Fire (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 31

October 4th

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve seen Harry. He hasn’t called, or texted me. Nor I him. I knew that whatever was happening right now, I could do nothing. I was powerless. The autumn leaves were falling outside, coating the cool touch of the pavement with a flurry of browns and greens. Last night I dreamt of Harry, I dreamt we were walking hand in hand down the grassy paths outside, I dreamt that we were together. I dreamt that the void inside of me was filled by Harry’s presence. But in reality, I was alone. I’d been going to school as usual, trying to distract myself from the horrific sense of loneliness that dwelled within me, the constant ache deep in the pit of my stomach that forced me to stay in my bed. I hung by my phone, hoping, dearly praying to hear a familiar buzz, or even a ring tone that would be from Harry. Oh, how I wished just to hear his voice, his raspy and comforting tones that cleared my head of all worry. He was my drug; the emotions that were running through me were some sort of psychological withdrawal symptoms. I was addicted. I needed him.

*Knock knock*

The sound of knuckles tapping against my door pulled me from my miserable thoughts. I lifted up my head, peering at the door, hoping to see the familiar head of curls I had fallen in love with.

“Vi?” My eyes dropped to the floor, my body slumped back into the comforting confines of my bed. It was my dad, his grey tufts of hair hanging just over his forehead poking through the small gap of my door.

“Vi, my love it’s dinner time.” He announced. His tone was quiet and subdued. I knew my dad had noticed my suddenly mundane attitude. I had barely left my room in a week, only to go to school, but everyday after I got home, I would mosey up the stairs and return to my somewhat permanent state of hibernation. My dad usually asked how my day was when I walked through the door, to which I would respond with a simple wave, or even just a “Fine.” I hated seeing my dad like this, he was in a constant state of worry and it was my entire fault. I puckered up, trying to retain some sense of mental stability, although inside, every moment felt invalid and useless.

“I-I’m not hungry.” I said, my face giving off some sort of smile to comfort him. He saw through it, I knew that much, but he nodded his head knowing that I needed some space. I struggled to maintain eye contact, my dads face displaying a form of sadness I had never seen before, once again it was my fault. I had all but given up on my social life. I let my hygiene falter, my hair fell in greasy tatters around my shoulders, my makeup was minimal, just a flick of mascara each day.

“I’ll put yours on a plate, okay?” He asked, trying to reciprocate my false smile. I nodded gently and turned back over, snuggling into the warmth of my duvet, trying to replicate the embrace that Harry and I had shared so often. I knew what this was. I knew what this whole mess of a situation was. It was love, pure and simple. I loved Harry Styles, and there was nothing I could do to combat this condition. I knew that I was being selfish too, Harry obviously had a lot of shit to deal with right now, and I am sitting here in my bed not doing anything to help him. My mind was continuously fixated on trying to decipher who Gemma was. I guessed at her being a former lover of Harry’s, a lost love perhaps. Some days my mind even considered the possibility of me being some kind of rebound. I hated the thought of it, and quickly dismissed it. I often returned to how selfish I was being, and how much Harry must be hurting right now too. This thing, this…love…it was mutual. I hoped.

***

“Do we have to do this?” I pleaded with Aubrey, keeping my seat belt on as she expectantly thrusted her hand towards me. I was reluctant to leave the car, to be honest I was reluctant to leave my bed, but somehow these girls had pried me from the confines of my home, and now we were here…in the middle of London.