Man, This is Cliche!

Last Friday Night

Harry and I have been seeing each other for the past month, and everything's going fine. We haven't really made anything official yet, because he doesn't want me getting hurt because of the hate. I don't mind it though. I'm actually glad that he's so protective.

Eleanor's throwing a party tonight at her place, but Harry and I are planning to stay home and have a cuddle night. El and Louis are perfectly fine with that, considering pictures are usually everywhere by the time the night's over. They know we don't want this to go public yet. But let me tell you, those pictures from our first date are everywhere right now. The entire fandom is in a frenzy, trying to find out who I am. I'm actually shocked they haven't already. They're usually faster at this stuff.

I'm sitting on the couch, waiting for Harry to pick out a movie. He got home from the studio earlier and went straight to the bedroom to change into some sweats. My phone dings with a new mention on twitter. It's from Emily.

@ThinkToTheLeft: @FutureMrsHES, have you seen this? Apparently, it's from earlier today. Thought you should know.

A picture is attached to it, and when I open it up, my heart stops. It's a picture of Harry today...holding hands with Caroline. Tears immediately spring to my eyes.

Harry turns around with two movies in his hand, but he stops short when he sees a tear run down my cheek. "What's wrong, Victoria?" He kneels down beside me and tries to wipe the tears off my face, but I flinch away from him. Harry grabs my phone and looks at the picture. "I can explain."

My voice comes out harsh. "I bet you can." I roll my eyes, walking back to the bedroom. He follows behind me, trying to catch up. I start pulling out clothes to change into.

"Where are you going? Can we please talk about this?" I can tell Harry's close to tears as well, but I won't look him in the eyes. I'd stop what I was doing, and we'd be right back to square one.

"I'm going out." I walk into the bathroom and lock the door. I pull my phone out of the pocket of my pajama pants and call El. She answers on the fourth ring, and I can hear the music pulsing in the background.

"Hello?"

I swallow the tears and say, "Eleanor, I'm coming to the party." Then I hang up and get ready in twenty minutes flat.

When I unlock the door and walk out, I expect to see Harry sitting on my bed. But he's not. He's lying down, fast asleep. His curls are slightly damp from his tears and there are tracks running down his cheeks. I quietly sneak out, pulling my heels on as I walk to the door. I catch a cab to El's place, and quickly get inside, ready to drink away the pain.

~~One Direction~~

I wake up the next morning - at least, I think it was morning - in a room I don't recognize, a painful throbbing in my head I can only describe as a massive hangover. Think, Victoria, think! What happened last night? I'm not sure. My memory is covered in a tequila haze.

All I figure out is that I'm in Eleanor's bedroom. I must have slept here after the party last night. That part I remember; the rest...eh, not so much.

I feel a draft, and I look down only to realize I'm not wearing a shred of clothing. What the hell happened last night?

I hear footsteps coming down the hall, followed by Louis's very loud voice. He's talking to someone. Eleanor, maybe?

"I went into my room this morning to change clothes, but I found this instead." Yeah, definitely El.

Louis pushes the door open a bit, saying, "It can't be that ba- Woah." I look up to meet his eyes, only to be met by shock and disbelief. He appears to be looking at something behind me, so I turn my head to get a better look.

I wonder how I never saw him before, especially now that his presence is so obvious. Lying beside me, just as bare as I am, is the one person I'd never want this to happen with.

The night before comes racing back in one ohmygod-what-did-I-do-last-night rush.  Sweat, lip biting, hair pulling, heat. White skin meeting tan; my hands running through jet black hair. Tan skin and jet black hair that can only belong to one person.

Zayn.