Chapter Twenty One - A Drop In The Ocean

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Author's Note ~ Thank you to @potatoepeasants on instagram for the song recommendation! I absolutely adore it and I adore you. x

Send me songs via Kik, instagram, or leave them in comments! xx

As my train rolls down the east coast I wonder how you keep warm,

It's too late to cry,

Too broken to move on.

- "A Drop in the Ocean", Ron Pope

....

HARRY POV

"Louis?" I called after him, taking Ali with me. I saw the crushed look on my best friend's face when he heard the news.

"Louis!"

He must've run away - he was already gone from the parking lot.

"Ah, hell," I breathed, shutting my eyes.

"Should we go look for him?" Ali suggested, squeezing my hand.

"I don't even know where to start," I replied, turning back for my car. Ali followed me, slipping into the passengers' seat.

"Man, fuck Regina." I ran one hand through my hair. "Seriously."

"Do you think he went to go find Josh?" she asked fearfully.

"Hope not," I muttered, sighing. "Wanna go back to my place?"

"I guess I have no choice."

I smiled a little, reaching for her small hand and locking our fingers together. "Ali."

"Yes?"

"How was your lunch with Zayn?" My lip twitched. I was trying to be a better guy, for her, and not to let my temper made me turn into Captain Dickhead Harry.

"It was all right," she said slowly. "I learned lots about him. He draws, and sings. He's a phenomenal artist."

"Really," I deadpanned. I didn't like the way she called him "phenomenal". Made it seem like she was a little too friendly with this guy.

"Harry, I know what you're thinking" - not quite - "but Zayn really has changed. He's so much better now and I'm glad."

"I think he's full of shit," I muttered. Oops.

"Do you honestly think he's lying about being treated for bipolar disorder?" she snapped.

Wait, what in the fuck? "Zayn Malik has bipolar?" I asked, a little thrown off.

"Yes," she said sourly. "He was treated and he's on medication now."

"So the guy is a psycho - now I just have doctor's proof."

"Harry, stop."

I slowed at a red light, my hand tightening on the wheel. "Medication doesn't stop the guy from hitting on you."

"He wasn't - um..."

"What did he fucking do?" I asked slowly. "Ali, if you lie to me, I swear - "

"You swear what?"

"I swear I'm going to turn this fucking car around and search every crazy bin in town for him."

"Harry, he doesn't live in a mental correctional facility anymore." The way she stressed the words "mental correctional facility" made me want to punch something.

"Do I care? The point is, what did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything," she muttered. "He just called me pretty."

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