Pretty Little Liar

She was the most beautiful girl in the world. Even with her mascara running, lipstick smudged, and one of her stilettos in her hand instead of on her foot. She was sitting on the ground, pouting over a rip in her fishnets when Harry finally found her. She didn't even seem to realize she was on her own porch, almost surprised to see her boyfriend towering over her once his shadow fell through the open doorway.

"Hey baby!" She cried, tugging at his pants leg so hard she nearly yanked the jeans right off his waist. She was trying (and failing) to pick herself up off the ground. Harry should have been used to this by now, but perhaps watching your girlfriend come home wasted for the 20th time (he was merely guessing at this point) wasn't something anyone ever got accustomed to. 12:23 a.m. At least she was home a little sooner than usual.

He was wavering somewhere between livid and disappointed as he bent to help her up, a sturdy arm around her waist as he walked her inside. He prayed for patience as she stumbled next to him, giggling. "Where were you?" he questioned through gritted teeth. He'd been home for all of four days and she'd gone out for two. It didn't make sense. Their time together was limited. He'd come home from tour excited to see her, but all she seemed to want to do was party.

"I was with Angela," she slurred, hiccuping as they entered the living room. "She says hi."

Harry's jaw clenched as he dumped her on the couch and went off for reinforcements. The garbage pail she'd probably vomit into, the blanket she'd whine about until she received, the water bottle she'd gulp down the next morning once she came to her senses with nothing but dry mouth and a raging headache to show for her night out.

He figured he should grab the ibuprofen too.

"Harry! Babe, come back!" she was shouting.

What would follow always varied. Sometimes she wanted to fight. Other times, she was all over him, finding him simply irresistible, her mood taking a sharp turn south if he turned her down. Then in rare moments, she wanted to discuss the meaning of life and all existence. She was most vulnerable then and sometimes he could pull information from her if he tried hard enough. He couldn't get much otherwise, and it hadn't always been that way.

What he really needed to know was why she got like this, why she'd rather drink nearly an entire bottle of something strong than talk to him about whatever she was going through.

It seemed he was the only candidate; her friends weren't worth much since they always let her drink herself stupid without once intervening and then dropped her on the doorstep. They hardly even bothered to see if she got inside safely.

He'd long ago told her not to get too chummy with people in Los Angeles. Most of them, as he knew all too well, were out for themselves. They'd use her up until there was nothing left. She was overly generous. All drinks were on her. Expensive meals to boot, even the occasional shopping.

It was usually Harry who would foot the bill ultimately. It wasn't about the money. It was about how they leeched off her, how naive she was to their behavior, how she really believed they were her friends. They stuck around to continue to draw from a well that never seemed to run dry.

"Don't try to control me. I'm by myself when you're gone, I can have friends, can't I?"

That's what she'd said months ago instead of taking heed to his warning. He wasn't trying to control her, he was trying to protect her and she'd yet to see that. Maybe it was her last relationship, the actual jealous control freak she'd finally dumped after a year before taking the leap and moving to Southern California. He didn't appreciate having to pay for another person's mistakes but he loved her. Not everyone in the city of angels were devils but those that were blended in.

"I miss you a lot when you're not here," she told Harry from where she was finally settled in underneath her blanket, her head in his lap. They were watching TV. Well, she was. Harry was watching her, all the while his heart breaking. There was an obvious disconnection between them but only he seemed to notice.

"I don't know how true that is," he started hesitantly, immediately regretting his words but knowing they needed to be said. She turned to face him, crushed. Harry didn't want to hurt her, but the truth was always best. "You're like never home when I'm here."

She didn't respond. At least not verbally. For a moment, she studied him. His vivid green eyes pierced right through her. He ran his fingers through his curls, which was almost a tick of sorts. He chewed nervously on bright pink lips as he waited patiently for a reply.

Truth was, she didn't have one for him, not a valid one. She genuinely did miss him when he wasn't home, when he was off being Harry Styles, beloved in Great Britain and the rest of the world. But she had her own issues, things she knew he couldn't love away.

He tried his damnedest but her insecurities were deep seeded, had been there long before he came along. She didn't think it was fair to put the burden on him, though he was willing to help her carry it. So she fought it on her own. With alcohol, delusions of meaningful friendships, distraction.

"Don't go quiet on me now, love," his drawl cut into her thoughts. Even looking right into his face was too much. She turned her head. He was clearly frustrated the next time he spoke. "Just talk to me, that's all I'm asking and I don't think that's too much."

It wasn't. And it was probably the vodka that made her want to cry and spill it all, but she didn't want to scare him off, yet to realize that her refusal to be open with him might have a similar effect.

"I don't wanna talk about it now. Can I just enjoy being with you?" she poked out her lower lip. The action was pure manipulation and they both knew it but he let her slide anyway, shrugging with a resigned sigh. She reached out to stroke his jaw, which was tense and tight under her touch. He wasn't happy, she tried to ignore. With a soft voice, she made a false promise. "We'll talk about it when I'm sober."

Easily the most common lie she told him, and though he knew it to be just that, a lie, he wouldn't press it. Not when she looked so fragile, so close to breaking as she lay right there in his lap. Harry shook his head, turning his gaze on whatever infomercial was flashing across the TV screen.

"Another time then."