Let Her Go

7. You promised

7:12pm, 19th March 2013 - London

Taylor slammed her bedroom door as loud as she could following yet another raging argument with Harry. She paced around her room, hands in her hair breathing heavily, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

Harry on the other hand stormed through the apartment, swiping his arm across the dining room table, sending his laptop and a stack of paperwork flying across the room. He slammed his fist repeatedly on the front door, his face bright red from rage.

Taylor gasped at every loud bang that she heard come from the other room, only causing her to become more upset and angry. She never thought she could become scared of Harry. How could that sweet and beautiful boy she once knew now be a raging lunatic.

After that night Harry came home drunk, he refused to leave Taylor. He refused to leave their apartment and said that there was no way they were separating. It was a combination of not wanting to lose her and also not being beaten. He knew there was no way he was going to let Taylor's overwhelming emotions get the better of her, and him.

Harry stood with his back up against the front door he had just been punching. He slowly slid down so he was sat on the floor with his legs stretched out in front of him. Now his temper had simmered down, he felt a dull ache starting to develop in his wrist. He winced at the pain. Running his good hand through his hair, he sighed and immediately thought how they ended up like this. Why have they grown to hate eachother so much?

Taylor sat on the bedroom floor with her legs tucked up to her chest, her back against the wardrobes. She listened carefully for Harry, hoping that he had calmed down.

They had found themselves arguing over who's fault it was that they had drifted apart. Harry blamed Taylor for her lack of consideration for Harry, and Taylor blamed Harry for drinking whenever they had a disagreement. A few weeks ago, Harry poured away a whole bottle of whiskey in front of Taylor during an argument, to prove to her he was going to stop. She found herself often strolling into the living room after an argument to see him sitting at the dining room table with a bottle of whiskey in hand, and she'd had enough.

As Harry sat on the floor, he thought about how he was going to recover from this fight. It was by far their worst one yet. Suddenly, it clicked. He quickly stood up and jogged into the kitchen, droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. He opened the kitchen cupboard that was next to the fridge. Taylor rarely went in there as it only contained cutlery and dishes that were only brought out on special occasions. He reached to the back of the cupboard and brought out the bottle of Jack Daniels he'd been hiding for weeks. He slammed a glass on the kitchen counter and unscrewed the lid. Before he poured he hesitated. His heart pounding. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, then poured the amber liquid into the glass, wasting no time in necking it back, screwing his eyes at it's bitterness. He then poured another, but just as he was about to drink it, something made him turn.

Taylor stood in the kitchen entrance. Her arms hanging beside her, she looked ill. Her face was red, and wet from tears. She sniffled as she shook her head in shock.

"You're unbelievable!" She said, the tears continuing to stream from her eyes. "You're an actual joke, you know that? You promised you'd stop this"

Harry turned away from her and threw back his second glass of whiskey. He was beyond caring anymore. This was the only way he could cope so this is the way it had to be. Taylor let out sarcastic scoff.

"You can't even look at me can you?"

Harry's blood began to boil again, the rage slowly creeping back up. He slowly turned around and gripped tightly onto the kitchen counter to stop him from lashing out again.

"Taylor you leave me no choice. This is what iv become, this is what you've turned me into..."

"Don't you dare blame this on me, you chose to start drinking not me. I did NOT force you into it..."

"Well maybe this is the only way I CAN FUCKING DEAL WITH YOUR SHIT" he threw is whiskey glass against the kitchen wall, making it shatter into a million pieces. Taylor gasped.

"Since we lost the baby, I did my very best to help you recover. I tried everything, I drove myself fucking crazy trying to get you back to your old self, and not once did you acknowledge me, thank me, or even look at me, and look where we've ended up"

"So it's my fault?..." Taylor immediately felt the sense of déjà vu, they were going round in circles. Harry scoffed as her slightly stumbled gripping onto the counter for support, the drink immediately going to his head.

"Yeah, guess you can say that..."

Taylor stormed over to Harry, and starting slapping him on his arm.

"Harry Styles...how could...you" she continued to slap him, Harry not taking much notice, just holding his hands in front of his face for protection. She knew she wasn't hurting him, she was far to weak. After one last pathetic slap to his shoulder, she backed away crying into her palms, Harry breathing heavily looking at her. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her, but he couldn't. This was without a doubt the worst day of his life. He walked over to her coyly, immediately regretting what he said to her. She stood with her back against the fridge, her mouth cupped by her hand as she cried. He stood next to her, hesitating about putting his arm around her to comfort her. He placed a delicate hand on her shoulder which she immediately shrugged off.

"Taylor I..."

"Just shut up, I don't want to hear anything from you"

"Taylor...!"

She could barely speak through her tears.

"GET THE FUCK OUT..." She pointed to the front door. Harry started to panic, there was no way he could talk his way out of this one. "Did you not here me? Get out!!" Her teeth gritted together. He grabbed his keys off the counter and walked to the front door., Taylor following him with her eyes. Before Harry left he looked back over his shoulder one last time and glanced at Taylor. This was goodbye, and he knew it.