of the fridge, Harry kept his back to me.
"Got into a fight." he mumbled...and that's when I noticed how slurred his speech was.
"Are you drunk?" I asked, watching as he kept his back to me and shrugged as he reached into the fridge.
Without answering, he turned around from the fridge, closing it as he held a bottle of beer in his hand.
"Harry!" I scolded, immediately reaching to grab the beer from him. If he was already plastered, he shouldn't be making it worse.
"What the fuck." he uttered as I took the drink from him.
"Your head looks really bad." I told him, which caused him to roll his eyes and walk away.
"I just wanted to come home and get drunk and pass the fuck out." he complained as I followed him to the living room.
"You already are drunk..." I said as he plopped himself down on the couch.
"Fine." he rolled his eyes yet again, "More drunk. I wanted to get more drunk."
This man is impossible.
I sighed and walked over to the couch, sitting down on the glass coffee table in front of him. He leaned back on the couch, head resting on the top with his eyes shut.
"Why'd you get into a fight?" I questioned, looking at his cut head.
"I pissed some people off." he told me without hesitation, like it was nothing.
I furrowed my brows, "What people?"
"People who will apparently break a glass over your head if you piss them off." he scuffled.
My eyes went wide, shocked at what happened and shocked at his nonchalant feelings about it.
I was curious to know what led up to him getting hit, but first that wound needs to be cleaned.
So that brings us to right now, where I'm currently standing up from the coffee table to go into the kitchen. Harry doesn't say anything when I leave.
I go into the kitchen and grab a washcloth that was hanging from the stove. I turn on the tap, letting the water run warm before soaking the cloth in it and ringing it out.
After that, I hurry down the hall and into the bathroom to scavenge through his drawers. Luckily, I found some bandages.
I go back to the kitchen, grabbing the cloth as I held the bandaids in my other hand and went back to the living room.
Harry's eyes peek open when I re-enter, and he looks down at my full hands. His brow arches.
"What are you doing?"
I stand in front of the couch, looking at him sitting in front of me. "I'm cleaning your cut up." I tell him passively.
He scoffs. "I'd like to see you try, Picasso."
"Well, I'm going to." I shrug off his comment as I take a seat down next to him, placing the bandaids on the coffee table.
"I don't need you to help me."
"You literally have an open gash on your forehead...it'll get infected if it's not cleaned." I mutter, trying my best to keep my head held high and not let him discourage me.
I'm getting used to these comments he makes. Hopefully soon I'll learn to completely tune them out.
He looks at me with pensive eyes, before sighing and giving in. He rests his head back again and shuts his eyes once more.
I take the damp cloth and bring it to his forehead, dabbing it around the wound. There's dry blood dripping down the side of his head.
"Do you often get into drunken fights?" I ask quietly as I clean the cut.
"I wasn't drunk during the fight." he murmurs with his eyes shut.
My brows furrow and I tilt my head which he couldn't see. If he was sober during the fight then that means he went and got drunk after the fact.
I don't urge any more questions toward him, instead just putting that tidbit of information aside and continuing to clean.
His hair was getting in the way, so instinctively I brought my hand up to his forehead to push his curls back. When my palm touched his skin, he froze for a brief moment.
I guess I would've done the same.
After clearing all the blood up, I set the cloth down and grab the bandaid box.
"It's not deep enough that you'll need stitches." I tell him, opening the box to grab a big beige bandage in the shape of a square.
I peel the paper off, looking down at my fingers.
"Why are you helping me?" he murmurs in a drunken state. I don't look at him, just continuing to unwrap the bandage.
Did he expect me to just let his head bleed out? Helping is like a part of my dNA. It satisfies me to help people...even people like him.
I just shrug as I bring the sticky bandage to his cleaned wound. "Because you needed the help." I tell him simply, causing his eyes to open as I place the bandage on the wound.
Our eyes meet for a moment before I avert mine away quickly. "Okay, you're all clean." I place the bandages on the table again.
He inhales through his nose as he sits up a bit, leaning with his elbows on his knees. He rubs his eyes a bit while I stand up and take the cloth and bandages to put them away.
But, as I go to stand, I feel his hand quickly snap around my wrist. It sends a chill up my back, feeling his touch especially after what happened earlier tonight in the guest bedroom.
I look down at him, meeting his green eyes that were looking up at me.
He looks serious, his jaw clenching for a moment as he gazes at my own eyes. His pink lips part for a moment and his eyes flick between my own.
After a moment, he just drops my wrist.
"Goodnight." —that's all he mumbled.
I clear my throat and nod, still taken aback from the action.
"Night." I say in reply, blowing out an exhale as I turn and leave him in the living room.
I'm dying to know what he was thinking.
Harry Styles
I'm used to the feeling of waking up with a killer hangover, however it's not a sensation that I can say I enjoy.
My eyes open, being met with sunlight pouring through my bedroom windows. How'd I end up in here? I can't remember much after the fucking fight.
The fight...now it's just another thing on my plate that I need to deal with.
I sit up with a groan, immediately feeling how sore my entire fucking body was. My arms, legs, my head...everything just ached like hell.
I hate hangovers.
I'm still in the clothes I was in last night, my mouth is as dry as a desert and I need a shower. It's funny, because after a night of drinking I always regret it because of the consequences I face in the morning...but I'll always end up doing it all over again. A vicious cycle.
Uncomfortably forcing myself to shift on the bed, I throw my legs over the edge so I was sitting up. With my back to the windows, I rub my eyes. I feel like I could sleep for hours but I have shit I need to do today.
I grab my phone on the nightstand, immediately seeing some missed texts from the guys—texts I don't care enough to answer right this second. I check the time, reading the '11:13 AM' in white letters at the top of the screen.
I'm fucking hungry.
I press my palms into the mattress to push myself up onto my feet. My head immediately spins when I stand, dizziness hitting me like a wave. I had to place my hand on the nightstand, letting myself catch my balance before walking out of my room.
I walk out of the bedroom and head down the hall, heading for the bathroom. On the way, I pass the open guest bedroom where Elaina was staying.
I peek inside, confirming my thoughts that it was empty. That must be why I can hear noise from the kitchen downstairs, she's down there.
I get to the bathroom, squinting as I flick on the light. The first thing I see is myself in the mirror.
Jesus, I look rough.
There's a bandage on the right side of my forehead. Perceiving that made me remember last night, when Elaina was cleaning up my wound. I'm still shocked that she helped me.
It's annoying. She's a people pleaser, and I hate people pleasers. I'm sure she only helped me to satisfy herself and not feel any guilt.
I may not have known Elaina for a long time, but I know for a fact that she barely knows herself. Either she's great at hiding things, or she just can't figure herself out if her life depended on it.
Apart of me wants to dig deeper and get her to reveal things, but the other part of me just doesn't give two fucks.
I grab my toothbrush and pile some toothpaste on, brushing my teeth. I place one hand on the sink counter while glancing at the bags under my eyes in the mirror with the toothbrush in my mouth. I brush my tongue, making my best attempt to get rid of the taste of this hangover, topping it off with a rinse of mouthwash.
After that, I splash some cold water onto my face, still feeling the pounding headache and I'm sure the wound on my forehead wasn't helping much with that.
I open up the medicine cabinet next to the mirror, seeing the compiled orange bottles and white bottles. I just pop two ibrupofen, bending down to the sink to get some water so I can swallow them.
Leaving the bathroom and heading for the stairs, my nose fills with the scent of food. I could smell bacon and eggs and something sweet. My brows furrow as I walk into the kitchen, my eyes landing upon the mess on my kitchen island.
Food, mixing bowls, silverware.
Among it all, was Elaina. She stood at the stove with her back to me, cooking an egg on a pan. She was in the sweats and shirt I gave her, her hair thrown up into a ponytail that had hairs flying everywhere.
She's making breakfast?
"Picasso?" I say, making my presence known. She turns around at the sound of my voice, a spatula in her hand as the egg sizzles behind her.
"You're awake." she remarks.
Obviously?
"What are you doing?" I question as I look over the messy counter.
She takes the spatula and scoops the sunny side up egg off the pan and onto a plate. "Big breakfasts cure hangovers." she says.
She's making breakfast...for us? For my hangover?
I watch as she assembles two plates. She puts an egg onto each, along with two slices of bacon, and half a waffle.
"You get hungover a lot?" I arch my brow as she slides my plate and a fork to me across the island.
"Not me." she shakes her head, her tone a little quieter. "But my friends back in Denver."
"Like your boyfriend."
She just gives me a glare, not saying anything. I don't get why she's so downlow about it. She never talks about him, nor will she even admit she's with him. Maybe his dick really is small and she's embarrassed.
She pours two glasses of water, sliding one over to me carefully before she leans against the island and starts to eat.
I'm skeptical. I don't really know why, but it's weird that she'd make me such a big breakfast like this. I was pretty positive she hated me.
"Are you gonna eat or did I waste my time and energy making you food?" she murmurs as she cuts the egg with the side of her fork.
"You probably poisoned mine." I say, half-sarcastic.
"Wish I had, but not this time. Eat, and drink the water." she scolds, causing me to roll my eyes.
God, she's annoying.
I reach forward and grab the glass bottle of syrup, pouring some onto the half of waffle taking up half of my plate. The sweet syrup fills the divets.
I'm not eating because she told me to, I'm eating because I'm hungry.
I use my fork to cut the waffle, stabbing it and holding it up by my eyes to examine it.
"Harry, just eat it." Elaina whines from across the counter, giving me an annoyed look as I hesitate.
She really could've poisoned me...I would've.
Returning her glare, I take the piece of waffle into my mouth. It wasn't until my mouth closed to chew that Elaina finally looked away and focused on her own breakfast.
The sweetness of the syrup and the waffle itself hit my tastebuds, the waffle being cooked perfectly. I tried not to roll my eyes, because I was expecting it to be gross.
I guess she is an artist, she wants things to be done to perfection.
A people pleaser and a perfectionist. God help me.
I glance at her as she chews some bacon. My eyes look down to her plate, seeing how none of her food was touching and everything was organized to its own section of the plate. I suppose I was right about the perfectionist bit.
I grab my water glass and take a good sip, almost instantly feeling a bit better.
"How's your head?"
I flick my eyes up at her once more, cutting a piece of my egg off and shrugging. "It's fine."
"We should probably change your bandage after br—"
"I don't need you to do anything." I cut her off, making her face fall. "Stop trying to fix a situation you don't know about."
Her brows furrow in offence. "I'm just trying to help."
"Why?" I retort, "Why help someone who wouldn't help you?"
I watch as her eyes widen a bit and she sticks her head forward. "Wouldn't help m—are you kidding?" she scoffs.
I just narrow my eyes.
She throws her fork down on her plate. "So if you would never help me, then what was the whole paying for my art supplies thing? Hmm? Because that helped. You saved me money."
"That's hardly the same thing." I shake my head.
"You also helped me when I passed out at the bar and hit my head." she points out, making me roll my eyes.
"That wasn't just me. It was a team effort."
She shakes her head. "I don't care. My point is, we've both helped each other in some way so now we're even."
Hardly.
I shake my head in annoyance and stab a piece of egg to eat. Silence fell between her and I, the only noise being our forks hitting the porcelain plates.
I flick my eyes up from my plate in curiosity as I chew, seeing her looking down at her own food.
It's weird, I didn't expect her to look like this.
So...innocent.
I guess books really can't be judged by their covers.
"Can you tell me about the fight now?" she says as she chews on a piece of bacon.
Jesus fucking—
"If I told you nothing when I was drunk what makes you think I'd tell you anything sober?" I speak in aggravation.
Artists ask too many fucking questions.
She looks to me, expression not changing as she looks back down at her plate. She doesn't say anything for a moment, her jaw clenching as she slices a section of the waffle.
"To be honest with you, I know something is being hidden from me." she says.
There's a lot she doesn't know.
I drop my fork and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms as I just keep my eyes on her.
She looks up again and our eyes meet. "I know you guys aren't journalists like you claim to be."
A slight smirk pulls on my lips and I tilt my head, not taking my sights off of her at any point.
"Is that so, Picasso?" I murmur.
She nods, not backing down but I could see in her eyes that her confidence was diminishing.
"Between your fight and Zayn being in the hospital...something tells me that there are a few pieces of the puzzle missing." she says, then she leans forward a bit, speaking again,
"Zayn wasn't in a motorcycle accident, was he?" her voice drops as she looks at me, eyes flicking between mine for an answer as if she'd find one.
She's trying to be intimidating but clearly she underestimated exactly who she was speaking to.
I clear my throat nonchalantly, standing up from my chair and then planting my palms on the hard surface, leaning in on them.
She recoils a bit despite the distance, crossing her arms over her stomach.
I smirk, my eyes looking her up and down.
"Do I scare you?" I utter, my tone lower.
She bites her bottom lip, looking at me with insecure eyes now. I knew the honest answer.
"No." she simply lies.
I pout my bottom lip, giving a slight nod.
"I should scare you." I shrug, taking my hands off the island and grabbing a piece of bacon from my plate, uttering last words before walking away...
"Because you're right," I say, "I'm not a journalist, Picasso. Journalists write their pieces on people like me."
With that, I leave her in the kitchen.
//
harry's first pov ahhh
things are gonna spice up soon!