Somebody Else | Harry Styles

Six

The last month had been beyond awful.

You were still seeing Harry almost three times a week, hanging out, watching movies, getting lunch, baking, but Serena was usually there or would randomly show up at one point. You had lost count of the amount of lunch and dinner outings that had to be cancelled because Serena would show up at Harry's and, because their relationship was still a secret, you could no longer go out.

You had tried to keep your distance for the first week, but Harry immediately picked up on your attempted avoidance and so you had to suck it up and get over it.

Get over it: the thought was laughable. You couldn't simply get over these feelings. You were in love with him. It wasn't some stupid crush anymore. It was full blown love; the i-would-die-for-you and I'll-always-pick-up-your-favorite-candy-just-because kind of love. The scary kind. The kind where you felt like weights were tied to your ankles causing you to drown in it. The kind that made you want to cry everytime you saw his stupid face. It was the completely overwhelming kind. It was the kind that hurt. The unrequited kind.

So you were spiraling.

You were fucking anyone you could get your hands on just trying to feel something, feel better, forget him and everything that you had ever done with him, but it never worked–so you would try again. And again. And again.

You were at one of the newer clubs with L, her boyfriend and a few other friends on a Friday night. You had been dancing with and kissing someone who looked nothing like Harry; his arms were clean, he wore jeans and a t-shirt and his hair was red, his eyes a pale blue and you were pretty sure his name was Eddie, but you had so much tequila, you couldn't really be sure anymore.

L had saw him whispering in your ear and you nod from a few feet away and immediately stalked over to you, pulling you away from him.

"Excuse us for one moment," she called to him. Once she had you cornered next to the bar she whispered harshly, "No. You're not going home with him."

You rolled your eyes, "Okay, mom." You put your hands on your hips, "I don't know if you've forgotten, but I'm a grown woman. I can fuck whoever I want."

"But you don't want to fuck him!" She sighed. "(Y/N), you don't want to fuck him. You want to fuck your feelings away–and you can't do that." She put her hands on your shoulders, "You can't fuck your feelings away. Do you hear me? You know this. This hasn't been working: the drinking, the partying, the fucking. None of it has worked. You still love him. Let's just–"

You brushed her arms off of you, "I'm not doing this now, L. You think I can't fuck them away? Watch me." You turned and walked back to the redhead, who wrapped his arm around your waist and asked if you wanted to go back to his place. "I would love to."

You waved to L when you walked past her. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and she couldn't help but feel her stomach churn with worry. You had been doing this for a month. You were going out almost three times a week, dragging L and your other friends with you, getting drunk and leaving with whatever guy paid attention to you that night. L knew you were hurting and that you were trying to pretend you weren't, trying to distract yourself, trying to feel better, to prove something. The first few times, she didn't think anything of it. You were rebounding and she thought it was normal, but this? This was too much. This was becoming destructive and she really didn't like it.

The first thing she did after you walked out of her sight was call Harry.

***

His room was extremely clean. There wasn't a single thing out of place and it almost looked as if it wasn't lived in. You would've been weirded out if the kitchen and living room weren't an absolute mess, which he blamed on his roommate Craig.