Strange [h.s.]

Nineteen

Chapter 18 and Chapter 19 are part of a double update

They occur at the exact same time, one is from Ella's POV, and the other is Harry's

Enjoy!

Harry Styles

My finger swirls around the rim of the small glass in front of me, the leftover Whiskey and ice sitting at the bottom of the cup.

My ears ring with the sound of the blaring music and the conversation of my coworkers beside me. I lift my eyes, looking around the crowd. Upon every blonde-haired girl that turns around, disappointment fills me when I realize it's not Ella.

My coworkers suggested we come out tonight since it is my last day here.

I leave tomorrow.

They had talked about all of us getting drinks, saying we needed to have one last hurrah as coworkers, but right now, this bar is the last place I want to be. Of course, they chose Bandits, seeing as though this is where we came the first night I was here.

The same night I met Ella in the exact same place.

It's been a rough few weeks, not seeing Ella when it's all I've wanted to do. The number of times I have had to talk myself down from driving to her house just to see her is higher than I could count on my hands and feet combined.

"Harry!" I hear a voice beside me shout. I look up to see Isaiah looking over at me. His eyes are bloodshot, and by the stupid grin on his face, I can tell he's had a few too many to drink.

"Yes?" I ask him, taking another sip of my drink.

"You excited to go home?" He asks, slightly slurring on his words. Upon this, the rest of our table mates start to cheer.

I shrug my shoulders, "I don't know."

Isaiah leans over, shoving my shoulder, "What is there that's not be excited about?"

"A couple of things, for sure," Is all I respond with, taking the final sip of the whiskey. I feel the dark liquid coat my throat, the drinks I've already had in my system covering up the burning sensation.

I stand up from my spot in the booth, "I'm going to get another," I say, waving my empty glass in front of me, "Be back in a second."

I start to make my way over to the bartop, squeezing my way through sweaty bodies that litter the floor. Once I reach my destination, I plop down onto a stool, waiting for the bartender to make his way over to me. I swivel in the chair, looking over to the dance floor.

I feel my chest get a little tight, seeing couples on the floor together. It makes me laugh a little, watching them all dance. Their bodies pressed together, dancing like we were at a high school homecoming. I think to myself about Ella and I up there, the two of us dancing. Except it never looked like that.

When Ella would drag me up there, the most touching we would do was the occasional hold of the hand as I spun Ella around. Ella lost herself on that dance floor, not caring about anyone else around her. She would jump around, run in circles, scream the lyrics, and have the best time up there.

The bartender walks over to me, snapping me out of my thoughts quick enough for me to order another whiskey on the rocks. The second he takes my order, he moves on to the next customer. I reach for my phone out of my pocket, and against my better judgment, I open my messages with Ella.

I type out a quick "Hi," letting my phone hover over the send button for a minute. I tell myself that maybe this won't be a big deal, she will ignore me, and I'll move on with the night, or she will answer, and there will be a slight possibility that I will get to see her one last time.