Symbolism & Innocence

Hard Liquor & Chain Smoking

Harry's P.O.V

The street was dark as I stumbled my way past parked cars. My vision was blurred and my eyes heavy as the world continued to spin. The air around me stank of hard liquor and cigarette smoke; I haven't lot one in months, but in times like this I can't help, but chain-smoke myself into oblivion. My clothes are tattered and soaked from the earlier rain, my knuckles bleeding from the damage the plaster did on me. I felt hopeless.

Light drizzles of rain hit the concrete as I produced yet another cigarette from my soaked pack. My mind was crowded with memories and I just wanted them all to go away, they needed to go away before I do something I'll regret.

It was like this every year, I drank and smoked and mourned and some days I thought about giving up because I did this. She's gone because of me. If I hadn't of been so stupid and did what I did then maybe she would still be here. A drunken mess is better than no mess at all.

My phone continues to ring and I know Zayn is worried about me, but I am to numb to care. My keys jingle in my back pocket and I have half a mind to drive to Cheshire, but I know the idea was reckless and stupid, but I couldn't help but wish for it to be done and over with. I wanted the constant guilt to be done with.

The streets were deserted and I quietly thanked God for this, seeing as I didn't want anyone to see me; a complete wreck. I just wanted to be alone. But apparently I spoke to son as a small figure came out behind a wall, his own cigarette hanging between his red stained lips, his wet fringe plastered to his forehead -mascara running as his lashes fluttered from his cheekbones to the tops of his eye brows.

"Harry?" came out his soft voice. I nodded and wrong my hands through my now straightened curls and watches as he blew smoke from his lips- he looked to innocence for this. He shouldn't be like this. He deserved better then this.

"You shouldn't be smoking," I said, "it'll kill you."

He chuckled at this and pointed to my own lit cancer stick, "bit of a hypocrite aren't we Mr. Styles?" I caught my lip between my teeth at my last name, flowing so elegantly from his lips.

"I suppose so, love. But some of us might want to die." I slurred out, my filter long gone since my first bottle.

He nodded his head in understanding, once again bringing the cigarette to his lips, "Yes. I suppose so."

Word count: 541 (five hundred forty one)
Date written:
A/N: I'm so very sorry that it's shot. I didn't know what to write for this chapter. It's literally just a filler. I'm still trying to figure out how I want to introduce the whole "Daddy" and "BDSM" stuff, it'll take a bit of prep. But I know I can do it. I want to thank you all for reading and voting and what not.

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Peace out, man.