Where Do Broken Hearts Go.

Part 25.

Harry POV: "How dare you yell at me and then hang up?! Who do you think I am?" Hillary said as she got inside my car. I was driving, only looking at the road, attempting to ignore the annoying ring in my ears. "I'm talking to you!!! Do not ignore me!!" She continued, and I already had a painful headache. Instead of responding, I turned my favorite CD on, hoping it would drown her whiny voice out. "You can go your own way... Go your own wayyyyy" I belted, as the song began to relax me. Hillary quickly pressed the eject button on my stereo, and threw the CD out the window. "Are you out of your mind?! What did you do that for??" I looked at her in complete disbelief. "I hate when you ignore me, I hate Fleetwood Mac, and I HATE when you sing" she said with attitude. My head was seriously about to explode. If it wasn't for me arriving at our destination, I would have swerved off the road.

Hillary quickly got out of the car as soon as I parked, and I slammed the door when I stepped out, following her into her favorite club, and the place I hated the most. 
The piercingly loud, mainstream music coursed though me as I stared at the blinding lights. Saying I hated this ambience would be an understatement. 
Hillary didn't even care about me, she left me all alone as she ran off with the rest of her slutty friends. I sighed, knowing the only reason she wanted me around, was so that I could pay for countless drinks and buy her expensive gifts. I sat down on a stool in the bar, and decided to just take my phone out and look through my photos. 
This had become a habit for me, ever since I lost it all. I went directly to an album I had saved, titled "Y/n" and I clicked on it. I used to hate taking photos of you and I, but luckily, you loved it. Every time you took a photo of us, or asked someone to take it, you would always care enough to send it to me. I didn't care about it though, I was such an idiot.

One night, when my mind was being too harsh on me, like I deserved, I scrolled through all your texts, finding and saving every single photo you had ever sent me. I saved them all in a specific album, just so that I would find them with ease whenever I desired to see you. 
One of the pictures was my favorite. No matter what I did, I couldn't help but go back to it, every time I felt upset. It was a photo of you, looking up at me, as we were laying on your mother's hammock. It was taken by Gemma, at a family barbecue. The reason it was my favorite, was because I could see the love you had for me inside your eyes. Your dimples were showing, as you smiled sweetly at me. I was looking back at you too, grinning. This photo reminded me that you had loved me, that you looked past my constant mistakes, and that there was a time when you actually felt things for me, even if I didn't deserve you.
Those were simpler times, better times, when I didn't have to try to make someone care for me because you cared about me.

I pressed the home button on my phone, after that photo began causing me more pain, than joy. "Would you like a drink kid? You seem upset" the bartender asked. "Erhm, no thanks, I have to drive home" I responded, knowing my throat desired the burn of alcohol, but that I would have to play taxi with a drunk Hillary, later in the night.