Used To Be • Harry Styles

Twenty Nine

"What is it?" I bite as the guy behind the counter of the liquor store looks at me warily.

"Are you throwing a party?" He asks referring to the amount of alcohol I was buying.

"I am," I say. "Here," I shove my card in his face.

I make the trip from the liquor store to the hotel that I had previously stayed at and they welcome me with open arms.

I get a room on the same floor as last time and as soon as I walk into my room I place a "do not disturb" sign on the doorknob then shut the door and turn around to lock the door behind me.

I know I'm not gonna leave this place for a while, and I want to make sure I'm gonna be alone.

I take my phone out, turn it off and walk over to the bed.

I take the three black plastic bags in my hand and carefully dump out the bottles of liquor before standing back and analyzing what to go for first.

I take the bottle of whiskey and sit down next to the bed before opening it up and taking a huge chug.

I take my notebook out my back pocket and begin to go through it as I drink the whole bottle.

I look at the songs I wrote before I met Annie. I look at the songs I wrote that are gonna be on my album. I look at the poems I wrote, the chords, the drawings, the stories, the titles, I look at the quotes and then I shut the book and throw it across the room.

I finish up the bottle and let it roll across the floor before going for the next one.

○○○

I finished all the bottles and the entire mini bar in three days.

On the fourth day I woke up to find my notebook in hand. I wrote two pages worth of emotions and I knew I had to read them over.

I didn't have any energy left in me to shed a tear as I read what I wrote.

I go into the closet and pick up my phone from the floor before heading over to charge it.

I turn it on after three long days of silence and once it's on I erase all notifications without reading them.

All I do next is book a flight back home, the next possible flight.

○○○

"Harry!" My mum exclaims. "What are you doing here?" She was cheerful until I looked her in the eyes. "What happened?"

"So much," I shake my head. "So fucking much."

○○○

"Let's get some light in here," my mum came in and opened up the curtains in my old bedroom.

"No," I hide under the covers. "What time is it?"

"It's almost noon," she says. "How are you holding up?"

"Terribly," I say.

"It's been two weeks," she says. "You can feel terrible for as long as you need to."

"Mum, why do you think this happened? Honestly, what do people do in order to deserve having their kid be taken away from them before they even get to hold them in their arms."

"Harry, no one is to blame here. That's just life and things happen unexpectedly, it was a part of the plan God had for you and there's not much you can do about it besides be grateful for the learning experience and grow from it all. You have the right to be sad and angry and feel whatever you're feeling, but don't throw away the experience-"

"I want to forget it mum, I really do," I blink the tears away.

"What did you tell me about this girl?" She grabs me by the jaw and I stay quiet. "You said she was your soul mate. Now if that is true, which I know you wouldn't just throw that word around, you'll both bounce back from this ordeal and find your ways back to each other. Sooner or later, but like she said, you both have to take your time to grieve the way you need to grieve. Couples are broken when stuff like this happens, but the strong ones, the real ones that were in love from the beginning, they patch it all up because they truly love each other. Give it time, Harry."

"Thanks, mum," I barely speak.

"As your mum, I know for a fact that writing," she grabs a pen and my notebook from my drawer, before stopping and eyeing the engagement ring box. "Helps you feel a lot better than anything else in the world. Especially sleeping all day and hiding from everyone and the outside. Write," she ordered me before leaving my room.

I let out a sigh as I held the pen in my hand.

I opened up my notebook after rubbing my eyes a bit and I reread the last things I had written a couple of days after the incident.

I reread some of the things drunk me wrote and I reworded most of it, some sentences that I really liked. I rewrote them on the next blank page and I ended up writing a letter to Annie. I then wrote a letter to our baby. A letter to God after that. I ripped out all the pages I had used up and put them away in that same drawer. I let my fingers linger on the velvet box.

When I got back to the next blank page I wrote a song title at the top.

A week went by and I had a song finished on the piano downstairs.

I made my way out the house at the beginning of the following week. It was about to be a month since I left New York and I was sat in a studio I used to use when I was younger. A studio that gladly welcomed me with open arms because of my new found fame.

I was left to my own devices, and I put a lot of blood, sweat, and a lot of tears into the song I wrote and recorded myself.

I didn't want Chris or any of the crew coming in, I didn't want to see anyone. I didn't want to bother anyone, and I sure as hell didn't want any sympathetic looks from my band mates just because they had heard that I lost a child when they didn't even know I was expecting one.

All I did was record the song, send it to Chris who replied back immediately. Almost all the calls I got on a daily basis were from him. Probably for business, but I knew he also wanted to either find out how I was doing or curse me out for leaving.

I didn't pay much attention to all that he sent me, all I knew was that my eighth song was done and I was now finished with my album.

When my mum or my sister asked what the song was about, all I could say was that it was a letter to Annie and our kid.