SIX YEARS LATER || HS ✔️

five

There's two shots of vodka running through my blood and I find myself lost in the midst of drunken people around me. The feeling of my stomach lurching any second now is starting to hit me, and I can't tell if it's from the mild alcohol or, Harry could be anywhere in this building. And yes, my appearance was made in this damned club, and for some reason, I cannot find the true meaning of why I'm here. What a hopeless mistake.

The humidity in here is wild, most likely from the dancing humans circling me and the long-sleeved dress upon my body. Another slight mistake, but due to the cold adventuring around the town, I've been in the wishy-washy moods of being dressed-up , as well as a sweats one, lately.

I can sense the frustration and exhaustion coursing through the air, the uneasiness settling in the pit of my stomach. No one joined me on this deadly journey, thankfully, except for the fact of me seeing all of these known people in the club. Once again, I would love to thank alcohol for being in their system, so they truly can't see who I am. Witnessing me in a dress is something orthodox.

It's tight on my hips, though, and considering the fact that it happened to be in my closet from Nicky's, it explains most of it. This morning was considerably hectic, an average Sunday, which was dealt with more calls to the business and editing many documents today to catch up on all the work I have missed over the past few days by putting my mind to the Harry drama. The business is closed, but usually, Nicky is either hanging around to finish and catch up on all of her's as well.

A bump from behind, and all of a sudden, I'm almost heading towards the floor. Gratefully, I catch myself just in time, in a moment of all breathlessness.

"Hey! What the fu-"

This isn't what I'm expecting, whatsoever, and no. It's not Harry Styles.

The tight-fitted black, cocktail dress showed off her curves like they had used to years back. Anyone who knew her would easily recognize her as the past mistress, who figured out how to backstab me, oh so easily, in such a revengeful way. But, there was a catch; I hadn't done anything to Jamie.

Years and years of the drama, and right now, I can't dare to take another glimpse at her. For one, she had been my best friend that gossiped behind my back, and two, the rest is put down in history in the past. Her figure is more than womanly, her body moving into more curves, as well as the structure of Jamie's face becoming more aged. Many changes have been made, and I cannot tell if it's the amount of plastic surgery or Botox.

"Well," she sneers, licking her crimson lips and showing off her bleached teeth. "It's been awhile, hasn't it, Miss Brooklyn?"

Perhaps, being confronted in this decision lets my stomach lurch into the air, prayers being answered by emptying the drunken alcohol onto the surface of Jamie's dress. What a shame, but currently, the raw sensation is clawing at my throat as I quickly bring my body up in a straight stance, thinking nothing didn't happen. And with the disgusted grimace of Jamie's face, her hands partly raised in the air to not touch any remains of my vomit, she scoffs and runs into the blur of the crowd.

No one seems to notice, though, due to their minds being captivated by something else unknown. Still, I bear the feeling in my insides, the smell of puke hitting me instantly. Almost, just almost, it makes me want to deal with a round two, but with fast strides, I walk toward the exit of the club.

My eyes surround every corner, searching for the only person that remains in the specks of my mind. Questions flood the imagination too, only focusing on the cheating woman behind me, as well as the cheater. Where is Harry? Why is Jamie here, at this exact moment and club? I moved miles away from home to be in New York, and suddenly, Jamie is here, too, at the same club. There's not a chance that this can be a coincidental sight.

"That's the saddest thing, mom. It's when we both loved each other, and one day, one fell out of love and left the other still in love. I'm sure you can figure out who's who."

"Oh, honey," she pitifully sighs out in a dramatic manner, motioning me over for a sympathetic hug, and I shake my head in defeat.

"No, mom. You don't get it," this time, it's my turn to sigh loudly and form my words. "I should've expected that we'd drift apart. Hell, we were together for six years and all good things come to an end. I should've expected to miss him thiss much. I should've, I should've, I should've, but I didn't."

And a hand is on my elbow, pulling my back into the realism of the world and club, as well. The exit was so close, and now, I'm so far. The grip is tight, not to the point of hurting me. Judging by the size of the hand, I'm nearly sure of who it could be, but the mystery is proven correct of the loud gasp that erupts from my mouth as I turn around and hold my stance.

"H-Harry?"

Hiccups erupt from my lips and I take this as a chance to grab my purse and slip a few mints into my mouth from the aftertaste (it's actually more than a few mints, but as of the whole container.) Harry's eyes widen in realization of what happened and from the way his nose scrunches up, he can smell it in his senses. Next thing I know, we are walking away from the puke disaster and out of the club.

"You came," is the first thing he says, breathless, and the grip of my elbow is gone.

Harry Styles is standing in front of me, for what seems like the millionth time, looking so dashing than ever. The chestnut curls have the appearance of winded, and slightly greasy, but that's been his natural look ever since I can remember. Over the black button-up clad to his chest, a cheetah printed coat laps over it, as well as his signature black skinny jeans. That's no surprise, especially with the black boots and dangling necklaces. I admired those for the past years of when we were together. They fitted him in such a lovely way, and honestly still do.

His lively eyes rake down my body in a lustful way, slowly licking his rosy lips in a futile way. Perhaps it's something else besides lust, but it seems as if he is drinking my appearance in, just as I am doing to him. Somehow, we both ended to do that very much, having to see our attire than making conversation.

My reply is something much more complicated than his. "We can't be friends, Harry," I blurt out, regret filling my chest rather than the aching pain (which seemed to staying there for awhile, now.)

"Why?"

A look of hurt is on his face, and I attempt to mask mine.

"You should've taken all our memories with you when you left, when I kicked you out. It haunts me every day, taking me out of reality and back when everything seemed to be okay," minimal gulps are produced in the shallow of my mouth, trying to regain my unstable composure. "I can't never be 'just friends' with you, maybe because your eyes remind me of ghe night we fell asleep wrapped in each other's warmth."

"Or maybe when you smile, it makes my body shiver because I know the cause of the smile used to be because of me. I can't see that with my eyes and pretend like it's okay. Because, it's not. I can't be friends with you, because every time I see you, I fall in love again."

Tranquility falls between us and I cut off the eye contact. Admittance isn't something in mind I had, but the words fell between my lips so easily, just as I was sticking blunts, back in the day. The stare is evidently burning through my skull, and it's hard to tell by the loud breathing.

Steps are coming closer. Closer, closer, and closer until large feet are in my view from the deafening gaze on the ground. With a hand touching my cheek to lift my face up, sad eyes are met with the identical, but one pair are waiting and anticipating an answer.

"You're right," he whispers through the thickening cold, moisture coming with his voice. "We can't be friends or I might do something wrong to you," green irises are positioned at my lips, and flicker all so quickly back to my blank eyes.

Space is limited, falling into a short amount as our faces are inching closer... and closer. Another thing, WHY THE HELL DOES HE WANT TO KISS ME, OR IF HE IS REFERRING TO THAT, WHEN I JUST PUKED AND HE KNOWS IT?

"I hope you know that I threw up about ten minutes ago."

"Did I say I was going to kiss you?" he bites back in a playful way, grin erupting onto his face.

"Did I say I was going to allow you?"

"No, but I did say that I'm taking you home, so let's go."