" you make me feel like a fool, waiting for you "
---
harry styles.
"It's at 7, Z," I nervously mumble while wandering down the hall with my phone tucked against my ear, anxiously rubbing the back of my neck while talking to my friend on the other end of the line.
It's been nearly 2 weeks since I've asked her on a date, and I've managed to deem this tonight the night.
Her bruises have faded almost completely now, simply sporting a pale shade of yellow around the scarred tissue from the stitches.
And the radiating pain within her knee has subsided as well as her slowing concussion. Though we're still being cautious, she's virtually back to herself again and that's all I could ask for. Truly, it manages to work itself out since my fight is next Friday, which leaves my girl and I all to ourselves tonight.
But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't losing my goddamn mind with every passing second today.
The whole 9 goddamn yards. Fuck me.
"Relax, alright? You know her, it's already casual," Zayn calms me through the phone while unclipping my keys from the belt loop. The jingling sound echoes across the hall with my harsh scoff, leisurely unlocking the front door to my loft before stepping into its stillness.
Since she wanted the whole thing, the two of us decided to split up and meet up at the restaurant downtown as if this were the first thing we did — like normal people.
But the brutal reality of her not being by my side hits me like a strident slap in the face, it's almost as if not understanding something without losing it. God, that night at the hospital was the worst of it.
"And if I fuck up? What the hell do I do then?" I roughly mumble while I set my keys on the marble countertop.
Zayn's rolling laugh seeps through the speaker and into my ear, eliciting an eye roll out of me as I begin trekking through the darkness, only illuminated by the silver light spilling in from the moon's own curiosity. "You're overthinking it, Styles, it's quite amusing actually," he chuckles to which I huff with every step I take to my bedroom above.
"Fuck off, alright? I've never done this before unless ..." I murmur out my thoughts to which Zayn snorts, quickly covering it up with a cough as I place him on speakerphone and set it on my dresser.
"Unless you wanted to hook up with them," he finishes my sentence for me while I glide open my closet door, now accompanied by half of my clothes and half of hers. "Okay, well, we can work with this ... I think?" He questions himself over the phone, listening to Gigi's rasping giggles muffle through the speaker beside him.
"Fuck's sake! Z–" I grit out as if they're simply sitting in the room with me, getting frustrated at them, myself, and the limited clothing selection before me.
"Harry, listen, you'll be fine, you'll both be fine. Just be nice, compliment her, and you have flowers, right?" Gigi chimes in.
"Yeah," I mindlessly hum as I draw out the casual, black suit from my closet. I wander back over to my dresser, laying out my suit onto the duvet.
I begin gradually replacing the casual clothes draped over me for the black button-down, black suit jacket, and these black dress pants that have an intricate pink flower embroidered on the hem towards the bottom.
I swipe on extra deodorant before sliding my dress shirt up to my shoulders, leaving it laid open to my bare skin beneath.
"See, it won't nearly be as bad as you think it will be," Zayn mumbles to me while I button the dress shirt up, deliberately leaving the top few undone before adjusting the cuff buttons at my wrist.
I grumble under my breath while tucking my shirt into the waistband of my pants and looping a leather black belt through the loops, lifting my eyes to the mirror before me to ensure it's all okay.
"Right," I casually mumble to Zayn on the other end of the line, lacking any and every bit of confidence I typically have.
Just something about her, I swear, its got me all mind fucked.
He laughs it up, of course, it'd be easy for the two of them — they were made for each other and they deserved that.
Yet, here I am, forcing myself to believe every day that this isn't a figment of my imagination because she's still around. She's still putting up with me, even when I was convinced no one would — hell, my own dad couldn't stand me, what could she possibly see in me?
My fingers curl into the wood of my dresser, leaning into the structure while slowly becoming overwhelmed with this. Hanging my head in defeat, I pinch my eyes shut for a moment while practically perceiving my heart ram against my ribcage with every mechanical beat.
"Styles," Zayn's voice filters through the crackling speaker of my phone to which I hum softly, knowing he's seen the worst sides of me over the years. "It'll be alright, okay? It's impossible not to love you, mate," he chimes to which I nearly asphyxiate on air.
"Goodbye," I gather myself together, standing upright once more while gazing down at his caller ID on my illuminated screen.
Both Gigi and Zayn's laughter rings through the line, snickering at just how worked up I am right now over a goddamn date, no less.
"Bye! Don't fuck it up!" He decides to chime before the line ends, cutting off my friend with the consistent beeping letting me know I'm on my own now. I shut my phone off, expelling a short puff of air as if attempting to get rid of all my nerves.
I wander into the bathroom, flickering the light on to reveal its clean state minus her hair iron thing on the marble countertop. I unhurriedly brush my teeth once more, flossing my teeth to kill time, and ruffling my hair out to attempt to make it look somewhat better but a few curls seem to be persistent and just fall over my forehead.
I shake out my hands, checking the time on my watch before cursing under my breath. I quickly head out, rummaging through my closet for my dress shoes to yank onto my feet. The glossy, red with thick, black rubber-heeled boots hug my feet too tight from lack of wear, and I vexedly curse under my breath as I tug them on.
God, the things I do for this girl.
I swipe my phone from my dresser, fisting my suit jacket splayed over my duvet before descending the stairs. The heels of my boots hit the wood, resounding through the hollow of my loft that resembles the placidity that existed before her.
I slide my arms into my suit jacket, rolling my shoulders a bit to ease out tense muscles. I grab my keys while leaving the sunflowers for her display once she gets back, and without fail, clipping my carabiner up to a belt loop close by my hip before heading out.
I slip out of the unusual silence engulfing my loft, clenching and unclenching my fists while perceiving my rings tighten on each knuckle with my nerves.
I head down to the ground floor, wandering out in hopes of receiving a text from her at least to let me know if she's on her way like I am but it's simply radio silence.
I tuck my hands into my pockets, attempting to contain all of my nervous self as I trek down the pavement to my motorcycle illuminated by the glow spilling from the streetlights above.
Only with my fucking luck did my car need attention tonight, therefore, she's in the safe hands of my friends downtown at the garage getting a tune-up. Instead, I've decided to spice things up a bit, switching out my usual car with an unorthodox, temporary motorcycle.
Hell, since I'm diving headfirst into something I've never planned to do in my life, might as well keep the cycle going, right? Let's just hope she doesn't kill me for it.
Throwing a leg over my motorcycle to settle in as I slide my helmet over my head, I twist my keys into their place to thrum the louder, vibrating engine to life. I kick the stand up and draw away from the curb with the revving engine flooding the quiet along the barren street.
I support my body slanted forward, hands tight on the throttle as I speed down the illuminated street. I tap my fingers on the top of the handle, knowing my way through traffic while recklessly flying through the streets just for the momentary thrill.
Cutting through the polluted air, the sensation can only be described as liberating without the shackles of anything holding me back. Hell, it's the only other way I could describe how she makes me feel.
Nevertheless, the downtown scene is still glowing with bright lights and daunting buildings beside the river. I managed to arrive at the valet in front of the most exclusive of restaurants in the city.
And I kicked out the stand at the bottom before casually throwing my leg back over, drawing my helmet off before ruffling my hair and handing over my singular key to the valet boy with a hefty tip — I was feeling quite generous tonight.
I inevitably reach for a cigarette to keep myself sane from my pocket, rolling it between my lips before absentmindedly contacting for my lighter. I wander over to the side of the building, tilting my head down for a moment while rolling the spark wheel to elicit a hot-orange flame at the end of my white stick. I burn through the end, sucking in the thick drag to produce a glow at the cigarette cherry with its mind-numbing effects.
I toss my lighter into the pocket, sliding the lethal cigarette between my fingertips as I stare out at the passing cars and city-light filtering out the stars from the sky. I expel the thick smoke from my lungs, allowing it to blend with the wind gushing beside me from the riverside.
The potent smoke remedies the nerves ransacking my mind and every inch of me, trickling down to my core. The temporary fix functioning its magic all through the night-lit city that has always seemed to put my minuscule existence into perspective, just as the stars do.
I regard couples clearing in and out of the place, to no doubt as luxuriously dressed as I am. Securing the dwindling cigarette between my lips, I draw back my suit jacket at my wrist to check the time as if counting down the seconds until I merely wake up from this dream.
7:02.
I huff once more to expel the last of the drags I could consume tonight, glancing around to catch no sight of my girl. Nonetheless, I button up my suit jacket while stomping out the glowing cigarette on the pavement, stepping up the stairs while clipping the rest of my keys attached to the pink carabiner to my belt loop.
I rake my fingers through my hair, pushing through the front door to become engulfed in the scene of dim lights, candlelit, white cloth-clad tables, and the quiet clinking of cutlery over the subtle blend of conversation.
My eyes settle on the reception desk, shoving my nearly shaking hands into my pockets. "Hi," I politely mumble to nearly have the three of the women at the desk in light giggles.
Are my nerves that blatantly obvious?
"Reservation for 2, under Styles," I request while my fingertips toy with the fabric of my dress pants, and they nod in acknowledgment. I'm directed to follow a woman through the mellow restaurant, leisurely weaving past tables for two and booths set with flirtatious smiles and hushed laughter.
Eventually, she sets down menus at the small table set for two with meticulously placed cutlery, crystal glassware, and a flickering golden candle.
I settle into the seat with my heart racing out of control despite the contradictory atmosphere, casually undoing my button while doing so to leave my suit jacket comfortably undone. I murmur a thank you under my breath before she disappears, leaving my stomach in knots as I stare at the empty seat before me.
I recline into the comfortable seat, legs spread comfortably beneath the coverage of the white cloth over the table while my arm wraps around my torso and my other props up against my forearm to pinch my bottom lip between my fingertips while I simply wait.
She'd be here any minute, and that singular thought has me in pieces in the midst of various couples surrounding me. I glance down at my phone, still fully expecting a message of some sort to indication her arrival but it remains dishearteningly blank — a sinking abyss of darkness into which I begin slowly slipping.
After minutes of progress with my continuous curiosity at the passing time, a test of my own damn patience, my leg gradually begins bouncing beneath the table as my heart thrashes in my chest. I harshly rub at my jaw as my nerves engulf me, furling around me like restraining chains.
And that seat before me is still completely and utterly vacant.
"Hi, are we still waiting on–" a waiter gallantly wanders by, but my nerves snap like a tether drawn far too taut.
"Yes," I harshly grit out in quick exasperation, and he stiffens a bit while I continue staring into the blackness of the place before me, meant for my girl. He quickly escapes from my blunt rudeness, attending to his other tables while I grow restless at the sight.
Biting the inside of my cheek until it nearly bleeds, coating my tongue with a subtle metallic taste, my anxiety transitions into vexation with every passing second. My heart sinks further and further into my stomach with every shattering heartbeat as long as that seat remains hollow without her presence.
She fucking stood me up.
The waiter comes around once more, but I cut him a pointed glare to which he quickly backs away with a simple forewarning look.
I reach for my phone, inevitably scrolling through until navigating towards hers. I swallow down my pride, clicking the contact before bringing it close to my ear.
I pin my screen up against my ear, listening to the consistent thrum of the ring echo like a haunted melody trickling down my spine.
My blood rushing through my ear nearly overpowers the ringing of my phone in the midst of the quiet ambiance of the restaurant scene before me.
"This caller is currently unavailable–" I end the call within seconds as it harshly beeps, cursing under my breath before dialing her again.
I listen and I listen to the incessant goddamn ringing before being met with: "This caller is currently un–"
"This caller is curre–"
"This caller is currently–"
"This caller–"
I curse under my breath after the fifth call to earn a few, curious eyes in my direction, sitting up a bit before my heart begins racing out of control. My anger is brewing, overflowing past its threshold with my tightening grip on my device. My nausea stirs through my stomach, pitted with my aching heart at the hollowing feeling of rejection.
And I hastily call up Niall, sliding the phone up against my ear while I continue to repeat that god-awful ringing while my leg shakes beneath the table.
"Fuck, come on, Ni," I mumble under my breath, glancing over at the sight of the waiter once more with an apprehensive smile fitted on his face under the dim lights of the restaurant.
I just lift a halting free hand to him, and he huffs as he knows to walk himself away once more.
"Hey, Styles! I heard you're going on an adorable, little date tonight–" Ni playfully begins, but my teeth grit at his words as my jaw tightens to wire-shut.
"Track her, I need you to tell me where the hell she is, Ni," I seethe under my breath, my words and each of their syllables laced in deadly venom.
His flustered words resound through my ear while he stammers on his words. "Fuck, okay, relax, 'm sure she's–" he commences but his words fall completely flat, just as my heart does within my chest.
My soul stops entirely in my body, "Ni," I sharply warn his placid silence that's quite literally palpable through the phone. "Ni," I snap in a hushed tone with every bit of my words still lacerating like a knife, and he jumps to life on the other end of the phone.
"Do you happen to be by the ... docks?" He nervously mumbles.
My heart sinks further into the pit of my belly stirring in unsettling knots that seem to just coil around my pounding heart. A surge of adrenaline courses through my veins at his striking words, seething this burning hot anger within me to solely thoughts of her.
This gut feeling settles inside me, realizing that something is just so wrong.
"Send it to me," I've never said faster at my intuition, "now," frantically gathering myself up and panic-strickenly digging into my pocket to toss a hundred dollar bill onto the untouched table.
I weave through tables with a tightening grip on my phone at the news, hastily sliding past people to just get the hell out of here and the walls caving in on me.
"Have a good night–" a trilling, feminine voice from the front desk calls out, unable to respond to the motherfucking comment before I slam out the door to the warmth of the city night air to my already overheating skin.
With every step I carry forward, every pound of the heels of my boots into the pavement, this indescribable rage sets in deep within my veins like a coursing drug.
We can't have nice fucking things it seems.
---
rip date night i guess lol.
sorry for the short chapters ! but buckle up, it's madness from here <3
hey! i love you,
h.