Dahlia's whole life is flipped upside down when her eccentric aunt enrolls her in a prestigious university in England. She is forced to make friends with a rather eclectic group of people and adapt to her new lifestyle all while trying to find the a...
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Harry Styles
I woke up the next day on the floor of the library with an aching back and a pounding head. Bright light streamed in through the windows, notifying me that it was past noon.
I didn't know how I ended up in the library, but I did know that I was feeling the unmistakable symptoms of a hangover, and quite frankly, I don't remember anything after the fireworks. Standing up dizzily, I popped my joints and cracked my back, leaving the library so I could assess the damage done to the house.
The day after a party was always filled with cleaning- usually bottles, some food, cigarettes, and joints littered the floor, maybe even some items that were knocked off shelves and glasses that broke. However, this time, it was different.
Walking into the foyer, the chandelier lay in a heap of twisted metal and shattered crystal. Most small shards had been swept, but a few larger ones remained close to the skeleton of the light fixture. There was a hole in the ceiling where it had been fastened, part of the plaster falling down during its collapse. Crouched next to it, inspecting a red stain on the floor, was Liam.
I often let him- and sometimes Rebecca, though she usually rode back to campus with her friends- stay the night after a party. He was useful when it came to cleaning up the next day, and he was skilled at making sure stragglers got home alright- there were always a dozen or so guests that would pass out on the floor, and I'd trip over them the next morning.
He wore his dress pants and a white Oxford shirt, his hair not even tousled from sleep. Standing up, he brushed off his pants despite the fact that there was nothing dirtying them- he just had to make sure they were perfectly spotless. Even waking up hungover after a party, Liam would always have his hair done and his pants ironed with a crease on the fronts of the legs, obsessed with constant orderliness.
"I think you're going to need a new chandelier," he used an awkward conversation starter, unsure of what to say after our tense interaction the previous night.
"Thank you for stating the obvious." I didn't have the energy to deal with him yet.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at his polished shoes. "You know, Victoria was here last night. She was looking for you."
I couldn't care less. "Was she? I didn't notice." I paced around the circumference of the chandelier, finding it more interesting to look at its reflective and cracked crystals, rather than talk about Victoria.
He kicked a crystal- one that hadn't been damaged, but had separated from the body of the chandelier. It made a soft clanging noise as it hit a metal, gold plated portion of the dented light fixture. "You can't just keep ignoring her."
"I can, and I will."
"Why are you doing this?" His voice took on the tone it always did when he was getting frustrated or annoyed, becoming somewhat reedy with clipped words and syllables.
