Stylist (book 1) - H.S

Chapter 23: Painkiller.

"Hey El.." Harry calls from the bedroom as I lean over the sink, plucking away at my eyebrows. I'm bored here, I won't leave him in the hotel room alone, but I also won't be occupying myself with his body either because I don't want to be sick. I'll lay with him, be by his side, but I won't do much.

    "Hey what." I mumble.

    "Do you have any advil, or ibuprofen? I don't have any more." He mumbles, and he sounds pitiful, he is pitiful. I know how bad he feels, he hasn't wanted to leave the bed since yesterday, and he's always up and moving and doing things so knowing that, knowing that he'd rather sleep and watch movies all day, I know he's really feeling bad.

    "There should be some in my pill bag, that or the small pink bag, do you need me to come get you some?" I ask, and I hear shuffling.

    "No I've got it." He mumbles once more, and I hear more shuffling, and as I continue on in the bathroom, I still don't hear the rattle of a pill bottle, and I wonder what the hell he's doing.

    "Hey did you find th-" I stop talking as I walk into the room, and see him holding open my pink bag, and I want to scream at myself. I fucking forgot... How could I forget something like that?

    "What's this?" He asks, his voice insinuating, and that same old smirk on his face as he pulls out one of my joints that I had. I walk forward, knowing I've been caught, not knowing how this is going to go.

    "Nothing..." I smile, and inch myself forward even more. "How about we put it back, you get your painkillers, and we pretend we never saw anything huh? Sound good?" I ask, reaching forward for the two items, but he moves back, holding them still.

    "How about you tell me where the hell you got it, and why I had no idea that you... took part... In these activities." He puts the joint back in the bag, and zips it shut, but puts it behind his back.

    "I've had it since coming on this whole endeavor.. I haven't taken part in that activity since before I started sleeping with you... and it's for medical purposes, thank you very much, now give it back." I hold my hand out. "Please don't make this into a big deal..." I mumble, and look up to him.

    "So you use this to make you feel better?" He asks, and I nod. "And you haven't smoked since when?" He asks, opening the bag once more and peeking inside like a little kid.

    "Since the very beginning of tour." I reach over him, and he holds me back, holding his arm high in the air.

    "So what I'm hearing is that you don't need this anymore because you're high on me, and you are no longer in need of this so it's mine?" He tilts his head to the side, and my jaw drops at his narcissism.

    "You are so incredibly full of yourself it hurts my own ego, and that's saying something." I rest my weight in my hip and let out a frustrated breath, and he passes me my bag. "Did you get the meds you needed?" He shakes his head

    "I couldn't find them through all the illegal drugs you were carrying." He jokes, and I turn around, shooting him a warning glance, and he presses his lips together, avoiding a laugh. I reach into my suitcase, and find the advil right away, and toss it up to him.

"Lay back down alright? You've been good, you've actually stayed in bed, don't start being yourself again yet... Please." I beg, and place my hands on his back, pushing him towards the bed. He moves swiftly with me, and throws himself on the bed, looking back up to me.

    "What exactly do you mean by don't start being yourself again?" He asks, opening the pills.

    "I mean don't start not listening to anything I tell you to do.. I'm not ready for that yet." I mumble, and throw myself on the other side of the bed. I let out a breath and realize how good it feels to lay down, and I know what's coming considering how my body feels right in this moment.