They Don't Know About Us (Harry Styles fanfic)

Chapter Fourteen: Meetings, Makeups and... Milk?

ALEX

I stared at the ceiling, body unmoving. The overpowering scent of alcohol invaded my nostrils. Lazily, I turned my head, analysing the empty bottles scattered clumsily across the floorboards.

He hasn't come back. Harry. He probably thought I wasn't worth it. Wasn't worth his time.

That hurt. I tried to convince myself that I had overreacted, and that since we weren't together, it wasn't cheating. 'Tried' being the keyword. I failed. I honestly, and not surprisingly at all, wanted to slap him.

The urge to redden his cheek with my palm was overwhelming; I was just waiting till he'd come back. IF he's ever coming back.

He has to. That's the bottom line. He has clothes here. Belongings. The shirt currently adorning my upper half was his, after all.

If he wanted it back, he better come.

It was weird, what I was feeling. I'd only felt it once before. When Harry left me with Adrian. I knew what this feeling was.

Heartbreak.

I'd read about it thousands of times in books, watched it in countless movies, and scoffed at it. I always thought the girl overreacted when her boyfriend left or hurt her. I thought they were stupid to drown out their pain with alcohol.

Yet here I was. Broken. Hurt... Drunk. I never wanted to be this way, and only stopped drinking out my sorrow when reality hit me hard up the ass.

HE should be the one to suffer. HE should be the one thinking over his actions. HE should be the one crying.

Crying. Everyone cries. Some people more easily than others. I'd never been a really sensitive person. I don't cry easily. Even when I'm in pain. When I was only six years old, an my aunts house, a huge brick fell on my finger and almost broke my nail off and cut all down my finger. It was so painful, there was so much blood... I didn't cry. Not one bit. I was mostly shocked.

But now I felt like I'd let my emotions get the better of me, and I was ashamed. My tears soaked my cheeks for hours until I was wrung out, exhausted. I'd run out of tears. Run out of emotion.

The sun was setting now. It was pretty. The streaks of orange, pink and red leaving a delicate glow to the usually dull London streets. The clouds slowly moving across the vast entirety that was the sky.

Soon the full moon would be out. I felt a pang, the illuminative rock providing me with a reminder of when Harry took me on the roof of Adrian's establishment, and kissed me.

Our first kiss. The best kiss of my life. Just the feeling of his warm soft, yielding lips pressed against mine was a feeling I love and would never forget.

We were so perfect for each other. It was just the little things. The way our hands would fit together perfectly, like a puzzle. The way our lips moved against one and others with such passion, it was like we were made for each other. The way he'd touch my face delicately, like I was made of the finest porcelain. The way he'd whisper 'I love you' before I fell asleep in his husky, slow voice. The way he'd sob and cry when I was hurt, feeling my pain.

Just him. His voice. The raspy, huskiness of it. His eyes. Their glinting green-blue colour so warm and welcoming. His hair. The unruly now loose chocolate curls that framed his head like a chestnut halo.

Why did he have to be so perfect? Why did he have to be like my drug? Why did he have to be someone I know I could never live without? Why did he have to be someone who could make my heart beat faster? Why did he have to be...

Such a dick at times it was unbelievable?

The beeping of my phone snapped me out of my reverie.