SEPTEMBER
Harry doesn't like mornings. He doesn't like to wake up to the whiteness of his ceiling, a little bit of longing and foreignness in his chest, he doesn't like the dull thumping of the headache against his temples. He doesn't like the way Niall looks at him as he, strewn the covers off his body, slowly makes his way into the bathroom, his eyes halfway closed and unfocused because of his recent waking from his short sleep.
He brushes his teeth to get rid of the uncomfortable leftover taste of alcohol on his tongue and has a shower, letting the hot water drops roll down his spine while he throws his head back, his curls quickly dampening and sticking to his forehead. Harry is petty, so he puts his hand on the glass of the shower wall making the fog that was on it melt under his wet palm, another reminder for Niall that despite his wild night he still managed to get into the shower first, that will promptly show up in the moment the other boy will turn on the shower head.
He washes his hair and washes his body, taking some minutes to quickly relieve the tension in his muscles from being curled up on his bed for hours, releasing his stress in the water below. He quickly moves to the side, washing his hands in the jet of water before taking the shower head and quickly cleaning his mess, making sure the shower is as stark clean as he found it. Niall wouldn't be happy about it if he found out despite him having erased all evidence, but Harry is just that petty, and doesn't really care.
He pulls his head back and takes some more minutes to linger in the warmth before passing his hand on the shower wall and looking at the little clock on the side of the sink, widening his eyes when he sees the time and quickly turning off the water and stepping outside on the bathroom mat, standing there for a few seconds, cold and wet, his hands wrapped around his middle and his hair dripping water down his neck, before taking a towel and drying his hair up a bit with it before drying his body as well and wrapping it around his waist for the trip back to his bedroom.
He enters his room again and opens the wardrobe, not thinking much about it as he grabs the first pair of black jeans he finds and pairing it with a black long sleeved shirt, feeling like hiding in the shadows a bit more that day, to the extent he could of course, hoping that it would've dissuaded at least a few people from talking to him, worsening the ache in his head. He finished his painkillers a few days ago and he still hasn't bought more, and he certainly won't dare to ask Maura for help today, not wanting her to know that once more, he's spent his night out making easily forgotten memories.
By the time he makes his way downstairs the headache has been paired to a sense of nausea at the back of his throat, so he quickly disregards the possibility of having breakfast and pours himself a glass of water, hoping that it will be enough to get him through the day. He finishes it and puts it back on the table, exiting the room and taking his black coat, putting it on quickly and turning around just in time to shoot Niall a cold glare as he rushes down the stairs, letting him know that he is late again.
The drive to school is silent and monotonous as always, Harry not caring enough to say anything, Niall being too tired to make conversation.
They arrive at school and Harry takes a deep breath before turning off the car and opening the door, stepping outside in one quick move, knowing that at that time in the morning they aren't the only people in the parking lot, and his actions are surely observed. He closes the door, hard but not harshly, making sure that it makes just the perfect sound to announce his arrival. He doesn't know why he does that as he doesn't particularly like having people stare at him, but it's kind of addicting, and he just can't stop. He proceeds to lock his car as soon as Niall steps out too, in a less showy way because Harry's move has already caught everybody's attention and he doesn't need to try any harder, before turning around and sending a glare to everyone that dares to meet his gaze.
It doesn't make much sense, he thinks, but in these days he's a living contradiction, and he doesn't really care about it. He hates the attention, but at the same time he would feel ignored if he didn't have it, so he resorts to glaring at everyone looking at him as a part of him cherishes inside, and another dies.
They make their way to their bench and sure enough, a blondie is on his legs as soon as he sits down. He doesn't know her name even though he should, but he sees her behaviour, up for an easy night in which he'll be hers just as much as she'll be his, and he doesn't really mind. But the only thing Harry isn't is easy, and he knows he'll make her sweat and cry before even daring to give her as much as his attention for more than a few seconds.
Her lips land on his and something inside him jolts, but he lets her kiss him, knowing that it's the least he can do to repay her for the attention she gives him on the daily. Moments like these are what makes his dull, identical days a bit more consistent, in which the closeness of another body to his brings some warmth into his limbs. Maybe he'll call her that night, maybe he'll call someone else to forget life for a while. Or maybe he'll curl up on his bed and stare at the opposite wall for hours until his eyes are tired and his heart rate slows down so much that he could be dead and he lets himself drift off to a white sleep, the short resting hours he gives himself enough to keep the nightmares away.
Rationality and unreality mix together as he stands up, his head spinning for a couple of seconds because of the lack of sleep and food in his stomach. As he walks inside the building, everything's a dream. From the smell of teen existence and circumstance to the bright lights above his head as he walks in the middle of the hallway with a self-assurance he certainly doesn't possess, but is so good at faking. Voices fade away, faces run by.
As his first class starts he's unfocused, unable to keep his mind on whatever doesn't immediately catch his attention. But at the same time, he's aware. He knows that the two girls sitting behind him are talking about him, he knows what the teacher is talking about, he just chooses not to care. Niall is sitting down next to him, commenting on everything and nothing at the same time, and Harry ignores him while pretending to listen, his voice a low confused mumbling in the background of his thoughts.
The man at the front of the room writes maths but he doesn't really care, he knows he can just look into what he's doing at a later time, when his head isn't spinning that bad and he doesn't feel like he's about to pass out, or fall asleep. He could go out and get himself something to drink in the cafeteria, but he knows that him simply standing up would catch everyone's attention, and his mind feels too faint for him to be able to fake it in that moment. He leans back against the chair and looks down at his desk, taking a deep breath as Niall finally shuts up. He's too exhausted to think and too exhausted to listen, and he just lets his mind focus on white for a while.
The bell rings and he only notices because Niall stands up, and he gathers his stuff, following him out of the room. He looks up and sees a flash of a dark, reddish tone as Niall starts talking next to him, insisting for him to go out with one of his friends. If only he could bring himself to care. He hears his own voice reply, his autonomous drive finally kicking in, his mind only halfway paying attention to what the boy is saying.
"Have fun with Luke, for fuck's sake! He's a good boy, probably won't walk around the school with your underwear held up proudly in his hand as a prize!" Niall exclaims, making his attention span rise all of sudden. He must've done it on purpose, he knows that.
"I hardly believe Janette would do such a thing" Harry says in reply, his voice low, a slight frown on his features. "That would be ridiculous" he adds for good measure, when all he really can think about is the ache in his head, that just became more prominent.
"Harry Styles!" Someone calls him all of sudden, and it doesn't sound like a student so he stops in his tracks, turning around and immediately regretting it. In front of him there's a woman in her mid-forties, her hair dark and short, and he just might know who she is. "Have you thought about it?" She asks as soon as she reaches him, and he gives her a confused glance, trying to remember what she's talking about. "I'm referring to being one of the models for my art class. I think you'd be a great addition to the lot."
He stares at her for a couple of seconds, feeling fainter all of sudden, trying to find the words to refuse. She's a teacher and he knows he has to sound polite in his answer, if only his brain could connect to his mouth in the daze, his standing position not helping.
"I'm sure he would love to!" Niall chimes in, and all of sudden Harry isn't that sorry about stroking himself into relaxation in the shower before Niall came in anymore.
The teacher smiles at him and nods, seeing it at her one time opportunity to accept the answer and leave, and Harry finds himself entertaining the idea of not cleaning after himself the next time he showers before Niall.
He shakes the thought away, knowing that he's much better than that, and finally makes his way into the cafeteria. He gets himself a coffee and drinks it slowly, feeling a dip of hunger in his stomach but knowing that he'll inevitably puke every kind of food he puts in it. The coffee helps, and he finds himself feeling way better, the daze fading away and leaving him with just the dull pain against his skull. He regrets his past night and promises himself not to do it again, but he knows that as soon as the time comes he'll be in a dark room smelling of sweat and regrets as he gulps down more alcohol than his body can take, drinking himself into oblivion just to wake up the next day and wish he hadn't before doing it all over again.
He spends the class after his free period there, not feeling like attending it - and knowing he'll just not pay attention if he does go in. The time flies by, and before he knows it he has to stand up and return to his duties of student, not wanting the woman in the cafeteria to suspect anything. He decides to completely ignore the promise Niall had unwarrantedly made in his name to that nameless teacher and makes his way to his next class, just to be stopped by his teacher before he can make it halfway through the room.
"Mrs Davis has already asked for permission to take you out of his class for this hour, you can go, don't worry" he says, and Harry knows he's fucked.
He sighs and nods and walks out of the room, ignoring his wishes of sitting down on a chair and never standing up again, and he finds the first map hanging around on the walls of the building, searching for the classroom Mrs Davis teaches in before making his way towards it, a slow pace in his step even though he knows the class has already started, because if he really must go there against his will, he might as well be given the right to be late. He arrives there and some people are waiting outside, shattering his dreams of leaning against the wall with his eyes closed for a while.
He thanks the heavens for having made the decision of drinking some coffee earlier and he straightens his back, reaching the door without a halt in his step and glaring at everyone that looks at him. A girl pouts, but he doesn't care, and just hopes it'll be enough to keep her from walking to him and trying to chat him up. He isn't right, but the door suddenly opens and it keeps her from going through with her plans.
"Come inside" the teacher says giving them all a winning smile, focusing on him for just a second longer, the look she gives him letting him know that she knows he doesn't want to be there, but doesn't really care about it. Despite being slightly annoyed by it, he can't help but respect that.
They go in the room and Harry makes sure to be the last, even though it won't affect the attention he'll be given when he'll make it through that door in any way. He stands a bit farther away from the others to dissuade the eventual delusional ones from trying to make conversation, staring right ahead, wanting nothing more than to leave. He knows that he'll have to nap for a while when he gets back home, the strain he put his body through in the past week being way too much and rest being needed if he doesn't want to end up fainting, which would just result in Maura paying him a bit more attention for the next month or so, which would be nothing but unwanted.
Everyone is looking at him and he's annoyed, he isn't at his best in that moment and he doesn't know if they can tell. Glaring at them would serve no purpose. He's hot, he knows that, just as much as he knows that they'll fight like tigers in the second they'll understand what's going on.
He knows he's what every person's wildest sexual fantasy is made of. He's perfectly aware of the way the air in the room shifted in the second everyone's eyes landed on him. He could look at them, he could give them something to swoon about, but he knows he doesn't need to. He doesn't need to try in the slightest for people to like him, and although it is refreshing at times, others it's almost suffocating.
The teacher talks and he isn't paying attention, he's already forgotten her name. She starts calling names, and he wonders if Zayn could share some of his weed with him to help him sleep that afternoon.
All of sudden his name is called with a hint of annoyance, making him think that it isn't the first time. He looks around the classroom trying to understand what's going on, and all of sudden his gaze meets the brown one of a girl sitting on the side of the room. Her eyes are wide, the look in them shocked, and all of sudden he feels like a zoo animal. He gives her a cold look but she doesn't look down, making him think that maybe it isn't that random, and they do have something to do with each other. He scans her face, trying to remember if they had sex once when he was smashed, but she isn't his type and he can't place her, even though she certainly is looking at him as if she had a really clear idea of who he is.
The teacher walks towards her and they exchange some quiet words and the girl nods, closing her notebook and standing up before hesitantly making her way towards him.
Harry is surprised, he doesn't deny that, but he keeps his look on her cold, because nobody cares about what he thinks anyway, and the least he can do is keep up the appearance to a skilful level that almost borders on art.
"Uh, would you be okay with going to the garden at lunchtime?" She asks him, her voice shivering, and them having something to do with each other is a reality now. "Just so that you know, I can take a couple pictures and that's it. There's a nice light and everything."
He feels on the point of laughing at her words, the awkwardness of the line and the haziness of his mind making everything a little more hilarious. If he was in a different situation, maybe at the side of a dark room with a glass of straight vodka in his hand during a party, he thinks he'd relax his posture and maybe even accord her a little grinding against the wall, because she isn't his type, but still managed to catch his attention a little bit.
But he doesn't say a word, and he just nods and walks away.
• • •
Another thing Harry has come to dislike are afternoons. He can't exactly tell why, but there's something of so incredibly distressing in having that much time to himself, that he usually doesn't even know how to spend.
This afternoon, though, is different. Because instead of spending it in the quietness of his own room staring at the opposite wall in silence as he tries his very best not to think as he's now used to doing, or in the gym wearing himself out to exhaustion to drown the memories to the point of almost forgetting them, he's in front of a house. He doesn't give it a good look, because he honestly doesn't care about the house just as much as he doesn't care about the people that live inside, but it's white. He puts the knowledge aside and moves on.
As he quietly but quickly makes his way to the front door, all he wants to do is sleep, because once again he let himself be convinced by Zayn to go to a party the night before, and aspirin makes him sleepy. Normally he would've found a way to get out of the appointment, but he knows that if he doesn't go there today he'll have to do another day, and he'd honestly prefer to be done with the girl living inside as soon as possible.
He was wrong, she isn't nearly as thrilling as he thought she was. She doesn't even talk. Neither Harry does, but he usually doesn't need to - which is more than fine to him, most of the time. But at the same time, he can't even say she doesn't care about his presence, because her attention is always on him, and she seems to notice every little thing he does. He feels observed. He's thankful for his body, because he knows that if he wasn't as firm and good-looking as he is, he might feel self-conscious under her scrutinising glance. She annoys him, because she's giving him the attention he knows he doesn't want. She's supposed to swoon over him and try to chat him up, not look at him so concentratedly that he starts to worry she might see right through him without his permission.
He rings the doorbell, and someone scrambles down the stairs. He can hear it, and suddenly regrets coming here a little more. He doesn't have it in himself to deal with an overexcited puppy at the moment, he's tired, he's stressed, and he's already thinking that he has to change the sheets of his bed because it's long overdue. It isn't like he sleeps in it much though, so maybe he can delay it a little bit more.
The door opens and the girl is there again, gaping at him as if he was a deity himself. "I didn't think you'd come" she whispers, and Harry suddenly thinks that he should've stayed at home instead. He isn't the kind to easily find things awkward, because if he was he would've drowned in a pool of self-embarrassment a long time ago, but that line does nothing to help his stressed mood.
He just glances at her without saying a word though, because he knows that to her he must be nothing less than perfect, and he has no intention of changing her perception of him.
She moves to the side and he walks in, a step in perfect coordination with the other, not a side-glance to be spared as he makes the difference between them wider by simply walking inside. He looks at her, thinking that maybe he should ask for her name, because he's already forgotten it. Thinking about it, he never listened to it in the first place. He probably should've, considering that now he has to spend time with her, but then again, he has no intention of talking to her, so it doesn't really matter. She isn't his type, but even if he was, he knows he doesn't have to open his mouth or move an inch to impress her.
She mumbles something about a studio and once again Harry realises he wasn't even paying attention to what she was saying, but after all, it doesn't really matter. She goes upstairs, so he figures he should follow her, looking at her butt as he does so. It's not the best ass he's ever seen, but it's quite nice. He would probably rank it a three in his mental list, the top two being the blondie that often sits on him and the brunette he had sex with last night. She was quite loud, and he's glad he went to hers instead of taking her to his. It was a stupid choice after all, but he was smashed, and she seemed to be everything he wanted in that moment. He should know not to seek comfort in others for it's only temporary and circumstantial, but nights are dark and the thrill is exciting, and it's easy to forget.
He enters the room and the light is strong, making his eyes hurt and a hint of his headache resurface. She tells him where to put his jacket and he does, and then she just stares at him, making his heart beat faster because of the nervousness. His head spins, once again the lack of breakfast hitting him a bit harder, and he leans against the desk behind him, looking down as he does, not wanting her to spot his temporary drop in consciousness in his eyes. He wets his lips with his tongue, because he knows that something like that will certainly keep her attention off the lack of lucidity of his mind, before parting his lips and taking in a very deep breath, slowly, so that she wouldn't notice. The action is small, but it's enough to help him focus again, and he looks up, discovering, not much to his surprise, that her stare is still on him.
She mumbles something and exits the room, leaving him alone. Finally rid of her presence, Harry takes a hesitant look around in the room. The whiteness of everything compared to the tiredness coming from the couple of pills he took not longer than thirty minutes before makes everything look like a dream, or a vision.
He sighs and rubs one of his eyes with his finger, knowing that he has to get it together if he wants to make it out of that house alive. The exhaustion weighs down on his bones, his hands are cold even if the air in the room is warm, the slow, rhythmic beating of his heart so strong that he can feel it reverberating in his chest and up his throat, but he takes another deep breath and straightens his back, because faking it is what he does best, and he is fine.
He makes his way to the dark stool in the middle of the room, sitting down on it and feeling his tense muscles, that fought until then to keep him up for that day, relax and some of the haziness dissipate from his mind. He's more confident about his chances of keeping his facade up now, he can do it. He sighs, hating the way he's feeling. He should stop getting drunk every night, it's starting to get too much for his body to handle, he can feel it. Every day he drives himself a bit more towards complete exhaustion and the annihilation of his senses, and he knows he can't keep losing himself like that, but at the same time he doesn't seem to be able to restrain himself from letting go.
She comes back and tells him that the teacher wants a better picture, and that he should surprise her. He's confused, he doesn't know the looks of the pic she took some days before but he'd assumed it would've been enough. It isn't easy to get a bad picture of him, after all. Maybe she just isn't that good at drawing. He furrows his eyebrows as soon as she isn't looking, bothered by her words. Why has she asked him such a thing? He's never been asked to put his input in something before, and he most certainly doesn't like it now that he has. He'd figured he would've just had to sit somewhere and look good, not different from what he did on the daily in the end, but now she's asking him to do something. Does she want him to smile, or laugh? He doesn't want to. He has nothing to smile about. There's just one thing he can do that he's sure she would be happy with right away.
Without a word he stands up and takes off his shirt, because he's exhausted but he's hot, and it's not uncommon for him to hide behind his body.
She glances up and a shocked gaze finds its way in her brown irises, and she looks at him as if he's just told her he wants to take her over that wooden desk of hers. It takes a while for her to recover, and now his spine is slightly hurting because of being forced in such a straight position and his hands are so cold that he can feel the joints of his fingers become stiffer.
"Can I touch you?" She asks, staring at him in silence for a couple of seconds before making her way towards him, and Harry should've known. Her behaviour has been weird the whole time, but he should've understood that her end goal was the same as everyone else's.
He shoots her a cold look as she puts her finger under his chin and slowly lifts his head up, because even though he's glad he was able to clarify her mystery, he still feels kind of played. She looks at him for a second more before rushing away, leaving him frozen in that position, and Harry can't do anything but hope that she'll be done quickly and won't make any further move on him, because he doesn't want to make her his in that way, but he knows he's too exhausted to say no.
A sudden sound comes from outside and what isn't dead of him jolts as he feels his conscience being rudely yanked out of dreamland, his head turning fast towards the direction of the sound in surprise. He stares for a few seconds, his eyes slightly widened, as he tells himself that it was just a sound and it wasn't that big of a deal, the unexpectedness of it and his tiredness being enough to cause an irrational feeling of fear to bubble up in his chest, and then he resumes his position, acting as if nothing happened.
She takes a picture of him, and even though she isn't using the flashlight he feels his soul shrivel in the moment he hears the click of the camera. "So, are you gay?" She asks him with apparent nonchalance, and it's in that moment that Harry realises he's had enough.
"I don't see how my sexuality is any of your business" he says sharply, straightening his position and glaring at her, his reply coming quickly and harshly summoned by the deep sting of the question. He's never had any issue with his sexuality but he certainly knows people that do, which has caused him to considerably shut down about it in time. Whom he likes to fuck is nobody's business but his own, and despite him knowing that the question came out of the girl's mouth probably connected to an interest in him in a sexual way, he can't bring himself to care. He knows he's the one people talk about, he knows that he might seem quite interesting to an outer observant and he loves it, but he deeply dislikes the fact that it makes everyone feel like they have any right to ask him personal questions, without even knowing him.
"I'm so sorry" she stammers, panic in her voice and her eyes widened, "I just heard you and Niall talk once, so, yeah."
If Harry wasn't pissed before, he surely is now. He likes to have his privacy respected - mostly because it's the only thing he has left of truly his - and he can't believe she eavesdropped in one of their conversations. He feels violated, now, and he hates it. He hates the fact that a girl he doesn't even know managed to make him feel like that. "I think I've overstayed my welcome. I'm going" he says, standing up and taking his shirt from the floor and putting it on again quickly.
"You don't have to go" she says, remorse in her brown eyes, but Harry doesn't care.
He passes his fingers through his dark hair in a quick, instinctive motion, a strand getting caught in one of his rings and hurting as he pulls away, hating his action as soon as he does it, because he knows that it was real, that it told her he is upset, and she has no right to get hints on his current feelings. "I want to. I'll show myself out" he spits through his teeth, anger towards her and himself rising, making him clench his teeth so hard that for a second he fears they'll get stuck like that forever. Without giving her a chance to say anything else he exits the studio and rushes down the stairs, quickly leaving the house.
He quickly crosses the road, the adrenaline rush from the spurt of anger fastening his step, and he regrets parking in the other street, as he could've left much faster if he'd left his car in front of her house.
He gets in his car and leans back against the seat, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath trying to calm himself down, because he knows that driving around with anger rushing through his veins would lead nowhere good. A couple of minutes go by and the familiar tiredness starts to seep through his muscles again, and at that point he turns the key in the ignition and starts the engine, driving out of the spot he parked in less than an hour ago. The confrontation has left him even more exhausted than before, and even though the afternoon is young he still finds himself driving back home. He stops at a red light and he turns on the car stereo, not remembering what's the last thing he listened to. He scrunches up his nose when a soft piano music starts playing through the speakers and he turns it off quickly, knowing that his consciousness is by this moment hanging on by a thread, and he certainly doesn't need any help to fall asleep in the middle of the road.
Someone honks behind him and he looks up quickly, realising that the light turned green, and starts his car again, the distress from trying to stay awake making his muscles burn.
Finally he arrives at Niall's house and he parks in the driveway, leaving everything in the car and taking just his keys and wallet as he locks it and makes his way to the front door. He uses his key to open it, not feeling like ringing the doorbell and waiting for Niall to open, hoping that there won't be anyone around as he steps inside.
Once again, though, he's wrong, because he can hear Niall's voice in the living room as he closes the door. "What?" He asks, not understanding what he's saying, taking off his shoes and only in that moment noticing that he isn't wearing his jacket. He frowns, realising that he must've left it at the girl's house. He despises the idea of having to go back there to get it tomorrow.
"How did it go?" Niall asks him, his round voice clearer the second time, as he steps into the living room. He's lying on the couch, eating what looks like chips and watching the television.
"She asked me if I was gay" Harry says with a frown, standing there on the side of the room like a child who just forgot his way home, and Niall laughs at it. He doesn't know why he told him, but he's regretting doing it a little bit now. He feels his stomach hurt in hunger and nauseation as the other boy offers him some of his chips and he just shakes his head, surpassing the couch the other is lying on and going up the stairs.
When he arrives on the upper floor he takes his keys and unlocks the door to his bedroom before entering it and dropping them on the bunch of paper sheets on top of his little desk. He lies down on the bed, over the covers, staring at the white ceiling and wondering how he ended up here.
It isn't much, and it isn't home, but he's still grateful as he turns to lie on his side and curls up over the mattress, closing his eyes and letting real sleep overtake his brain for the first time in more than a week.
~ • ~
OCTOBER
Harry knows her name now. It's Sierra. He made sure to ask Niall when she gave him his jacket back a few weeks ago, because he's never met anyone as annoying as she is, but for some reason he isn't bothered by that, and he finds it intriguing.
They're in her garden, and he can't exactly tell why as it isn't fancy nor comfortable, but he's realised by now that she seems to have a thing for him and flowers. The first doesn't really surprise him, the second, however, does a bit, because he's pretty sure that if he'd been paired with someone else in that room he would've been almost naked the whole time - and probably in their bed a good half of it.
He's confused, because lately thoughts of her have seemed to pop up in his mind at the most random times, and he doesn't know why. For example yesterday, while he was hooking up with that sandy-haired boy he met at the party at Zayn's house almost a year ago. It was a bit awkward on his side as it was a boy, so he really can't say that he reminded him of her. Which means, of course, that her presence in his thoughts is entirely Harry's fault. He doesn't like to be this kind of distracted, as it keeps his mind away from the things that truly matter, but at the same time he doesn't know how to stop it.
He's sitting on the grass and he's cold, the lack of a jacket not helping him in the slightest. He tried his very best to take better care of himself in the past month, so he can't exactly say he's tired, but being out there with her is exhausting him to no end. He wishes he could just go home, or anywhere else in fact, and relax, because her simple presence is stressing him, and he doesn't like it.
His eyes flick to hers as soon as she kneels in front of him, and before he can tell what happened, a warm burgundy blanket is being draped over his shoulders. She leans a bit closer to him and now he can smell the faint perfume of lilacs of her hair. He never knew shampoo could smell like that, and now he's interested. It's a different smell from what he's used to. The hair of the girl that always sits on him smells like bubblegum, and even though he doesn't know what possessed her to believe it was a good idea, he doesn't mind it that much. Others usually smell of a mixture of different things he can't put his finger on, and now he's starting to think that maybe he should re-evaluate his life choices, because he's been more than respectfully close to one too many people.
She starts to move the blanket around on his shoulders, and Harry wishes that she would just stand back, because everything is starting to get a bit too much for him. Her fingers graze his neck, and he only notices when she mutters a low sorry, a faint blush on her cheeks. She looks up at him, and he shifts his gaze on her, and all of sudden he realises she's way closer to him than he'd expected her to be.
He isn't really sure about what happens next, but before he can even realise what's going on his lips are on hers, a wave of surprise hitting him in the second they touch.
She retracts quickly and falls back on the grass, a shocked look in her eyes that he's quite sure matches his. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, the thumping sound resonating into his eardrums, and even though he should be happy of the proof that he's still alive, all he can think about is the string of swear words that rush through his mind one after the other, quicker than lightning.
He feels as if he's about to puke as he stands up, his stomach turning over at the quick action, and he's feeling sick. He stands there, looking at her as a deer caught in the headlights waiting for the car to run him over. And then it does.
"I think it's better if you just leave" she mutters, the shocked glance not leaving her chocolate irises, not even daring to look at him in the eyes, and he isn't sure of why it upsets him.
He doesn't let himself be told twice though, and before she can even take another breath he turns around, rushing into the house, and he suddenly feels even sicker because he can't believe he did something like that, and he doesn't know why he even did it. He doesn't kiss. He doesn't try. He doesn't pursue people, he waits for them to come onto him. He can't tell why he did it, because it simply doesn't make sense. She isn't even his type after all, and she's already made it clear that she doesn't want him in that way. He hates the thrill that ran down his spine in the second their lips touched, because nothing makes sense - even less than usual.
But the thing that he hates more than everything else is that, despite what has just taken place, he still stops in the middle of the kitchen and tears a paper sheet away from a notepad he finds on the counter, taking a pencil forgotten on the kitchen table and writing his phone number on it quickly.
Nobody but his closest friends and Sophia has his phone number, and he can't really tell why he just gave it to her, out of all people.
He leaves it on the table and rushes out of the house, getting into his car and driving away before she can change her mind and ask him to stay.
He arrives back home and sees that Niall is sitting on the couch again, as he usually does, and he knows he'll get questioned in the second he realises he entered the house. He rolls his eyes and tries to make his way upstairs, but he gets blocked.
"How did it go with the girl?" Niall asks him, an overly confident look in his eyes as he looks at him over the shoulders, and now Harry is sure he wants to flee the scene.
"Fine" he mutters, because why would he even tell him what's going on? If he did, it would show him he's bothered, and he most certainly is, because he doesn't get bothered by what happens with other people.
He rushes upstairs before the other boy gets a chance to ask anything else, and he's glad he does because in the second the reaches the first floor his stomach turns up and he can barely rush into the bathroom before retching into the bowl, his hands on the cold ceramic. There go my breakfast and lunch, he thinks as he sits on the floor, waiting for a second wave to hit him.
The second wave, though, doesn't come, proving that it was more emotional than physical, and he can't help but be glad about it. He sighs and slowly stands up, flushing the toilet and watching its contents disappear with a frown before turning around and putting his hands on the sink, heavily leaning his weight on it as he stares at himself in the mirror. His green eyes seem worn out, but the exhaustion doesn't come from a lack of sleep, but from his simple inability of dealing with day-to-day situations, and it's a tiredness he's well used to by now, to the point that he doesn't even notice it anymore, most of the time, that is. In the last month he tried to take care of himself a little more, mostly because he knows that if he doesn't he will go down at some point as it already happened in the past, and now the deep black circles under his eyes have disappeared. He tried his best not to get drunk during the week, which resulted to him going to the gym more often and finally being able to get his eating habits back on track - even if it's always a bit hard to eat breakfast because he isn't used to anymore - and now he doesn't look as pale and almost sickly as before - not that anybody would've noticed, anyway, as a confident behaviour can hide almost anything from everyone's eyes.
He leans down and takes a sip of tap water to rinse his mouth and get rid of the uncomfortable taste on his tongue, and then he comes back up again and he doesn't think twice before taking off his shirt. His thumb grazes the two birds on his chest, and he frowns. He knows they wouldn't be proud of him if they saw what he's been up to recently, and the thought hurts, but at the same time he knows he'll never expect better of himself, because that's just how he is, and he can't - or he doesn't want to, he isn't sure - get out of it.
He grabs his gym bag from the side of the room, not thinking twice as he leaves the house again under Niall's judging stare and getting in his car.
He's about to turn on the engine when his phone vibrates in his pocket with a new text. He sighs, but takes it anyway and presses on the home button, reading the text from the lock screen.
From Sophia: are you free? I'm home alone and I'd like to have some fun.
He reads the text again and looks at the bag on the passenger seat next to him, making a quick decision before throwing the phone on the other seat and starting the car, driving out of the spot he'd parked in earlier.
There are more than one way to destress, and it looks like today the gym will be the option he won't choose.
• • •
He sighs, waiting for his heart to stop rushing against his chest before quickly standing up from the bed, the lavender smell of the bedsheets still in his nostrils, and retrieving his things from the floor, putting his clothes on again.
The dark-haired girl looks at him from the mattress, her eyes hooded and her cheeks blushing slightly. "Where are you going?" She asks him, even though she perfectly knows the answer by now.
"Away" he mutters before turning around, a frown on his face as the excitement of the action wears off, leaving him with an unsettling feeling in his chest.
She gives him an unhappy stare, but she doesn't reply, resorting to looking at him as he makes himself presentable again before leaving her room.
Harry brushes his fingers through his dark hair, his teeth clenching as he makes his way through her living room, a cloud of regret starting to hover more over his actions as seconds pass. Suddenly he's aware of the line she licked down his neck, of the bruise forming between his collarbones and of the feeling of her mouth all over his body, and he feels sick.
He stops in his tracks, turning around and staring at her phone, abandoned on her couch. He doesn't think twice before walking towards it and picking it up. He knows her password, he saw her put it in multiple times. He types it in quickly, and her phone gets unlocked. He doesn't know if he'll regret it, but he quickly deletes their chat, and then his number so that she won't manage to contact him again, knowing that they never called each other. He locks her phone again and puts it in the same position as he found it, not being able to push away the finite feeling that overcomes him as he makes his way through her front door for the last time.
He gets in his car and deletes her number from his phone as well, not wasting time in starting the vehicle and driving away.
As he parks in the driveway of Niall's house he feels dirty, and he's sure he's about to puke. It isn't unlikely to him to kiss someone during the day and spend his night with someone else, but for some reason it feels wrong, this time. His cross necklace burns against his chest and he feels sick, his mind drifting to Sierra for just a second before forcefully pushing the thought away, his momentarily lacking rationality causing him not to want to stain her by thinking of her while someone else's touch is still on his skin.
He almost runs out of his car and into the house, ignoring the concerned glance Maura gives him as he storms upstairs, leaving his shoes in the corridor before locking himself in the bathroom. He undresses quickly and gets in the shower, turning it on, shivers rushing through his spine as the ice-cold water runs down his back.
He chokes out a weird sound and puts his hands on the white tiles of the wall, his head hung low and his hair attached to his forehead, but he doesn't switch the water to a warmer temperature, taking it as a punishment for his actions. He stands under it until he can't feel his toes anymore and he feels he's about to faint, and only then he turns the water to a hotter temperature. Only in that moment he realises he's still wearing his rings, and he takes them off quickly, opening the shower door just enough to throw them on the mat.
The water is hot, way hotter than what he usually showers under, and a faint redness has already started to surface on his skin, but he doesn't care as he takes his sponge and puts a more than generous amount of soap on it before starting to scrub his skin harshly, taking his time on every spot he can still feel her touch on. He cleans the bruise on his chest until his skin is raw and red, and then does his neck too, and the fingers of his hands. The action does nothing to help him feel better and he crouches down under the shower jet, not daring to sit down because Niall strikes him as the kind of person that pees in the shower.
All of sudden he feels sicker and he rushes out of the shower, making it to the toilet bowl just in time before retching inside for the second time in the same day, his hands trembling as he grips the seat. He kneels in front of it for a few seconds and then he stands up, washing his mouth and taking a clean towel from the cupboard under the sink, wrapping it around his middle and gathering all his stuff before leaving the room.
He enters his bedroom and for some reason he feels like crying, but he knows he won't. So he locks the door after himself and lies down on top of his duvet, not bothering with putting something on and just lying there as the water evaporates from his body, leaving him naked and cold.
~ • ~
NOVEMBER
He's sitting on the ground. Dark red and orange leaves are scattered at his feet, the sunlight peaking through the foliage of the trees and tinting everything around them of warm shades.
"What is it that you like?" She asks all of sudden, and he glances up at her. She's standing next to him, bathing in the golden shade of the sun to the point that she herself looks unreal, reddish highlights in her auburn hair.
For a second he sits speechless, but then he catches himself, quickly reprimanding himself for the absurd behaviour and glancing away. "I like stars" he replies gently, and he can't really tell where that tone came from, or why he even replied.
He also can't tell what he's doing there, in that moment. He doesn't know why he took her there, and the realisation that, if she were to ask him why, he wouldn't answer not because of choice, but because he doesn't have a reply, scares him. Maybe, just maybe, he thought that the warm tones of the fall would match her hair, but it doesn't seem like a good reason to take her there, at all. He's acting ridiculous and he doesn't like it, but that just might happen to be another one of the things he can't help but keep doing.
"Stars?" She asks, and he can tell she's intrigued. This should be the moment in which he backs down and retracts himself into his carefully built shell, but there's something in the warmth around them that makes his cold behaviour melt.
"They're so far away. For all we know, the star of which we're seeing the light could already be dead" he replies, passing his hand through his dark curls, the action aiming to hide the faint insecurity in his eyes. He doesn't know why he explained the meaning behind his reply to her. To be honest, he can't say he's a hundred percent responsible of his actions whenever she's around, because he often finds himself doing things he'd never do if it was his choice, and the thing that scares him the most is that he can't find it in himself to regret it.
In the past few weeks they got close, way closer than he'd ever thought they'd be. He doesn't know if it's a good idea, considering everything, but he started it all because he simply couldn't help it, and he isn't sure he can get out of it now. He isn't sure he even wants to, now. There's something in her presence that makes him feel as if he was a way better person than he actually is, and he likes it. It isn't the truth, but he likes to pretend every once in a while, and he likes the feeling it gives him. It makes it a bit harder to deal with everything whenever he goes back home, but he tries his best anyway, because he's come to understand that she's way more perceptive than she lets on, and he knows she'd notice if he were to spiral down again, and he's scared that if it did indeed happen she'd understand he isn't worth her time.
It worries him to think that he wouldn't take it lightly if she were to leave him now, it makes him feel as if he's spending time with her not to simply have fun as he'd often told himself, but for another reason, one he isn't sure he's ready to handle.
"That's intriguing" she says, sitting down next to him. He doesn't need to look at her to feel something change in the second she sits down, and he instinctively scoots to the side the tiniest bit, just enough not to make their arms touch anymore.
He doesn't know why he does that, especially because he never minded the closeness of someone's body to his - as long as they weren't complete strangers - but, for some reason, this feels like way more than just barely touching. It's a slightly ridiculous action on his side since he's given up on staying away from Sierra a long time ago, but he can't help it. He keeps telling himself that lust is the only thing between them, but as they're sitting in the nature side by side it certainly doesn't feel like it, and he's scared. More than scared, he's terrified, because he isn't used to that kind of intimacy with someone but, even though he still hadn't decided if he likes it or not, he keeps going after it with her.
"You know what?" She says all of sudden, and he finds himself putting his thoughts aside and looking at her. "You're like Schrödinger's box, with the only difference that you make people already think the cat is dead for sure. And then they discover it's actually alive and... nothing, it's just kind of unsettling."
Harry has to actually try not to smile at her words. He doesn't know how she even thought about that comparison, but he doesn't really mind, because if there's something he's come to enjoy about Sierra is her ability of saying something completely unexpected - even though sometimes it leads to tragic results. He finds it quite accurate, too, but there's a single thing that she got wrong. He clears his throat before speaking, his voice low when he does. "Maybe the cat truly is dead."
She glances at him in the eyes, a serious look in hers. "It seems a bit too lively to be dead" she says, and Harry frowns. He doesn't understand why she said that, that's not how he feels at all. The ache in his chest has disappeared long ago, leaving a blank nothingness in his heart, but he doesn't really mind, because feeling nothing will always be better than hurting. He hates being upset, that's probably why he likes to get drunk so much. Hangovers feel like shit, but at least the tiredness is strong enough to shut down his mind.
"What makes you so sure you're talking to the cat, and not the box?" He asks her, furrowing his eyebrows, trying to make sense of her but failing miserably. He doesn't like it, he's usually quite good at reading people, but she's different from the people he's used to, because even though she can be so easily understandable at times, she can also be rather confusing at others.
She shrugs. "Boxes can't talk" she says, and the tension in the air suddenly drops.
"Neither can cats" he replies quickly, and she seems surprised by his words. He doesn't blame her, he's surprised too. He's never been really up for bantering before, so it comes quite unexpected.
She bites her lower lip in a thoughtful motion, and Harry finds himself unexpectedly entranced by the action. "Cats don't talk a lot, but they listen" she says, and he frowns, looking at her attentively. Nobody but his closest friends has ever spoken so freely in his presence, let alone to him. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm talking to the cat."
Harry stares at her for a few seconds, the little frown still on his face, and he knows he must look as confused as he feels to her, but for some reason he doesn't really mind showing the emotion in front of her. It isn't much, but it's still unexpected to him, and he wonders if he'll regret it later on. "Did you just compare me to a cat?" He finds himself asking in the end, a little smile curving his lips.
She laughs at his words, and he definitely enjoys it more than he should. And yet, he discovers that he doesn't really mind it again.
~ • ~
DECEMBER
He got drunk, and asked her out on a date. Way to go, Harry. He regretted it instantly, but then she said yes and all of sudden he didn't mind that much anymore.
He's told himself that it isn't a date multiple times, he even told her, in hopes that she'd be the one to believe his words since he sure as hell doesn't, but he isn't an idiot, and knows. He knows it's most definitely a date, and he suspects she does too - even if she won't say it out loud. It concerns him to realise that he actually asked her out. He's never really done it before - not at an age in which it truly mattered, anyway - and he doesn't know if he should worry or just go for it. He keeps moving up the possibility of truly understanding what's going on with them because he's scared, but at the same time he can't help but keep hanging out with her, and he knows that he'll eventually regret it later on. How could he not? This is way too out of character to him to end well.
He hated the thumping of his heart in his chest as he waited for her reply, because he just wasn't the kind of person that got anxious around someone else, and yet he did with her. And that just might be a warning sign, his body telling him that he should stop it all while he still can, but he isn't sure he's ready to listen yet, because doing so would mean acknowledging the way he feels, and he'll never be ready for that.
The date went well. She looked beautiful in that grey coat and maybe he would've told her, if only he hadn't been so nervous. It wasn't the usual nervousness, the one that makes your hands sweat and your throat close, he hasn't felt that one in a long time. It was a strong feeling that paralysed him as if liquid nitrogen had fallen down on his chest, the nervousness that made him shut up and squeeze the wheel of his car harder.
He took her to a Christmas market because she liked the holiday and it was close to her birthday anyway, and also because he'd never been on a date before and he had no idea of how to do that, but knew he would've hated every second of his time spent sitting at a table in some fancy restaurant where he would've got hot looks from the waitress, because when didn't he?
They were walking and he decided to hold her hand, he chickened out the first time but he managed to do it on the second try, and he couldn't help but be proud of himself a little bit as her fingers intertwined with his.
He got them something to eat and she drew him while he did, and the man behind the counter cooed over them, and all of sudden he felt way more aware of his actions and detached himself from her, walking away quickly with her trailing behind him. She looked at him with her careful brown eyes as he quickly scanned his opportunities and decided how to act next, because he couldn't let her know he was bothered by that comment.
He ended up telling her about his mother, he doesn't know why. He guesses it just felt right in that moment, and so he did. She didn't say anything, but he's glad she didn't, because he'd never talked about her to anyone and he doesn't know how he would've reacted if she'd said as much as a single word. She hugged him, and his heart beat a little faster, a calm and contentment he only felt when they were together overcoming his senses and making everything a little bit easier, even if for just a few seconds.
He brought her back home and gave her the rest of the candy, because he hadn't eaten sweets in forever and he's only bought them for her. He left a fast kiss on her lips because he knew her parents were probably watching, they tasted like sugar and made his head spin a bit.
He got in his car and drove away, but parked on the side of the road as soon as he turned the corner, putting his forehead on the wheel and trying to get a hold of himself, hating the bubble of excitement that formed in his chest, so unexpected that it almost hurt his heart.
Now he's lying on the floor. He would like to note that it isn't his floor. He doesn't remember whose floor it is, or maybe he just never knew. The taste of alcohol is sharp on his tongue, and the ceiling is dark. He can hear the booming sound of music coming from somewhere else in the house, and he can't help but be glad that nobody is in the room because it would be quite awkward, with him lying on the floor like that. His limbs are tired and he doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry himself to sleep, but it probably isn't the second because he hasn't cried since his mother's funeral.
Look at you, Harry Styles, lying down on the fucking floor, he thinks in his somewhat hazed mind, but he isn't that surprised by his actions. Everything is way less fancy when the lights are out. They definitely should be still on considering that he's in someone's house and he just hopes it isn't anyone he has classes with because if it is his reputation just might be over by the time tomorrow comes, but he's finding the floor comfortable, so he'd rather lie on it right now and regret it later.
He sits up just to take another sip from the bottle he's still holding in his left hand, it's almost empty. He likes to think that it wasn't full when he found it. He lies down on the floor again, and he's sure he looks like a proper mess. He wonders what Sierra would think if she saw him in that moment. His grandeur in her eyes would surely diminish, and he knows it's inevitable, but he'd like to hang onto it for a little longer.
Someone comes into his vision, he doesn't recognise them immediately. "What the hell Harry, did it really go that bad?" They snap at him, and he suddenly recognises Zayn's voice. He takes him by the arm and forces him up on his feet, grabbing the bottle out of his hand as Harry puts his hand on the wall trying to stabilise himself.
"'Twas great" he mumbles, surprising himself with how slurred his voice seems to be. Maybe it was a bit fuller than he remembered, he thinks.
Zayn shakes his head. "I don't understand you at times" he tells him, a bit of disappointment in his voice, and he can't blame him because he knows he's a mess. "Come on, I'm taking you home."
They walk outside, but before they manage to reach the car he feels his stomach churn and all of sudden he's leaning down and his hands are on his knees as he throws up the alcohol and sweets on the side of the pavement, just as he thought he couldn't get any less fancy.
Zayn shakes his head as soon as he stands up again, feeling his head spin violently and he wouldn't be surprised if he fell down. "Change of plans, I'm taking you to mine" he tells him, and Harry frowns because he seems disappointed, and he's never been before.
They get in Harry's car and Zayn takes his keys from the pocket of his coat, starting to drive as Harry puts his forehead on the cold glass of the car window, trying to make sense of the haziness in his mind. He can't even remember what's his favourite colour in that moment. Maybe he should call Sierra and ask her. He shakes the thought away, he doesn't need to be sober to know that's a bad idea.
When they get to Zayn's house he pukes again, the second time not much coming out, the acid burning at the back of his throat, and then lies down on the cold surface of the tiles of the bathroom floor, he can't exactly tell why, but it isn't long before his friend pulls him up and physically drags him into his bedroom, where he finally collapses lying over the clean smelling covers.
The next time Harry opens his eyes the sun is peeking through the curtains, making the pounding in his head even harsher. He sits up with a groan, immediately regretting it when the headache gets stronger because of the shift in position, making him feel as if his breath was just knocked out of his lungs, and he looks to the side, discovering a couple of pills and a glass of clear water on the nightstand. He takes them and gulps them down with the water, emptying the glass by only half because he's quite sure he'll throw up again if he drinks it all.
He gets off the bed, has a shower, puts on his jeans from the night before, steals a shirt from Zayn, and the show starts again.
• • •
He gets to school and he's thankful that he didn't have to give Sierra a lift, because he was quite sure she would've seen right through him.
His bones are tired and his back is aching from having spent the night before on the floor, and he wonders how he let himself get to this point. He knows he'd make more than one person disappointed, if they only knew.
The class drifts by and he barely pays attention, the little hours he got of sleep hazing his mind like a dark cloud. He is disappointed in himself, but there's not much he can do to change it all.
He looks down at his phone, hiding it under the desk, checking the date and getting surprised when he reads it, not having expected it. Lately, all his days have been so similar to each other that he barely notices the steady passing of time. He sighs and opens his maths book, drowning out the teacher's voice and starting to study on his own. He feels a bit unfocused and the theorems printed on the page seem to slip out of his comprehension just barely, but he knows it's simply due to his exhaustion so he pushes through anyway, taking it sentence from sentence, dividing them as the punctuation shows and repeating them in his mind until they make sense before moving on.
He looks up after a while as he starts to feel his tiredness catching up to him, not wanting to accidentally fall asleep in class.
~ • ~
JANUARY
He walks into the by now familiar house, an unsettling feeling in his stomach when he realises how unnaturally empty it seems to be.
"Sierra" He calls gently, hesitatingly taking a step forward, the silence settling down on his chest like a dull fog. There's no answer, and he starts to feel a bit more nervous. "Sierra" He calls her again, looking in the living room from the door, worry overcoming him for a couple of seconds when he realises it's empty. He frowns, he knows Sierra should be able to hear him from wherever she was in the house, he remembers he could hear her mother coming home from the studio. "Sierra" He says again, his voice starting to get a bit shakier and panicked as he walks towards the kitchen.
"Dad?"
He shakes his head. No, he thinks to himself, please no. He knows the shadows are out to get him, and he can't allow that to happen, not in that moment. He can't allow his mind to be clouded by the past, because it would lead nowhere good.
He glances around, everything is dark and an eerie silence is enveloping the house. He takes some hesitant steps forward, the kitchen is empty too.
"Sierra?" He calls again, a bit louder, a hint of urgency in his voice, and this time it comes out as a question.
"Dad?"
He exits the kitchen and takes a few steps forward into the cold living room of the house. For some reason, the temperature seems to have dropped considerably, and he can't understand why.
"Dad?" He calls again, louder, exiting the empty living room and walking down the hall, peeking into his dad's bedroom as he walks to check if he's in there - nervousness settling in his chest when he realises it's empty as well.
His pace slows down, an unsettling feeling pervading him. He's starting to get scared, and doesn't know why. Why isn't his father answering?
He sees a door at the end of the hallway, it's shut.
"Dad" he calls again, stopping right there in the middle of the corridor as if cement has gone dry on his feet, a weight on his chest when he gets no answer. He knows his father is home - he's seen his car in the driveway and his coat on the cloak hanger. Then why isn't he answering?
He hesitantly moves some steps forward, feeling ice in his hand and an irrational fear in his heart when he grips the handle.
"Dad?" He asks through the door, more quietly than before. It's the only place he still hasn't checked, he knows he's in there. His young mind races to try to understand why everything is so silent. He shakes his head, trying to calm himself down. His dad is probably just busy, and hasn't heard him calling.
He gripped the handle a bit harder before pulling it down slowly and pushing the door open.
There's a pause of two heartbeats, and then he knows.
His green eyes widen, his mouth falling open in shock as he feels a sudden weight fall down on his chest. He can't breathe, panic rising on his skin every second longer he stares but paralysing him and not letting him look away. Before he knows it, he starts walking backwards until he slams against the wall of the hallway. Suddenly he's choking on his own breath, tears welling up in his eyes but not being able to fall. He feels himself suffocating, time stopping and starting again a thousand times faster, his legs shaking, the cold of the wall against his back freezing him down to his bones.
He opens his mouth and shouts, the loud sound piercing through his eardrums.
He jolts all of sudden when he feels his back hit something, eyes wide with fear staring into things that aren't here, his lips parted. He hasn't made a sound, but he can still taste the scream as if it had left his mouth in that second.
His heart flickers in his chest like a bird angrily trying to set itself free as he slumps against the wall, staring into the room to try to calm himself down and stop the ringing into his ears.
Even though it's been almost seven years since that chilly morning of February, just a week after his twelfth birthday, Harry knows he will never forget the day in which the lost the last bit of innocence he had left as he stared into the room and understood what had happened, the realisation that he was alone crushing him right after.
A blink and it's gone, Sierra is standing in front of him with a concerned look in her eyes. Harry stares back at her but can't feel his mind picking up her presence just yet, and even though he can see her, he feels like he's seeing right through her, as if she too was a ghost from his past.
He detaches his back from whatever he's flattened against, starting to get a hold of the present in which he's relegated and quickly realising that she surely just saw him panicking. He doesn't like that because it's never really happened before, and how will he manage to keep lying to her now that she knows?
She asks him something but he can't find the voice to answer, his throat is dry and air itself seems to burn its way down his windpipe. She kneels down and picks up the books that have somehow appeared at his feet in silence, and he's glad that she isn't trying to get him to talk, because he isn't sure he'd be able to.
She stands up again, a look in her eyes he can't quite read. He knows she's curious, he knows she wants to ask again, but he isn't sure he's ready to share something like that just yet, so he just ignores her, or at least, pretends to.
"We should go upstairs, my mum will come home soon to get ready to go out and I don't want her bothering us" she says, her voice a bit unsure as she clearly does her best to ignore the elephant in the room, and he can't help but be glad about it.
She walks away towards the stairs, and Harry follows her with hesitation in his step, feeling as if he could lose his balance and fall down at any second, his eyebrows furrowing as he stares at her auburn hair as she walks in front of him.
She shouldn't have to deal with him. He isn't that sure he can do it anymore.
~ • ~
FEBRUARY
They had sex. He liked it. It was real, it was raw, it made his head spin and his heart hurt. It's been many days since it happened, but he still finds himself thinking about it.
He fucked up. He knows he has. He knew it in the second those words left his lips for the second time, but he couldn't find a single part of himself regretting it.
In that moment it'd just felt right, it still did, honestly. And he'd found himself repeating them again, day after day, lingering into them because they were true, without thinking about the consequences of his actions. It's odd, because he never believed that love was something that would've ever happened to him, considering everything. And he knows she deserves better, he knows he's holding her down, but every time he sees her his resolution crumbles, and he can't help but linger in the feeling and in the taste of his poor choices. She keeps making him feel as if he could actually give himself a chance and try, yet every time he isn't with her he knows that it isn't true, but then he sees her again, and he convinced himself of the opposite again. He's stuck in a cycle he isn't sure he can get out of, but he knows he has to, one way or another.
He wishes he could just accept it all and go with it, but as he's lying on his bed in his lonely room, he can't help but realise how crazy it is to think so, the conversation he had with Zayn on his birthday coming to his mind again.
"So how do you feel about all of this?" Zayn asks all of sudden, and Harry looks up at him. He can't see him well in the darkness of the night surrounding them, but he knows that his friend has a serious look on his face.
He shrugs, sending a quick glance towards Sierra, discovering that she's sitting many feet away from them, talking to Liam. He sends them a little glare, he doesn't like them together. He knows he's being irrational, she's his after all, and Liam's a friend, but he can't shake away the thought that maybe one day she'll see that Liam's better than him, and leave him for him. It would make sense. Harry knows that Liam is nothing less than perfect, while he's a mess.
Even in that moment, standing next to Zayn, he's a mess. He's drunk, but not drunk enough to be unable to hold a conversation, and he's playing with the joint in his hands, trying his best to convince himself not to smoke it. He really is, mostly because he knows that smoking and drinking is almost an as dumb of a decision as doing other kinds of drugs and drinking, and he promised himself he'd get better at not taking regrettable decisions - not on the daily, at least.
But it's hard to get over bad habitual behaviours, so he ends up handing it to Zayn, allowing him to light it. He looks at the waves in front of himself as he hears the flick of the lighter at his side, he's starting to feel a bit dizzy and maybe he should sit down, but he knows he won't do that.
"She's great, she makes you happy" Zayn says passing the joint to him, not sounding excited in the slightest.
His words attract Harry's interest, and he glances at him, bringing the joint to his lips and slowly inhaling, wishing the daze would flush away the regret he feels in the instant he does it. "You don't sound thrilled" he says, his voice low, and he can't help but be a little disappointed.
Zayn sighs. "I've seen how you react with her, Harry. Remember when you first kissed, and then you went to fuck Sophia out of spite? And what about when I found you on the floor, almost passed out and completely drunk after your first date? Should I go on?" He shakes his head. "I don't want you to get hurt, that's all, and you have a hard time handling things when it comes to her."
Harry looks down, suddenly getting the crazy idea of taking off his shoes and walking into the ocean. He doesn't do that though, and stays still in his spot. "I know, but..." His voice drifts away, and it really doesn't sound like him, but he can't help but be insecure whenever it comes to her. "She keeps me sane."
"Do you think it's healthy?" Zayn asks back, and Harry knows that he's really concerned, and that he isn't just trying to get into his head. That knowledge offers him little help in that moment though, because he knows it isn't healthy, that he shouldn't depend on somebody else that much. "I just want you to be sure, Harry."
Harry shakes his head, stealing the joint from him again. "I'm not fucking sure" he admits, his voice low, hating every single syllable leaving his mouth even though he knows they're true. "Fuck, I'm fucking everything up" he finally admits. "I don't think she's happy with me, Zayn."
"I don't know Harry, she seems to be quite happy if you want my opinion" Zayn says, walking towards the ocean to put more distance between them and the other two sitting at the back.
Harry is silent for a while. He knows Zayn is right, but there's something else he hasn't taken into consideration. "Now she is. What will happen in some time, after I'll have dragged her down into my shit so deep she won't be able to come back up?" It's a real concern for him. He knows her, and he knows she has dreams, things she wants to do and achieve, and even though he'd like to be by her side as she does so, he knows he'll never be able to do that, because he knows she'd drop everything for him, and even though he knows he'd never ask her such a thing, he isn't sure of what the future will bring, and he doesn't want to risk it.
He doesn't want to be the reason why she won't do everything she wants to do in her life, and he knows he'd inevitably be, because he knows that he often takes bad decisions, and that she's always the one that has to bring him up again. She shouldn't have to worry both about her future and him, and he doesn't want her to, but he knows she inevitably will, because she's just that caring. He'll never forgive himself if he's the one that will ruin her, and he knows he will be, because that's all he seems to be able to do.
"I don't know that, Harry" Zayn tells him honestly, and Harry hates it. He likes Zayn, because he's the only one that is always completely honest with him, even when it hurts. And he knows what it means in that moment. He knows he can't do it, and they both know that.
"I don't think I can handle it" he says quietly, more to himself than anyone else. "I can't do this to her, it isn't fair." He absolutely hates it. He also hates the joint he's smoking because it doesn't seem to be doing its job, or maybe it's just too early to tell. He should've drank more vodka, he'd do anything to be completely wasted in that moment, but he isn't, so here he is, standing in front of the ocean, discussing his relationship with someone else. It seems ridiculous to even think about. It doesn't even sound like him.
He wants her to be happy, there's nothing he wanted for her more than that, and he knows that she won't be, in the long run, with him. And even though it sounds ridiculous, he knows he'd prefer her to be happy, at the expense of his own happiness. He has a feeling that both wouldn't be able to stand together for long, and he hates it. The thing is, she doesn't truly need him in her life and he knows that, but he isn't sure she does. He can't risk fucking it all up - he just can't. He can't take that risk, because it would ruin him to know that he's the one that destroyed everything for her.
"Want my opinion?" Zayn asks, and Harry can't do anything but nod, because he definitely doesn't need to be dragged even further down in that moment, but he needs to know what he thinks, because he himself can't make sense of it. He's tried, for a while indeed, but he only seems to be able to get himself deeper and deeper into everything, without even thinking of the consequences of his actions until it's way too late. "I think, nobody can tell you what to do" he says, and Harry is surprised, but he lets him keep speaking. "But if you think it isn't right, break it up as soon as possible, before you both get into it more. None of you deserves to get hurt, and you will, and it sucks. But you know what? It will hurt way more if you do it later on."
His words burn, but they aren't as crazy as he thought they would've sounded coming from someone else. He's glad to know that, because he doesn't feel as awful as he'd first felt when the thought of preventively fixing his mess in such a way first crossed his mind. Would it really be a bad idea? Sure, it would suck at first for them both, but what about after a while, when everything would've settled down and things would've appeared clearer? He doesn't think it will be that ridiculous.
And Harry can't do anything but nod, wishing that he'd brought the bottle of vodka with him when he'd walked away, because he knows he's right.
The truth is, he didn't have any right to tell her he loved her since the start and now he feels guilty, because he's made promises he isn't sure he can keep. He'd like to go on about his day knowing that he loves her and she loves him and everything will be alright, but he isn't naïve enough to believe something like that.
The air trembles down his throat, his eyes focused on the ceiling, knowing that the mess he's made is far too big for it to be fixed without hurting anyone. Months before, he'd promised himself he wouldn't hurt her, but now he knows he inevitably will, and it hurts him. He can't be with someone - especially someone like her - in that moment, and he knows it. She doesn't deserve to get pulled into his shit, and he knows she's too kind to be the one that pulls away first.
He fucks up everything he touches, he can't allow himself to fuck her up too, that he knows. He knows he has to do something before they both get in too deep, because even though it's already too late to back down, he knows he will have to eventually, and the sooner will be the better. If he'd known they would've ended up here when he first started pursuing her for some reason unknown to him, he would've never got close to her in the first place.
He isn't ready to be in a relationship, he just can't do it in that moment. He'd always known that, but he'd liked to play as if he could, as if it wasn't as impossible as it truly was. He'd played with fire for fun, and now he would've ended up burning her, and hurting himself in the process.
He's never been the kind of person that leans on someone else to make everything alright, he hasn't been for a very long time, and he has no intention of starting now. He wants to want her because he simply wants her, not because she keeps his shadows away, and he knows that if they go down that road the way he feels for her will inevitably end up being stained by a dangerous game of necessity over want that he never intended to play. He doesn't want to have to lean on her because it isn't healthy, and because she deserves better than being pulled down by his desperate attempts to stay afloat.
His heart hurts in his chest, and he's feeling sick.
He knows that something has to be done, and he knows that she would never leave him if it was her choice, so he's left with one single possibility.
He has to be the one leaving.
It stings him to realise it but he knows there's no other way, because he could've stayed away since the start but he decided he didn't want to, and now that's the only choice he has left.
I hope you enjoyed this extra chapter. I truly hope you enjoyed this story and I hope I brought some light to the events that made Harry take his decision. I'll see you again in 4-5 days with the sequel. x
Miki