inspirations // harry styles

chapter thirty-six // make it without you.

Olivia's POV

"Shhh," I hiss at Tate as I continue to clean his split lip and bloody nose. He winces and moans as if he were dying.

He rolls his eyes, obviously still in an awful mood. When we were interrupted from our silent cuddling on the couch, he had no intention of answering the door. I happen to glance out the window as I recognized Tea's car parked right in front of Tate's place.

And from there on, it's a mess. It all happened so fast I can barely get a grip on the situation I'm currently in.

After Harry punched Tate square in the mouth - sending him falling to the ground immediately - Tea had grabbed Harry and I slammed the door in his face. I'm not ready to listen to whatever he has to say. I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready enough for that.

I thought Tea would know that. Why in the hell she brought him here, I'll never know. I'm not too particularly happy with her at the moment. I'm not really happy in general, at the moment.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, Olivia," Tate mutters as he gets up from his seat on the kitchen counter, leaving me behind to pick up the mess.

Tate certainly isn't helping my mood either.

"You say that like all this is my fault!" I call out, not really wanting to pick a fight with Tate, but I've never been one to hold back if I need to say something.

After tossing the dirty towels in the laundry basket, I head back into the living room where Tate's pouting on the couch, examining his wounds in his reflection on his phone screen.

I sit on the other side of the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. Crossing my arms, I watch him closely.

Was I stupid for coming here? I knew Tate wasn't going to be any different, but I thought I needed something familiar to make me feel sane. Perhaps this isn't the familiar I really needed. Sure, he let me forget all my troubles as we touched and kissed, but that didn't last long enough. I need something to make me forget for forever.

"If it's not your fault, then whose is it?" He asks, giving me a taunting look.

Who did the blame fall on, really? Me; for being naïve enough to believe I could be someone special and receive actual feelings from Hollywood's Heart breaker? Harry; for thinking it was okay to play a game like that on an unsuspecting girl like me? Tate; for making me so damaged in the first place, that I clung on to the first guy that made me feel even slightly worthy?

I guess that's the reason nothing in life is simply black and white. There's no right answer for that question. The downfall of everything today is just a build up of stupid mistakes we've - but mostly I - made.

"It's not that simple," I mutter, resting my chin upon my kneecaps. My eyes avoid his, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed.

I've never fought with a person as much as I fought with Tate. Back when we were together, I'd tell myself that's how you can tell you're in love, when you feel comfortable enough with a person that you can show your worst side. I think 'The Notebook' got passion and hatred mixed up; Noah and Allie fought all the time.

That's why I don't even flinch when Tate raises his voice in return,

"Maybe not for you, but it's pretty simple to all the rest of us!"

And here come the insults.

My brain cramps with conflict. Should I just zip my lips and let him get it out of his system? I was the one that showed up here. It's my bed and I've got to chose to lay in it. Or, do I really need him all that badly? Could I make it without him?