Behind The Lense (Harry Styles love story)

Double Date

If you'd had walked in on me right now, you'd think I was just raped or beaten senseless by the way I was sitting and staring off into space. I've never been so mute in my entire life. I have no clue what to do or what to say to James, I don't want to create another scene so I have no intentions on being the first one to talk. Are we just going to spend the rest of the tour one here and one there, locked up in our own thoughts? Or are we going to confront each other and get through this like we always have... or worse, are we going to get back on the topic of Harry and say hurtful and regretful things once more until we are forced to break up and go our own ways because obviously this won't work in the end. I won't lie, I have been giving this some great thought for the past 3 hours and I believe, deep down, the last option is the greatest bet. And again I won't lie, because of this new revelation I have been crying into the pillow nearest to me for the last 3 hours as well, because I can't accept that. I have always been with James, he was my first boyfriend and I was hoping the last one too. When we got old and weak I would tell my grandchildren the lovey dovey fairytale about me and James, and how we've been eachother's "only one" forever and will always be. But. I guess you can't plan the future correctly, because there will always be obstacles you have to face and challenges, and this is the biggest one yet.

I also am still confused, very confused to say the least. I had no idea James was an angry drunk, what if all this time every time he said he had to "stay late for school" and then come home at about midnight, he was actually staying after hours to go and drink? He thought I didn't hear him trudge into the room with the loudest stomps, but I did. He always smelled like a mix of too much cologne and something else I couldn't make out... but now I know. I've finally caught on. James is not perfect and he'll never be. He's an alcoholic. One that has no reason to be, because he was drinking way before I even met Harry.

The bastard.

Pretty Little Liars plays lifelessly on the television as I zone out, too wrapped up in my own thoughts to care who A is. I haven't been updated on this show in awhile, so I suspect I've missed a lot and I don't care to fill myself in either. It would take too much of my time and too much brain power to get back into it. Besides, who cares about this never ending show when I have my own hit drama series playing inside my own life.

I am just about to doze off, an image of white overtaking my thoughts, until James walks into the room and strides toward the couch. I immediately bounce up from my slouched position and am wide awake as he switches off the T.V. I am puzzled as I look up at him.

"Get dressed into something fancier, we are going out to eat," He demands, giving me one quick glance before turning on his heels to proceed into the kitchen area. I stay in my position on the couch, even more puzzled now.

"Wait," I say "what?"

James raises a glass of water up to his lips, careful no drops will land on his undone suit tie. I examine him quickly, from a far his hair seems washed and slicked back to his usual look, but still a little floppy in the way I like, and his face seems clean shaven with no specks of hair anywhere. When he walked over to me I could tell he had just taken a shower because he seemed newly fresh and his hair a little wet still. But all this doesn't hide from the fact he still has slight bags under his eyes and swollen eyes from our previous encounter.

"I said, get dressed into something more-"

"No I heard what you said," I interlude "but I don't get it."

"Don't get what?" He says with an irritated tone that's already charging up. He places his hand on his hip and continues to drink his water, well more chugs it actually. Yeah, drink away all the evidence of alcohol you asshole.

"James, you can't just waltz in here and pretend like everything is fine and dandy after what just happened. You know a glass of champagne won't wash away all the things you said to me that really hurt, and a nice steak won't make me forget the way you looked at me when you were about to strike me. Don't deny you weren't going to," I push myself off of the couch and walk closer to him, although I am careful to keep a safe distance.