Pour | Harry Styles

chapter twenty

a/n: hey, guys! this is dedicated to @British_Warrior 'cause she was all like "is it bad that i started crying?" aND THE FACT THAT I COULD ACTUALLY BRING SOME EMOTION IN YOU BUNCH OF VAMPIRE HIPSTERS IS PRETTY COOL (jk you're not vampire hipsters i don't even know what i'm saying or what that means). anyways, i can't believe i haven't updated in a month. i'm truly sorry guys, it doesn't feel like it. but the summer is coming and i'll have plenty of time to write and i'm hoping to finish this in the summer! :D this chapter is, uh . . . interesting. if you like it please comment & vote! :-)

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CHAPTER TWENTY

Lily had always been a rational person. She followed the rules, never did anything stupid that would ultimately end up in trouble—in fact, you might say at times she could be too rational. Funnily enough, it was Harry that made her irrational; that made her do something stupid like love a bisexual superstar with an inability to think things through.

Totally and utterly irrational.

Somehow though, he made her forget about rationality. She didn’t care that it was stupid to love a boy who didn’t reciprocate her love—she did care, however, when the boy who didn’t love her back was kissed by the boy who didn’t quite love him back.

That was why she was stuck by a Nandos completely alone, her eyes swollen from tears that were still falling, and her mind running in circles as she had no clue of where she was. All she knew was that her tears were falling as hard as she was for Harry and just like her, they couldn’t stop falling.

“Ugh!” she said in frustration, smacking her thigh. She looked at the sidewalks and was glad that a scarce amount of people were walking and even scarcer amount of people looked as if they wanted to take the seat next to her on the bench. For once, she was thankful for how closed-off and apathetic a lot of people were.

She sniffed, the grey sky offering a multitude of white clouds that covered the dim sun. The dreary feeling of England weather worsened her mood, and she set her head in her hands for a moment and tried to steady her breathing and stop crying. She quickly became fed up with that and with tears streaming down her face, a hiccup escaping her mouth, and an unsure mind, she fished her phone out of the back pocket of her white denim jeans.

She dialed the number and waited until he picked up.

“Hullo? Lily?” Zayn’s voice came through the phone.

Just the sound of his voice unleashed a new pack of tears, being lit like cigarettes by Lily’s sadness and their butts burning Lily’s skin and leaving ashes of the memories of this moment right now. “Zayn, I-I don’t know where I am and H-Harry did the worst possible thing a-and he doesn’t even k-know it. I love him so much and I h-hate myself for it. I d-don’t even know where I am a—”

“Woah, woah, wait. Lily, where are you? I’m gonna come get you, okay? Jus’ calm down and tell me where you are,” he interrupted her, obvious worry in his voice.

“I’m on a b-bench near a Nandos on . . .,” she paused, looking around for a street sign and when she found one finished her sentence with, “on Saxon street.”

“Alright, I’m comin’. Jus’ hold on,” he told her, and with that he hung up on her.

What Zayn didn’t know is that he had no worries: Lily had gained an expertise at holding on for a while now. She could hold on easily—it was letting go she had a problem with. She couldn’t let go of him.