Look at Me - H.S.

~ Chapter 12 ~

I'm drunk. I'm completely and utterly rat arsed. I can't remember the last time I drunk alcohol at all and now we're on our second bottle of some red stuff Harry likes. It started at dinner, I felt all posh and elegant having wine with my meal like a real grown up, now my mind has gone to mush and I can barely string a sentence together. Harry on the other hand can obviously handle his drink far better than me and has basically just spent the past hour or so laughing at everything I say as the words become more and more slurred.

Anyways, jokes on him because he decided he wanted me to paint his nails after the first bottle of wine.
As I sit here on the floor of his living room with my face covered in some sort of ridiculously expensive mud mask, I'm holding the little brush between my index finger and thumb, closing one eye and sticking my tongue out the corner of my mouth every time I attempt to dip it back into the bottle. What? It helps me focus, alright?

Although, I think we may need to re-name this stuff nail and cuticle polish at this point.

I mean, who are we kidding? He's Harry bloody Styles, if he started wearing it like a 3 year old had painted his nails, you know damn well everyone would start doing the same! So, no need to panic people, I'm just setting new trends here, that's all.

Harry has painted mine in a beautiful navy blue with olive green on each of my ring fingers whereas I've done his (well, tried) the opposite way round. Matchy, matchy.

"Look Barold, all I'm saying is, I would definitely kick your arse at a One Direction quiz night. Just because you were in the band, doesn't mean you know more about it. I'd challenge all of you actually. You five against me. Make it happen and I'll be there." I shrug and smile cockily at him. His laugher is getting louder and louder and he doesn't seem to be able to catch his breath. He thinks I'm joking.

"Barold?! What or who the fuck is Barold?!" He stutters out through laughs.

"Barold is my chum. Barold is you, silly!" I point and wiggle my finger at him. "You know, like Harold with a B. A B for Barry. Jesus, I thought you were meant to be smart" I scoff and roll my eyes playfully. Giggling to myself.

Drunk Cassie is funny.

He stops and stares at me for a quick second before bursting into laughter all over again. I'm genuinely worried he's gonna wet himself in a minute.

"Ok, ok - I'll let you have that one" he holds his hands up defensively.

"God, I love drunk Cassie" he adds, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair. Luckily for him, the nails on that hand had been finished for a good half hour so they're probably dry.

Wait, my face feels tight. What is happening to me. I'm moving my eyebrows up and down and opening and closing my mouth but it doesn't seem to be helping. What the?

Ohh right, the mask!

Ok, I need to stop drinking.

I think Harry noticed my discomfort because he stands up and holds his hands out to me. I grab them tightly to take full advantage of his help, I need it way more than I realised.

"Right, c'mon little miss drunky pants. Let's get you cleaned up" he keeps a hold of one of my hands and leads me in the direction of the bright pink carpeted stairs. Pink stairs are fucking cool. "I think so too!" He says, out of nowhere. Shit, I said that out loud?!

Making sure I don't fall on my arse, he never let's go of me the whole time we're walking. He's sweet like that.

We eventually reach the top and head into the main bathroom. There's like 17 in this place.
Ok, slight exaggeration. There's probably 5 though, I think.
Either way, it's excessive.