CLOSER | H.S.

30.

Harry's pov.

"Keep tellin' yourself that you was a mom."

Eminem - Cleanin' Out My Closet

-

I was doodling a random tie in my home office, trying to get those scary thoughts out of my head. Those that have been haunting me for a few weeks, those I did not want to make sense out of. The ones about Scarlet. The girl I've been trying to get the fuck out of my head no matter what it takes.

But I ended up drawing the tie with the pattern of her bananas printed pajamas she would wear most of the time at her home. I thought it looked nice, and there was no way someone would notice it's about her.

I drew another one, but this time with a cactus pattern spread all over the drawn fabric.

As I was finishing the small green details, the loud house phone rang next to me- the one in my office that I'd only use for work.

"Styles", I answered quick and dry.

"Harry?" A fragile voice spoke on the other end.

I furrowed my brows, guessing it wasn't anything related to work. "Who is it?"

"It's Anne, honey, it's mommy."

"Anne", I took a deep breath as I rolled my eyes and immediately massaged my temples. "What?"

"I was thinking about coming by, but I guessed since the last time you didn't let me in, it wouldn't be any different now."

"I could just as easy hang up now", I threatened, but curious about what she had to say.

"Will you?"

"Talk."

"Okay- don't hang up! Just- I just wanted to know if you accept taking me to the altar, like my father would", she asked of me.

I was baffled, I wasn't even planning on going to that circus. The last time I took her to the altar, I was nineteen years old and it lasted for six months. I swore to myself I'd never be a fool again.

"Sorry", I spoke for the last time before I hung up.

How could she ask something like that of me? Again? I was just a teenager when she made me walk by her side, but this time I am a full grown man and she won't tell me what to do ever again.

Everything made me reminisce my father and what he would want me to do. He died as a loving man, but I'm pretty sure he hates my mother in the great beyond. Wherever he is.

I got up from my chair, already tired of working late at night, trying to control my nerves. I marched out of the room and headed to the living room, where my bar was placed as a stupid decoration that I was slowly wrecking.

I poured myself a random dark liquor after isolating myself behind that counter. I drank to forget, but sitting there alone only made me remember even more of the stuff I've been spending my whole life trying to forget.

Like how on that cold winter night, when I was still in high school, I wasn't supposed to be drinking at all. I had a different web of friends back then and me and Zayn were always in a constant battle of which of us is the alpha male- not that we aren't to this day. It's just that everything is so intense when you're a teenager. We wanted to be the leaders of the group, so even though we were good friends, we'd always end up fighting.

I was supposed to sleep at his place that night, because he was throwing a party and his parents were away for the weekend. But I ended up punching him in the nose because he won on snooker and was being a complete ass about it. I was never a good loser, but back then I would just laugh it off if I wasn't drunk. The fact is that I was and he kicked me out of his house at two in the morning when our little teenage get together was practically over.