Heartbreaker [h.s.]

Chapter Fourteen

I drag extra concealer under my eyes, although it's not really helping the monstrous dark circles that have taken up residence there this morning.

It was a long night. And I'm not even referring to my evening with whatever the fuck his name was—Chad, I think? Right after I got what I needed, I asked him to leave, told him I was dead tired. Which I was. As I washed my face and brushed my teeth, though, I started hearing noises coming from right next door.

It started out low and then the commotion went on until 4 am.... Just endless moaning and banging of the wooden headboard. There was lots of "Oh, don't stop!" and "Harder, Harry!" It made me fucking nauseous, like it didn't sit well in my stomach for whatever reason and that bothered me almost as much as the obnoxious noises.

I stared up at the ceiling, all while I heard excessive and overt sex sounds, wondering if I'd just given into Harry earlier, I wouldn't have this unease sitting in the pit of my stomach. He knew what he was doing and he knew it'd get under my skin. Fucking prick. Can't blame him completely, though, because of that shit I pulled on the phone with him. Didn't prevent the twisting of my gut every time I heard what I heard... Chad didn't exactly get me where I needed to be the way-

No, stop it Charlie... you hate him. He hates you. We do not get jealous of assholes who treat you like garbage... but fuck better than anyone has. I run my hands through my hair, feeling far too flustered and agitated this early in the morning.

So now I'm trying to function on only a few hours of sleep and we have a show tonight—not the best combination. But for now, I'm getting myself somewhat ready to go downstairs and grab a giant cup of coffee and something to eat. I don't bother with my hair, just opt for tying it up in a ponytail. I've got gray sweatpants and a ribbed white tank on as I groggily descend down the elevator and make my way to the continental breakfast.

In my sleepless haze, I beeline it to the coffee, pour myself a cup and top it off with creamer. I'm definitely going to need another. And maybe a third cup. I don't even know what I'm in the mood to eat and my brain is barely functioning, so I simply go for a piece of toast with butter and some fruit. Easy enough.

I start walking to a small table by the window where the early morning sun is shining onto, but I hear Niall's voice boom, "Oi! Charlie! Come sit!"

Glancing up, I see him patting the empty chair next to him—the chair that's right across from Harry who's sporting a shit-eating grin while he takes a bite of his waffle which I found a bit odd, I pegged him for the bland black coffee type opting out of eating a legit meal. Louis is sat next to him, head hung low, no food in front of him except a water and a coffee—very clearly hungover and hurting.

I contemplate just plopping myself down at the original table I set my sight on, but with a loud huff, I reluctantly sit down with them.

"'Morning," I say.