The Breakup + Harry Styles

01

[the pain and alcohol]

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Harry didn't know what to do anymore. He couldn't even believe that this whole thing was happening. He thought that she would be his for at least a little longer. Or forever, as long as his lungs were working to keep him alive, and as long as his heart kept beating for her.

But apparently, after the call he had just gotten six hours ago, he realized that he wasn't the cause for the beating of her heart like before. How could she do this to him? Why now? What did he even do wrong?

He's always tried to be the best boyfriend any girl could ask for. He bought her dinner all the time at those fancy, expensive restaurants that she liked to go to—even though he paid for the bills most of the time and had to sacrifice the money he worked hard for each month.

He bought her flowers, jewelry, chocolate, and anything else that she wanted, because she was worth it. And to him, she always will be. She deserved everything in the world.

Harry gripped the almost empty, cold bottle of beer in his hand. He closed his eyes tight as he let the intoxication take him over. He's been drinking ever since she called him, to tell him that she couldn't do this anymore, that she was done, and however many times he asked her why, and screamed at the phone,

"Why!? Why are you breaking up with me? Why? Please, please tell me why?" He had pleaded, only to get the same response,

"I'm sorry."

An apology wasn't what he was asking for. Shit, that was the last thing on his list. She shouldn't be sorry for anything.

Did he mention that he had been crying through all these miserable couch sitting hours and beer drinking? It seemed to be the only way to reduce the pain he was enduring. He tried to turn on the TV earlier, to a funny comedy—to maybe help him stop thinking about her, but that did the least of it. So he proceeded to turning it off and just sitting there in his living room, with its quiet, dark, and miserable aura to cave him in.

All around his eyes were red, sore from the tears he's shed in the past hours.

After all the alcohol he's taken into his body, he really didn't know what he was even thinking anymore. He was just gone. She was the only thing on his mind, and he couldn't stop thinking about her. About why she didn't want him—why she didn't want his love.

He kept thinking that this was the end of the world. She wasn't his anymore, and the thought of not having the right to be able to call her 'mine' killed him. And he didn't know why he needed to keep living.

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(written: 2/21/14)