Heat - Harry Styles

twenty-seven

After a glass of wine and a lot of begging from Charlotte, Harry gave us his blessing–and his driver–to go have a fun night. It's not like I needed his permission, but I was still happy to have it. I knew this whole situation was stressful for him and the last thing I wanted to do was pile on, but I wanted to feel normal tonight.

My shoes snuck to the floor as we walked into The Drunken Duck. It was one of Charlotte and I's favorite haunts. We'd been drinking here long before we were legal, and if there was anywhere the bartenders had my back–it was here. I knew that if trouble did come knocking, they'd be the first people to stick up for me.

"Well, hello, Miss Thang," Danny drew as he wiped down the bar in front of my seat. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence. Is your boyfriend joining us?"

"Nope," I popped the P, and laughed. "Tonight is girls night. He wasn't invited."

"Good, because I don't feel like dealing with whatever paparazzi he'd lure in here."

"There will be none of that tonight, Danny!" Charlotte scolded. "We are thinking positive, zen thoughts of no weird invasions of privacy!"

"Got it," he chuckled. "Two blue moons?"

We nodded in unison.

"So tell me everything," Charlotte prodded as Danny slid our beers in front of us.

"Things are definitely different," I sighed, sipping from my bottle. "I think the next few months are going to be really hard."

"Did something happen?"

"Some dudes with cameras were following me this morning. They caught me somewhere between my house and the coffee shop. They chased me into Beverly's."

"Oh my gosh," she gasped. "What ended up happening?"

"Mrs. Beverly let me hide until Harry could come pick me up. He pulled up to the back door and I bolted into the car before they could see me."

"Do you think they know where you live?"

"I definitely don't think they've figured out where Harry lives, otherwise they'd be camped out there. My house on the other hand...I'm sure they've already dug up that info."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm not sure if it's better for me to lay low at Harry's or just stay home for a few days. I could use a little space, I think."

"Is something wrong between you two?"

"No," I said quickly. "Everything is good with us. He's just really stressed out right now. There's obviously a lot going on with the logistics of our relationship, but his label also wants new music like yesterday."

"So he's busy?"

"He's just been locking himself in his music room recently–especially at night. It's not really a big deal," I hedged. "I should just start painting while he writes."

"Yeah, pick up your damn brush," she teased. "And start spending more time with me! Y'all are probably suffocating each other with all this lovey dovey mess."

"Shut up," I bumped her shoulder, sending a bit of beer flying out of the bottle she was holding. "But you're right. I'm going to get back to doing the things that make me feel like me."

*

We'd been at the Drunken Duck for two hours, and the beers were going back easier and easier. I was on my third, Charlotte her fifth. My thoughts were starting to feel delightfully fuzzy at the edges, but I wasn't quite buzzed enough to not care about the dozens of people who'd been sneaking photos of me all night.

My phone lit up in front of me, Harry's name popping up on my screen.

Harry: All good? X

Me: Great! Charlotte is giving the town drunk a run for his money.

Harry: Wouldn't expect anything less. Don't get too crazy, please. Call me the moment you need anything.

Me: I will. We're fine here, though. Promise.

I turned my phone on airplane mode and shoved it into my back pocket. I loved Harry, but I was tired of feeling like I had to check in with him every time I left the house. I meant what I said earlier–I needed to know that Charleston could still feel like Charleston. I'd lived here my entire life, and I wasn't ready to give up the peace of mind I always had in my hometown.

"Should we take a shot?" Charlotte asked, eyes bleary.

"You absolutely should," I giggled, "but I probably shouldn't."

"Why not?" she shined.

"There's probably a creepy camera man out there. The last thing I need is someone getting a picture of me looking all sloppy. People are already talking shit about me online. I don't want to fuel the fire."

"People are so mean," she shook her head. "All you're doing is minding your own business. Why can't they?"

"I have been asking myself that since we went public," I sighed. "I think these people genuinely think that Harry is their business and that it's their responsibility to keep an eye on him."

"Well, if they were really keeping that close of an eye on him, they'd see how in love with you he is. I mean, the guy is obsessed."

"Maybe they'll see eventually," I sighed. "But he's so private. I doubt he will talk about our relationship in an interview or anything. People will just keep speculating."

"That sucks."

"I know," I agreed.

*

*

*

I got back to Harry's house around midnight, buzz already worn off. I was too nervous about someone sneaking a horrific photo of me to truly let loose. I'd seen the magazine rack at the grocery store. I knew what kind of headlines they paired with bad pictures. They'd surely spin it to make me look like some drunk–which, okay maybe sometimes I was. But I'm in my early twenties! Let a girl live.

I tiptoed through the front door, setting my purse on the kitchen counter and making my way to the bedroom. The house was quiet, but in my gut I knew that Harry wouldn't go to bed before I got back.

"H?" I called.

"Just in the bedroom," he replied.

"Hi," I grinned when I walked into the room. Harry was snuggled up in his bed, eyes looking sleepy. I walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.

"I'm so glad you're home," he breathed, running his hands gently up and down my arms like he was trying to warm me up.

"You're acting like I've been gone for a week," I laughed.

"I was worried."

"Everything was fine. I even got drunk Charlotte home without a hitch,"

"Did anyone bother you?"

"A few people took some photos," I shrugged. "Nothing major. Why do you look so stressed?"

I reached over to him, smoothing the crease between his brow with my thumb.

"People were posting pictures of you on twitter." He shook his head, looking down. "I just got worried that you were there without me or security."

"We're lucky that Charleston's a small town," I said, trying to convince myself I was never in any danger.

"We are," he agreed. "But maybe you should stay with me until the security team arrives. They should be here by the end of the week."

"Maybe," I said, swallowing the defiance that was welling up in my throat. I didn't want to be a prisoner in my own hometown. This wasn't what I signed up for.