Harry Styles
Dizzy and disoriented, my eyes slowly blink open.
A lightbulb hangs from the ceiling. Where am I?
I look around, not recognizing my surroundings. It looks like a garage but I'm not sure.
My eyes travel until I see a hand being held in my own. Blonde hair was sprawled across the edge of the couch I was laid on.
There she was. She had fallen asleep on the ground, not wanting to leave me.
Last night was blurry, but I remember now why I'm in this position.
Drugs.
I felt like shit. My head hurt and my throat burned. My tongue was dry, my eyes were swollen and it hurt to blink.
Lydia was sound asleep in this uncomfortable position. I sat up and stretched my pained limbs, then stood up and scooped Lydia's body up. I hook my arm under her knees and keep my other arm under her neck to support her head, then I lay her on the couch.
She didn't even stir. She must have been so tired.
It wasn't very warm in here. I look around, trying to find something to cover her with. I look in an old deck box and find a thick quilt.
I bring the folded material over to her and unfold it, laying it across her sleeping body and leaving her head poking out.
I kneel in front of her, brushing the hair out of her face and kissing her forehead. I felt awful for what I did to her.
I remember she had told me that her parents would be leaving for something early in the morning, so that means they aren't in the house right now.
I leave the garage, and head into the house through the back door using the extra key located in Jane's flowerpots.
I immediately head for a bathroom, feeling sick to my stomach after the cool morning air hit my face.
I rush to the toilet on the first floor, opening the lid and emptying my stomach into it.
The mistakes of last night left my mouth in the most vile way possible. I spit, wiping my mouth and taking deep breaths.
"Fuck." I mutter.
The inside of my mouth tasted disgusting. I knew Lydia had an extra toothbrush for me if I ever stayed the night.
I open the medicine cabinet, seeing the red toothbrush waiting for me. I grab it, wetting it and piling toothpaste on.
I immediately bring it to my mouth, brushing every single part. I needed the taste out of my mouth. I brush my tongue, all over, making sure not to miss a spot where I could possibly still taste any alcohol or even vomit.
I was a mess. My eyes were red, bags underneath them. My hair was all over the place.
I looked like I was 23 years old again, high out of my mind and not giving a fuck about what happened to me.
Truth is, I didn't care about myself...but I sure as hell cared about my fiancé and our soon to be daughter.
I know I need to be better. For her, for my gang, for myself. I cant be high when my baby is born. I cant do that to her.
I wish I never went out. Being in that type of environment without Lydia to talk me down isn't good for me.
I knew Louis and Niall were fucking pissed at me, too. They're the ones who had to carry me out of my own club after I had passed out.
Louis drove me here and dropped me off, not saying a word to me.
I need to do some serious damage control, starting with Lydia.
I splash cold water onto my face and leave the bathroom. I go up to Lydia's room and go through her closet, grabbing her a sweater and some track pants because she was just in shorts and a loose shirt right now.
I walk back to the garage with the bundle of clothing in my hand. When I got back in, she was sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
She glances up at me, looking me up and down with an apathetic expression.
"I brought you some warm clothes." I say, gesturing to the sweater and pants in my hands.
She half smiles, acknowledging the fact that I was trying to make up.
I know we weren't necessarily fighting, but this was almost worse, because she was disappointed in me. I let her down.
Again.
I hand the sweater and pants to her. She pulls the grey pants up over her shorts and puts the black hoodie on, untucking her hair from inside it.
I sit down on the couch next to her, elbows propped on my knees as I lean forward. I felt like all I wanted to do was sleep, but I cant.
"Lyds-"
"Eight months." she cuts me off. "You were clean for eight months."
I shut my eyes and put my head in my hands, completely shamed.
"I know." I mumble.
"I know people fuck up. I know staying away from drugs is easier said than done...but, Harry, you're gonna be a father in less than a month. She can't have an addict as a father." Lydia says, putting her hand on her belly.
My first instinct is to get angry, because I hate knowing I'm wrong. But Lydia deserves so much more than that. She deserves to be heard and I need to listen to her.
"I'm sorry." I say. "I know that it doesn't cut it, but I really, really am."
She sighs, grabbing my hand from my head and gripping it in her own.
"Do you remember what you asked me last night?" she says, making me tilt and shake my head.
"I don't remember much."
"You asked me if I was gonna leave you." she says. "You implied that you thought I didn't love you because of this."
I close my eyes and throw my head back, groaning. "Fuck, Lyds."
"I need you to know that I'm in this for life. You're my soulmate, Harry. But you need to help me."
I run a hand through my hair, mindfully agreeing with what she was saying.
The crazy thing is, if it were anybody else saying this to me...it would go through one ear and out the other. But she makes me listen.
"I have a problem." I mumble, not even able to look her in the eye.
She rubs her thumb along my hand. "I know." she says, just above a whisper. "But, problems can be solved."
I gaze into her bright blue eyes that still hadn't dimmed of any hope. She still had faith in me, and that meant a lot.
"I don't know how to fix this." I shake my head as my voice breaks.
"I'll help you. You just have to let me."
I nod in agreement. I know that she only ever wants what's best for me. I'm willing to work through this issue together.
"I want you to get better, Harry. I wouldn't still be with you if I thought you couldn't." she admits, making my heart strings twist a little. The idea of not having her really upset me.
Somehow I felt like every bad thing that has happened to us has had to do with my drug habits, even though that makes no logical sense. I think I just look for something to blame. We've been through so much, and I know it's not all rooted from the drugs...although they definitely aren't helping.
I feel like shit after I come down from my high. Always. I always say that it's my last time but it never is.
It makes me wonder...can I change?
Or will I just fall back into it in a year's time?
I have Lydia as a support system. But she won't put up with it forever. There's going to be a boiling point where she just can't do it anymore...and honestly, I won't blame her. I'll let her go.
But, if it happens, then I have nothing else to lose.
I'll either end up dead in a motel room from an overdose or end up dead in a ditch from being murdered.
Either way, my life will go to shit if I don't have her. She's the glue keeping my together. She's my rock.
She is my soulmate.
Hell, that's why I'm marrying her.
Thinking about marrying her does bring everything into perspective. I'll see her walking down the aisle, looking beautiful as ever. Our daughter will be a flower girl, I'm sure. It'll be an ethereal experience...because Lydia is ethereal.
Too perfect for this world.
I've said it before, but I don't know how she's an actual, existing, real life human being. There is not one bad bone in her body. She's the exact opposite of me and how I grew up.
Only she would put up with my bullshit. Anyone else would've given up on me by now. I don't want to take advantage of that. Of her.
She puts her hand on my jean covered thigh and looks me in the eye. "I think you should see a therapist, baby."
The idea of therapy scared me. I can hardly express my feelings to Lydia, let alone some quack stranger.
"I-I don't know. Aren't therapists for...like...mental health? I'm an addict." I state, taking my bottom lip between my ring covered fingers and tugging at it.
"Yes, but I think there's so much more to your addiction than just the feeling you get when you're high. I think there's a deeper, rooted solution up in that head of yours."
I was very, very hesitant. I've never seen a doctor or specialist of any kind willingly. I've only ever ended up in hospitals after overdosing or getting shot or some shit like that.
Honestly, I was terrified.
"I think it'll be a good idea, baby. Think about it, please. I'll even go with you to the first appointment if you want." Lydia says, trying to remain optimistic about all of this.
Yet another thing I loved about her. Her positivity.
If she were anyone else, I'd hate it.
But it's a good look for her.
I look at her, examining her hopeful face that I just loved so much. Her eyebrows slightly lifted in optimism, her eyes glistening and emitting a captivating blue.
How could I say no?
"Okay." I breathe out. "Okay, I'll try it."
She lights up, smiling and immediately kissing my cheek, causing me to chuckle softly when she does so.
"Thank you, Harry. I promise it's for the greater good." she assures.
I trust her, and I want to get better so I can be a good husband and father.
She stands up in front of my sitting body, between my legs. She reaches down and grabs my hands, a soft, genuine smile plastered on her naturally glowing face.
I intertwine my fingers with hers, looking up at the girl I loved more than anything in the entire world.
"Come shower with me." she says softly, her gentle smile not budging.
Her words make me smile as well. I breathe out and stand up, keeping one hand interlocked with her tiny one as we walk into her parents house.
I'm trying to stay hopeful and optimistic for her sake.
Maybe therapy will help me. Maybe it is what I need.
I'm just praying that it'll get better. That I'll get better.
Because I really didn't have any other option.
//
kissy <3