Pain: Her (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 81

Tracing the rim of the deep green mug filled with tea, I wait for Alan. I miss Alee already and I wish she stayed with me instead. I'm 50/50 with this whole situation with Zayn because I feel like I should've asked her to stay but at the same time I can't control her, I know that will only push her away from me. We got back together not even a few hours ago and she goes to his house, and that's bugging me. I don't know, I'm not sure how to feel right now. I'm just happy she's back in my life. I was losing sanity again when she was gone, I didn't know it was possible. I've broken up with plenty of girls before but I never loved them like I love Alee. As a matter of fact, I never loved any of them. Come to think of it, there were no feelings there with the others. Sex and drugs was all I was in for but it's different now and she's like my backbone, I need her to keep me from falling.

Two days is nothing to others but to me those forty eight hours without her proved how worthless I am. I knew I couldn't live without her so I was expecting myself to destruct the way I did but I didn't think it would be that painful. I probably drank more in those two days than I did these past four months and I felt my liver deteriorate with every swig of alcohol I consumed but it didn't matter to me. Normally, it should numb the pain; block out the stress and I was hoping it would at least erase her from my mind for a while but it didn't happen this time. It made it worse and all I can remember are bottles flying and smoke fogging my views. I hadn't done drugs since I was back home and I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it; but it wasn't enough, none of it was. The painkillers, drugs, vodka, whiskey---couldn't even manage to help me.

But I'm happy now. I woke up this morning nervous, sick out of my fucking mind, but nervous she would kick me out from thinking about everything again and regretting bringing me back. I don't want her crying anymore, it's probably the worse sight in the world and seeing her upset hurts me more than she thinks.

The house is silent leaving me alone with my thoughts again and I'm trying to create a maze on this marbled kitchen counter top. She left almost a half hour ago and Alan still isn't home. I don't want to pry or bother him, but I do remember the way he looked at me last night and I can feel his disapproval of me forming. I don't blame him, I hurt his daughter one too many times so he has every right to hate me but I don't want him to. I mean, it's Alan; he's like a father to me and the last thing I need is him to hate me.

I've missed her touch so much and feeling her again was the one thing I needed. She touched me the way I've been wanting her to and she couldn't have done it any better. I'm the first she has ever done that too and in a way I'm proud and honored to have been the only person she has given head to. I don't know what Alee did with my dirty clothes but I'm guessing she's going to or has already washed them. When I was in her room, I re-read the letter I wrote and I sounded like a fucking idiot. I wanted to rip it into pieces because of how pathetic I came off sounding. But for some reason she loves it and that held me back from destroying it. She keeps it under her pillow along with the Rolling Stones shirt I gave her. I wonder if she imagined me with her when she slept with it. I don't want to think about her crying herself to sleep or crying wishing I was there because I know I should've been. Just another failure I can add to my fucking list.

My thoughts are shot when I hear the nob turn and my eyes avert from the mug to the tired man sighing as he places his briefcase and coat on the table. I watch him through the kitchen door and he looks horrible, completely drained and tired, somewhat similar to how I look when I have a lot on my mind but the bags and dark circles below his droopy eyes prove to be worse.

"Alan?" I stand and he jumps, startled. He looks around, darting his eyes until his meet mine.

"Jesus," he sighs putting his hand on his chest and shaking his head, "you scared me." he walks passed the living room and into the kitchen, obviously looking as if talking is the last thing he wants to do, "you're still here." no emotion is held in his tone while he grabs a bottled water from the fridge. Am I that much of a fuck up?