"Why do you keep doing this?" you finally let out, bitting your lip, after thinking about what you should say for a while.
"Just say it." he slurs.
"Say what?" you ask confused.
"I don't know. Is today...wednesday?"
"Harry, its Saturday." you roll your eyes. "You clearly have no idea what your even saying or doing right now."
"I do!" he shouts almost too loud.
"Y/N, I'm sorry okay. I don't know why I keep doing this. But its on me, not you."
Ever since Harry's step father passed, he's been finding others ways to make him happy. But the long list of dumb things never seem to include you. Maybe he doesn't want to get too close, maybe he's afraid he'll lose another loved one...so he finds it safer not to love at all. He partys at different clubs with different people every night. Always leaving behind baggage or mistakes left at one, and starting fresh at another. Never getting too close to anyone, simply having a good time. I wish he would just let me help.
"Your not just doing this to yourself!" you tell him. "Your doing this to me." you say, biting the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry.
"I-I, I didn't know. I didn't realize I was hurding you." he barley manages to say, and you wincing at his pronunciation of 'hurting'. You can hear him struggling between being dead drunk and slowly coming into consonance. You don't say anything...just drive home. Once you cripple Harry inside, you plop him on the bed and clean up cuts and get him in non-sweaty clothes that don't reek the smell of alcohol.
"Now," you say, sighing as you plop down on the bed. "Would you mind telling me what the hell you were thinking?" you ask.
"I wasn't thinking." he admits. But instead of his usual 'Sorry.' speech, he grabs you by the waist and yanks you over beside him. He begins kissing you violently. Normally, Harry's soft, gentle kisses are the one thing you look forward to. But these aren't soft or gentle, they are hard and forced. They aren't filled with passion and senserity, instead with anger and the certain fact that he not sober. His lips taste of alcohol and lip gloss. You yank away.
"What?" he looks mad.
"You're drunk." you mumble.
"Does that matter." he insists, yanking at your neck. He gives you a love bite, leaving a pool of blood and a future black and blue mark on your neck.
"There, now you're mine." he places his eyes on the ceiling, resting his hands behind his head on the pillow. "Now, go." he waves his hand at you and smirks. He says it like he's rehearsed the line before. Like he's used to saying it.
All you can do is look confused and frustrated. You grab the throbbing bite on your neck and put on your jacket. You open the door, tears in your eyes, when he suddenly says "Stop."
You look over to him still on the bed.
"Are you my girlfriend?" he asks, his pupils dililated.
You roll your eyes and let out a silent sob. Is he really so drunk that he doesn't even remember that his girlfriend of 3 years is his girlfriend!? You slam the door shut and stare at the apartment number for a while, because you may never be looking at it again.
Omg that's it guys. Sorry I suck at part 2's. But i didnt have any 'dark harry' imagines in here yet and thought people might like it. Let me know what you thought and maybe ill write more, do a personal like this, or even do 'The club {part 3} 😏'. Vote and comment what you thought.
~Emma
