Hollow (Harry Styles) #Wattys2016

Chapter 6

Songs:

Addicted To You: Shakira

Stockholm Syndrome: One Direction

Perfect: One Direction

A.J.'s POV

Most of the day went by rather quickly, I gave up on hearing back from, Harry by noon. Chris, was still having a temper tantrum and Samara just wanted to lounge around. I had a brief thought that I should make more friends, then I quickly remembered, I didn't really like people. I barely put up with these two.

The next few days had gone by just as quick. I spent most of my time writing, taking a few calls from the company I was supposed to be learning how to manage and going for runs, lots and lots of runs. It was already Wednesday night and I hadn't heard from, Harry since he left my house on Saturday morning. I had the urge to at least text him a few times, but my subconscious stopped me, every time.

I wasn't tired yet, so I made myself some hot chocolate and grabbed my new copy of Anna Karenina. Well new to me. I got through the first two pages, when the doorbell rang. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. Who the hell was at the door at midnight. I was about to call, Chris to answer, then I remembered he was out, again. I was home alone, once more, I started to wonder what the point of roommates was, it was mostly because I needed them to keep me entertained.

I walked over to the door, swinging it open. There sitting on one of the steps was Harry. He had his back to me, but I could tell it was him by his broad shoulders and the long curly hair. "Harry?" I opened the door further, wrapping my long sweater around me, it was cold out.

He turned to face me with a lazy smile on his face. "Hello, A.J." He said, as he attempted to get up from where he was sitting,but stumbling. Was he drunk? And since when did he call me, A.J.?

"What are you doing here so late?" I asked.

"I needed to see you." He took a step forward, tripping on his own feet. He was drunk. I could probably blame his tripping on his clumsiness, but the smell of alcohol from on his breath was unmistakable.

"Why?" I spat back, I was irritated with his intoxicated state.

"Why are you upset?" His hand came up, rubbing his knuckles over my cheek. I pushed his hand away and stepped back, As much as I enjoyed his touch, I was still irritated.

"What do you want, Harry?"

"I already told you." He almost fell backwards, but I caught him by his arms.

"How much did you have to drink?" I asked, while I pulled him into the house. He mumbled something I couldn't understand.

I was able to drag him all the way to the kitchen, before he complained about having to walk so much. Not that he walked too far, besides, I had practically carried him most of the way. If anyone had the right to complain, it was me. I sat him at the small table near the window and got him a cup of water.

"Here," I handed him the glass of water. "Drink this."

He took it from my hand and took a large drink, finishing the water in one gulp. "There," He said, putting down the glass on the table. "Happy?" He asked, irritation laced in his voice. I was about to call him out on his audacity, but decided against it. It was useless to try to argue with a drunk person.

"No." I said, simply. "Give me your phone." I held out my hand.

"Why do you want it?" He asked, but handed it to me anyway.