Love Always, Olive.

5

5. (Harry's POV)

The alcohol swam through my veins and I realized it may not have been the best choice to finish off this fucking check list during my lunch break. My head pounded from the massive intakes of alcohol and drugs, but I was blissfully happy. Zayn was beside me, smoking up the entire locker room we were hiding in.

I didn't even care about Olive... I'm not sure why I bothered filling out this list thing. Maybe it was simply because she made the wrong assumptions about me. Maybe I was plain old bored. Maybe I was slightly insulted that she had me pictures as the 'good guy' if you will, because my time here had labeled me as anything but good.

"Haven't shared a smoke with you in ages, man." Zayn coughed, passing me a cigarette. I shook my head and handed it back. Ok so maybe I had become slightly good.

"I just needed a puff to check it off the list." I sighed, my head in my hands.

"Fine... more for me." Zayn hummed, a fresh cloud of nicotine surrounded him. I inhaled it and my mouth twitched, craving one. I had given up smoking over two years ago for... personal reasons, but I still missed the taste.

"Louis wants to throw a party for her this weekend."

I raised an eyebrow, "Her who?" I asked, despite the fact I obviously knew who 'her' was.

"Olive. C'mon, Drunk Harry, keep up." Zayn clapped, standing up to clean out the smoke with the showers. The smoke followed the steam up the vents. Although it probably wasn't scientifically sensible, it tended to work. These gym showers were shit for actual hygiene purposes, but they were fantastic smoke screens.

"You're just as drunk." I argued, more slurred than intended.

"No. No, I stopped drinking about an hour ago. Whereas you are still going."

I mimicked him and rolled my eyes, "Am not."

Zayn laughed and pointed to the locker to the left of my feet- it was full of water bottles that had once contained a various collection of alcohol. Well, fuck, maybe I did drink a lot.

"Okay. Okay. Okaaay." I grinned, holding my hands in surrender. "We've got a class to get to."

"I've got a free block." Zayn smirked like the annoying bastard he is.

"I've got..." I racked my brain trying to remember.

"Creative writing."

"Creative writing. Right." I mumbled, I must've told him before intoxicating myself.

"How the fuck did I end up with a class like creative writing?"

"You keyed Mr. Bonzai's car last year. He told you that you had to take it in order for him not to press charges." Zayn couldn't help but smile.

I laughed and leaned against the cool blue metal. "I did do that didn't I? Huh, that was fun." I hummed lightly, practically asleep.

Zayn's shoe met my thigh and with an effortless push, I fell off the bench. My butt throbbed after meeting the slightly wet, crappy floor tiles. Angrily I glared at Zayn.

"Get to class."

"Make me."

He laughed, "Oh, oh I will. You really shouldn't have asked for it."

I was easily four inches taller than him and about five kilograms heavier, yet when Zayn Malik stood over me with a condescending look in his eyes, my stomach churned. No... wait... I was getting sick. I turned to the side and watched as my entire lunch projected out of my mouth.