❝𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧❞-𝐡.𝐬

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓲𝓿𝓮

Iris Sinclair

as we walked out of the office, i saw stephanie looking over at harry, with her doe, blue eyes and puffy lips in such a ''fuck me right on this desk'' face that i could just throw up in her face. i smiled at her, because well keep friends close and enemies closer, right? since when did this girl become my enemy tho? and i kept walking, when i heard her call after us

''you know where to find me when you get bored, h'' i've tried to be a better person. i really did. but i wasn't born that way, okay. just as she finished that sentence i turned around slowly and started walking her way ''stephanie, do you know who i am?'' i asked her in low voice waiting for her to answer but all she could muster up was a nod and the confidence was now taken over by nervousness.

''you know, stephanie'' i made sure to sound disgusted while saying her name ''they say that real women stand by real women. and supporting each other as women is really important...that is something that makes us, women so much special than men'' i continue slowly as i stare into her eyes, keeping my face very close to her. her heart was beating out of her chest and the sweat was already forming on her forehead ''but i guess you are not a real woman now, are you? first of all sleeping with your own boss? such a shame, couldn't keep the job any other way? second of all, flirting with another woman's man? is that how you support another woman? ''when you get bored'' '' i mocked sarcastically smiling at her, now grabbing her throat ''do i look like i'm the type of person people get bored around? do you even have a single idea who the fuck i am?'' i said the tone so low, the intimidation that was radiating off the whole speech even affected harry who was now clearing his throat, while smirking, as he leaned against the desk that was stood right in front of stephanie's.  stephanie on the other hand was shaking her head like crazy, the tears about to leave her eyes, when i let her go and dusted my hands off on my coat.

''next time, try to flirt with my husband, maybe i won't let your pretty neck go'' i kissed her cheek and walked away. 

i have no idea, why the fuck i did that. but that really made me happy.

harry styles

The way she talked, the way she acted so possessive, the way she moved. every single fucking thing amazed me about her. i could not just kill her, right away...anyways. as she walked away leaving me speechless (which she's been doing  for literally two days now) and stephanie breathless, i immediately ran after her and just about when the elevator was closing i jumped in behind her.

''you, again.'' she said smiling now in the mirror looking at me and that was it. i rushed to her kissing her roughly as she aggressively kissed back, running her hands through my hair, while i put both of my hands behind her thighs lifting her up, as she wrapped her legs around me,  i pushed her into the wall kissing her like there was no tomorrow. The way she tasted, the adrenaline was pumping into my veins, this didn't feel real, it felt so wrong to be doing this with the person i hate the most but hey it's just touchy making out session, right? as the elevator dinged she immedietly jumped off me, breathlessly looking at me with swelled lips and messy hair and when the door opened she ran off without looking back.

***

I pushed through the bar door, already hating myself for being here. The place was loud, dark, and exactly what I needed—a way to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head, all tied to one name: Iris Sinclair.

I was tired of thinking about her. Tired of replaying our moment in the elevator with her, the look she gave me, every word she ever said to Stephanie. Tired of letting her annoy me even when she wasn't there. The bartender didn't ask what I wanted. He just poured. Whiskey, straight, no ice. I downed the first glass in one go, not caring about the burn as it tore down my throat. I wanted the numbness. Needed it, really. Tonight wasn't about thinking. It was about forgetting.

The next glass went down slower. The room around me blurred a little more with every swallow, but no matter how drunk I got, she was still there. Iris, with her dark hair and green eyes. She cut through the fog, through the whiskey, through everything.

"Another?" The bartender asked, already pouring.

"Yeah." I didn't even look at him. I just stared at the amber liquid, waiting for it to do what I needed it to—erase her.

It was then I noticed her. The girl a few seats down, red lips, blonde hair, eyes locked on me like I was the only person in the bar. She smiled, and I could tell she'd made up her mind. A part of me was grateful. This was exactly the kind of distraction I came here for.

I slid off the stool, walking over to her. She smiled wider, leaning forward, practically inviting me into whatever mess this was about to be. Her name was Lucy or Lisa—I didn't care enough to ask twice.

"You look like you could use some company," she purred, her hand resting on my arm. It was a line, a cheap one at that, but I wasn't here to care. I was here to forget.

The drinks kept coming, and soon enough, we were in a cab, her body pressed against mine like she couldn't wait to get me out of my clothes. It was supposed to be simple. Just something to numb the noise, to push Iris further and further away. And for a while, it worked.

The hotel room was dark, the air heavy with the scent of cheap perfume and bad decisions. She kissed me, hands all over, and I let her. I let her pull me under, let her body replace the one I couldn't stop thinking about. I didn't even close my eyes because when I did, it wasn't her I was seeing. It was Iris.

But halfway through, something shifted. The whiskey wasn't working anymore. The room wasn't spinning enough to blur the truth. I looked down at Lucy—or whatever her name was—and suddenly, I felt sick. Not because of her, but because of me.

I didn't feel any better. If anything, I felt worse. I'd done this a hundred times before—found someone, slept with them, and moved on like it meant nothing. But tonight, it didn't feel like nothing. It felt like another mistake. One that wouldn't go away when the sun came up.

"Damn it," I whispered to myself, covering my face with my hands. I couldn't stop thinking about Iris, and no matter how much I drank, or how many women I slept with, it wasn't going to change that.

I hated her for it. But more than that, I hated myself.