Bad Friend

1- Crashing In

I opened the door after the third series of rapid knocks on my dorm room's door, my heart pounding and hair a tangled mess around my shoulders. I had hoped that whoever was on the other side would've taken the hint when I didn't answer the first two times, but they were persistent, and apparently wouldn't be denied.

"What?" I asked, albeit a little aggressively, as I whipped open the door. When my eyes landed on who had been knocking on my door non-stop, my exasperated sigh conflicted with the slight flutter in my chest.

"Not happy to see me? I'm hurt, G."

I rolled my eyes at the boy on the other side of my door. Harry Styles, long time on-again off-again friend and perpetual pain in my ass, stood there with a grin that screamed trouble. It was one that I had become familiar with as Harry managed to find me wherever I was when he needed to get away from the craziness that was his life. He's shown up at my dad's tattoo shop, the apartment above my dad's tattoo shop, and even the occasional hotel room when I was on vacation, to whisk me away on some fabulous, whirlwind excursion that ended in a massive hangover and Harry gone the next morning, like I had been on one big acid trip.

Running a hand through my hair, I kept the door only open a smidge. "What do you want, Edward?"

To most people, the way I acted around him might have seemed appalling, but years of someone coming and going unannounced like I was at their beck and call started to wear on me, even if that person was incredibly handsome and was loved by millions. Not to mention the fact that I was usually otherwise occupied when Harry decided he was going to grace me with his presence. There was also the fact that the last time we'd seen each other was about five months ago after a life-upending camping trip, but that wasn't at all important to the current situation.

"I texted you. Did you delete my contact information again?" Harry's voice was calm and unbothered as he stood at the foot of my dorm room, but I could see his neck straining to look past me and inside.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "No. I was just...busy," I told him, trying to close the door a little more. Knowing Harry, he was going to weasel his way inside whether I liked it or not, but with present company, I had no desire to let that happen. Hopefully, I could get him to wait downstairs while I got changed. "Listen, why don't I meet you downstairs in like five minutes—"

"But I've never seen this dorm before. You've moved since the last time I saw you. Nearly gave the new residents a heart attack when I knocked on the door. You're not an easy person to find, G."

Harry, bless his heart, looked earnest as he waited patiently for me to let him in. In reality, he really was a sweetheart, and we always had a good time when he managed to track me down. But it would only last a day or two before he disappeared again, a literal thief in the night as he always took a little knickknack of mine or a piece of my jewelry when he left—a pair of pearl earrings, a plain silver ring, a stack of post-it notes in the shape of farm animals. His visits were few and far between, and only when he needed to take his mind off of something. I got texts every now and then, or overheard someone talk about a One Direction performance in some far-off city. I called him my friend, but only because I didn't really know what else to call him. I mean, what do you call the guy that calls you out of class with a fake emergency just so he could drive you out to Joshua Tree to get high for the first time together?

But despite his comings and goings, Harry was almost intoxicating to be around—making friends all over the world and walking into restaurants and clubs like he owned the place, but in the nicest and most endearing way possible, singing softly to the music coming from the car radio, somehow always making the most expensive articles of clothing look understated or like he'd thrifted them, even though I knew he'd probably seen it on some runway during Fashion Week. In a way, I felt lucky to be considered his friend, but at the same time, it was easier to be callous when he somehow found me in order to save myself from the inevitable gloom that came when he and all his glamor left. It never actually worked, of course. He would always have me eating out of the palm of his hand in a matter of minutes, no matter how much time we spent apart.