July
HARRY STYLES
"I'm not going, I don't fucking care."
From the bed, I watched Camden throw her shorts across the room until they smacked the wall and dropped to the floor. She stomped her way out, and made sure her feet thumped loudly on the stairs the same way.
Rather than immediately arguing and getting up to follow her, I pressed my palms to my closed eyelids and tried to rub the frustration out of my head.
The problem was, Camden has been cigarette-free since the day she found out she was pregnant, and I've been cigarette-free since the day I came back to London. She's been smoking since she was eighteen, and I've been smoking since I was seventeen.
I mean it in the most dramatic way possible when I say that it is hell. It's worse than hell. It's whatever place is underneath hell, that not even the devil would try to visit.
And I really thought we would be past the withdrawal stage, but we were waking up with clenched teeth just about every morning, thinking about how smoking was not going to be the first thing we got to do.
Some days were much better than others, and we had learned how to distract ourselves after pathetically downloading an app on our phones that was supposed to make the process easier, but some days were like this one. Adding pregnancy hormones to the mix was just the cherry on top of it all.
"Okay," I breathed, forcing myself off the bed to go and find Camden downstairs.
She was laying down on the couch with her hands over her eyes, breathing deeply before she made a whining sound and kicked her legs like a little kid. I had to stifle my laugh when I realized that's exactly how I was feeling inside, but of course I'd leave it up to her to actually do it.
"Why don't you wanna go, babe?" I asked, keeping my tone soft and non confrontational.
At the sound of my voice, she slapped her arms down on the couch and huffed. "Because none of my clothes fucking fit me, and I already know Lucy and Molly are going to look so fucking skinny in whatever they wear because they're perfect, and they're prettier than me, and I don't wanna be their friend anymore."
I tried so hard not to laugh, but the whole thing was absolutely ridiculous. When I did let out an accidental sympathetic chuckle, doing so only triggered her tears. Real tears, not just the whining thing she had been doing lately.
Great.
"Cam," I sat by her feet and lifted her legs to hold them in my lap. "You're so pretty, I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm not!" She cried out, her voice echoing through the house. "I'm the ugliest girl you've ever hooked up with, and now you have to have a baby with me, and the baby is going to be ugly too because I'm the one carrying it!"
My eyes widened as I shook my head because she was so painfully wrong. But how do you tell a woman at three months pregnant that she's wrong? Usually I would agree with her just to keep her happy these days, but this wasn't one of those situations.
"Okay, let me just be really honest right now," I shifted to face her more. "If you were ugly, I never would have talked to you to begin with. Because I'm a piece of shit like that. You're the prettiest girl I've ever hooked up with."
"No, I'm not," she stood her ground. "Just shut up and stop trying to tell me what I want to hear–and I mean it, I'm not going to this stupid party with alcohol and girls that are prettier than me. I'd rather get hit by a car."
"Okay," I nearly cut her off as I gently moved her legs off of me to stand.
She scoffed as I made my way to the stairs. "Where the fuck are you going?"
