Ignition [h.s]

08

HARRY STYLES

I wake up to a massive fucking throb behind my eyelids and in the back of my head. My hand flies immediately to the pain which makes it hard to open my eyes, and when I do eventually open them, I see an unfamiliar stained ceiling and chipped wall paint which makes me spring upwards.

There's a small grumble from beside me, I look down by my side and see Elise's face pressed against the pillow, one of her arms is wrapped around my stomach and our legs are interwoven beneath the sheets. I swallow thickly as I remember where I am and why I've got a ghastly hangover. I slowly lower myself back into a laying position so she doesn't wake up and become a pain in my ass first thing in the morning.

I turn to face her so that her arm falls across my hip, her fingertips gently caressing my back and sending a shiver throughout my body. Though the touches are innocent, I've never felt anything like them before. Her blonde hair hangs in her face, a few strands attached to the wetness of her bottom lip which I reach out to move.

My head hurts, why the hell is she holding me like a teddy bear?

I close my eyes to quell the pain for a bit, processing what actually happened last night. Slowly it all comes reeling back: the excessive tequila drinking, the karaoke, coming back here and opening up to each other about our pasts. My blood runs cold as I remember I told her about the foster homes and being an orphan. Why would I fucking tell her things I've never told anyone before? The only people who know my past are Zayn, Niall, Liam and Louis.

She might have been stupid enough to lay her cards bare for me, but I've never been fooled so easily into giving up information like that. I've never been that vulnerable with anyone, and I don't plan on starting now because of a girl that's causing me more trouble than she's worth. Every little thing she does causes me an endless stream of problems, I have to stay as far away emotionally from her as possible.

Anger starts to build as I recall how we'd been foolishly singing in front of an entire bar too. How could I have gotten up there and done that? I hate music, I hate dancing, I hate singing. Technically we're on the run, and just showed off our faces to a bunch of randoms who could report us. The only way I'd ever make such a stupid mistake is if she made me drunk on purpose, put my guard down and made us look stupid in front of everyone. She probably wanted to shame me and extract my secrets to use as leverage against me later. I'm so infuriated by how smart the tactic is. I always thought she was the dumb blonde type.

I can't stay in this bed much longer because I'm so angry at her and myself for falling for such ministrations, that I could start screaming. I toss my legs off the edge of the mattress and swing the duvet off of me. It lands on Elise's body and she starts to make that purring noise again, like a stupid cat. I twist around and gently tuck the duvet in so she remains calm and sleepy, I need some time alone right now. She snuggles her head further into the sheets. Perhaps it'd be cute if I wasn't furious.

I pad over to the bathroom with clenched fists, grabbing the porcelain of the sink between my white knuckles. My head is throbbing and my grip is so hard that the sink is about to splinter. What the fuck has gotten into me? Sharing such personal information with someone who clearly doesn't like me is one of the most careless mistakes I've ever made. It can't happen again.

Panic bubbles in the pit of my stomach as I look over my pale, dishevelled reflection. I'm going to have to start compiling my own amount of evidence against Elise too—just a few things, but if she has shit on me then I need equally as much on her. Nobody can ever get ahead of me, exposing my orphan past could shatter a lot of my credibility.

And I look disgusting. The bags under my eyes are dark, my hair is curling with grease and sweat is drenching every inch of my skin. The longer I look at myself the sicker I feel, I kick the bathroom door shut with my heel and then lean over the sink and throw up the contents of last night. My vomit smells extremely alcoholic, being a mixture of tequila, bourbon and regret. I rinse out my mouth feeling a little bit better, before dropping to my knees and knocking about in the messy cabinet. There's some off brand shampoos and body wash, and a small bottle of Advil pushed near the back. I grab it in victory and then empty a few pills onto my palm, swallowing them dry before peeling off my boxers and stepping into the grubby shower.