Misadventure

22

Louis' POV

I cried for about an hour after Harry left my dorm, once I'd sobered up a little and realized what I'd just done. I didn't even hear Zayn come in. I was sobbing too loudly with my face buried in a pillow, lying face down on my bed.

The mattress shifted under his weigh as he sat down near my crumpled frame, rubbing my back through my t-shirt with hesitant hands. "Mate, you've got to breathe. You're gonna make yourself sick."

I already felt sick, and his efforts to comfort me only made me cry harder, because I didn't deserve any sort of kindness right now. "I fucked up," I choked out between labored breaths. "I fucked up so bad."

"What are you talking about?"

"I... Harry... he-" another pathetic wail slipped out, cutting me off. I couldn't remember the last time I cried this hard. My stomach was spasming involuntary and painfully. I was starting to feel light headed.

Zayn tucked his arms under the front of my torso, pulling me into an upright position so I could breathe without my face hidden.

"Relax, mate." He took a few exaggerated deep breaths, signaling for me to do the same. Then he asked. "What's going on? What happened with Harry?"

Just the mention of his name made my stomach drop, and I felt struggled to maintain any semblance of composure. "I fucked up, Zayn."

"Yeah. You mentioned that." He nodded as though he understood, even though I knew I wasn't the most coherent right now, crashing from a high and having an emotional breakdown all at the same time. "You mind elaborating?" he asked patiently.

I let out a shaky breath, unsure where to even begin. Zayn already knew I was a bit of a disaster of a human. Did he know the full extent? No. Did he know more than he let on? Probably. But the details were still ambiguous, and I really wanted to keep it that way for the sake of my own dignity.

He certainly had no idea I prostituted myself for drug money, or that Harry had to grow up with an addict for a mother that neglected him for nearly a decade, until he wound up finding her dead, and that I was his safe space, and I was supposed to protect him, but now I was doing the same shit she used to do.

And I'd been so selfishly swept away by the excitement of Harry asking me out, I forgot to consider the reasons it was so unfair of me to say yes.

Now I had to choose between breaking his heart by telling him I changed my mind and didn't want to go on this date with him, or break his heart by telling him the truth about who and what I really was.

I couldn't let him become romantically involved with me without at least warning him what he was getting himself into here.

"You know, about like... my drinking," I muttered. My cheeks were burning from shame, and I hadn't even scratched the tip of the iceberg. "Well, Harry asked me on a date..."

"Okay? And?"

"I said yes."

Zayn blinked at me, not following. "What's the problem? You like Harry, yes?"

"That is the problem," I explained, voice watery. More tears blurring my vision then spilling out onto my face. "I fucking drink. Sometimes a lot. I party, and... it's pretty bad at times."

"He knows this, Louis. He's been at a party with you. He's seen you drunk, and it hasn't scared him off yet."

It was a fair point, but drinking wasn't really even the main problem. I was too much of a coward to even admit to the drugs, though.