Lucky Punishment (A One Direction FanFiction)

Morning Make Ups

That night Harry didn't come to soothe me to sleep. Half of me, like always, hoped that I would hear him whispering my name at four in the morning. That half of me yearned to have Harry come downstairs and smile, telling me that our arguement had been petty. I hated the feeling I felt right now. I hated feeling as if our relationship was flimsy and weak. When Harry had asked me if I was sick of our relationship had he meant that he was sick of it? Did he want to break up? I didn't know and I felt like everything was out of control. It wasn't until now that I realized how much I had given up to be with Harry. I had completely given up my old life, everything familiar to me, to be with Harry. My heart, something that I wasn't used to listening to, said that this was okay. I loved Harry, the first person I had ever loved. I was happy with Harry, a happiness that I had never experienced. Then there was my mind saying things that I couldn't ignore. 

I was ready to give up everything for Harry, but was he willing to still be in a relationship with me when we got back in London and he had other options? 

I loved Harry, oh god I loved Harry, but was I just a temporary thing for him? 

All these questions zoomed around my mind like bees zooming around in their hives, loud and demanding attention. 

 The state that that fight left me in was unsettling and scary. I imagined Harry walking down those steps and, instead of mending the thing keeping us apart, breaking it off.

As I curled into myself on the couch I felt pain. The kind of pain that's inside and emotional. I wanted to reach inside myself and scrape out every doubt, fear, and worry I had. But, sadly, that was impossible.

I tried to imagine Harry breaking up with me, just to get a glimpse of how it would feel, and I was faced with something pitiful, painful, and ugly. 

Was it possible to know someone for only a little over five weeks and feel as if you would die if you were apart? 

Suddenly I felt the urge to run. It happens alot. When I feel realtity catching up to me, I can't help but run away from it. Fight or flight. My escape comes in the form of the soothing burn of alcohol as it runs down my throat. My escape came in the form of sweaty skin against skin and silence broken only by gasps in the dark. I can't explain how hard it was to refuse my habits, my instinct, and stay on that couch. I fought the idea of being in a club with people who didn't know me.

One because I don't think a countryish town like Cheshire had anything I was looking for. Second because I didn't want to prove Anne right. I wasn't a child who ran away and got drunk when problems arose. At least not anymore.

It was the sound of footsteps that finally broke me from my thoughts. Rather than Harry's heavy footsteps coming down the steps, quiet footfalls came from the basement.

I snapped to attention, peeking over the side of the couch. I could clearly see a man's silhoutte trudging up the stairs, probably trying for silence but failing miserably because of the creakiness of the steps.  

The man stepped into the living room where I was supposed to be sleeping. I feigned sleep and squinted one eye open. 

It wasn't until the moon cast a line of light across the  mans face that I knew who he was.

I opened my eyes properly and sat up straight. "Andy?"

 Andy jumped, not expecting me to be awake. Then a smirk grew on his lips. "Hey, goodlooking."

Annoyance arose in me from the pet name. Now really wasn't the time for Andy's douchiness. I turned around so that my back faced him, sinking deeper into the couch's pillows. I hoped my body language sent the message that I didn't want him to be here. "Next time try to be quieter."