Heroin {harry styles}

32

* if you haven't read the author's note that I posted just before this chapter, please take a moment to check it out *

"Harry I'm bored," I whine as soon as I hear him walk in the front door, luckily not covered in any blood this time.

"Too bad you're not eighteen," he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows jokingly and tossing his keys on the coffee table before relaxing into the couch across from me. "Then we could really have some fun."

"Don't you only have to be sixteen to do that here?" I ask, knowing he's only joking but I finally thought I had the rule down.

"Yeah technically, but that's too young for me," he scrunches his face up. "Hence why I said it's too bad you aren't eighteen."

"Actually, I am," I mumble.

His eyes widen. "No, you just told me like two weeks ago that you aren't."

"Yeah, uh, it was my birthday," I inform him.

"When?" He asks, utterly shocked.

"Well, lets see," I pretend to calculate the days in my head. "The day you came home in covered in a hooker's blood, and left me crying in the hallway. It really was the best birthday I've had in years, let me tell you."

"Wait," Harry's face falls. "That was your eighteenth birthday?"

I nod. Didn't he just hear me?

"Let me make it up to you," he says quickly.

"Why? You hate me," I chuckle. "But if you want to make it up to me, you could, uh, let me go home."

"I can't do that," his stare hardens for a second before he quickly softens it again. "But come on, I think I owe you a present. Your eighteenth birthday is a big deal."

"What are you gonna do? Buy me a drink or something?"

"No," he laughs. "I don't want you to drink."

"I'm eighteen though. You can't tell me no," I stick out my tongue at him.

"Oh, yes I can," Harry smirks arrogantly from across the room.

I roll my eyes at him and stay silent but he quickly speaks up again.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me it was your birthday!"

"Sorry," I shrug. "It's not that big of a deal, honestly. Didn't seem like the best time to tell you."

"Don't most girls freak out over their birthdays and want parties and stuff?" He asks skeptically.

"I guess I'm not most girls," I respond, sounding way more cliche than I ever wanted to.

"Why not?" He asks, leaning forward and staring into my eyes.

I shrug and look up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

Damnit.

"You lied," he smirks playfully. "Come on, why don't you care about your birthday?"

"Because it's not the same!" I blurt out, quickly getting up and running out of the living room. Shoot. Harry's going to be so mad that I just yelled at him.

I almost make it to my bedroom before a firm hand grabs my wrist in the hallway.

Harry presses me up against the wall just next to my bedroom door, holding me just enough so I can't move but not hurting me.

"What's not the same?" He whispers, his minty breath fanning my face lightly.

"They're not here," a tear begins to surface in my right eye.