Hollow (Harry Styles) #Wattys2016

Chapter 88

Songs:

The Story: Sara Ramirez

Good Enough: Little Mix

A.J.'s POV

Four o'clock in the morning. That's the time, Harry decided it was time to come home, drunk off his ass. I was livid. Not because he came home drunk, not even because he came home so late. It was the fact that he had the audacity to try and have sex with me, claiming it was his right. I calmly turned him down, moving passed him to get ready for the day. It had still been two hours until my alarm would go off, but I hadn't gotten any sleep, so there was no point in waiting.

I felt bad for making Pete get up so early to take me to the office, but I had to get out of the damn house and work. By the time Samara and Olivia came in, I had already been at it for four hours and I needed a break, but I knew I shouldn't take one. It would only allow me time to think, and thinking would only piss me off and make my anger with, Harry grow.

By two in the afternoon, I had effectively tackled everything for that day and even done some work for tomorrow. I needed a nap, and food, and aspirin to nurse my headache. I walked into, Sam's office first, where she was busy working on new jewelry designs, letting her know I was taking off. She wave me off, not taking her concentration off her designs. Olivia was out on a late lunch with, Liam, so I just left her a note at her desk.

The only good thing about having a driver was being able to think freely without having to worry about causing an accident. My thoughts were still consumed by, Sloane and the bitterness I was harboring for losing her. Thankfully, no one really paid me any mind, knowing I would probably snap if they did. At least this way I didn't have to pretend to smile for them, act like I was okay when I was dying inside. I can just be my miserable self. I guess that's partly the reason why I didn't care that, Harry was out so late and came home shit faced. I didn't have to pretend for him either.

When I got home, I kicked off my sneakers and headed off to the kitchen. To my annoyance, a very hungover, Harry was standing in front of the coffee maker, rubbing his temples with his fingers.

"Good morning," I said as loudly as possible, walking over to the fridge.

"God, please do not yell," he groaned.

"I'm not yelling," I lied, keeping my voice raised.

He groaned again, grabbing a mug from the cupboard. I pulled out some supplies for a sandwich along with chips and a soda. Junk. I missed junk. I loudly made a sandwich for both of us, setting a plate in front of him before putting everything back in the fridge and taking my seat.

I wasn't even hungry anymore. I was just annoyed and tired. I rested my head on my fist as I took a bite from my sandwich, wiping my hand on a napkin. As I chewed, I grabbed my phone, opening up Instagram, I hadn't been on there in a while and I wasn't particularly intrigued by it, I just didn't want to deal with, Harry.

"You're being rude," I heard him say from behind his mug.

I hummed, swallowing my over chewed food. "It's also rude to stay out all night without telling your girlfriend you'd be home late," I retorted without looking up from my phone.

"Didn't know I needed to ask for your permission," he shot back.

"You don't," I shrugged. "I just don't think it's fair-"

"You really don't want to talk about fair," he challenged, sending a pang in my chest.

I placed the rest of my uneaten sandwich on his plate, knowing he was going to eat it anyway, picking up my own plate and taking it to the sink. I noisily washed the dish and set it off to dry, knowing it would piss me off.