This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 10

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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(REMEMBER THIS IS ALL A TOTAL FABRICATION AND EXAGGERATION FOR ENTERTAINMENT)

"The consequences of falling out is something I'm having nightmares about, and these are the reasons I'm crying out to be with ya..."

Harry | Olivia

I wanted to blackout. I wanted to get absolutely pissed and sleep for a week straight. At the very least I didn't want to be sober again until we left Thailand. Somehow when I was high, my thoughts and memories of him were lucid to the point of scary. Like I was reliving them in a virtual reality simulator. His scent, his voice, his laughter. His beauty? Out of this world? His touch? Always inquisitive, but lately unwelcoming. His eyes? Forlorn. His thoughts? Leagues ahead of anyone in his company. Since the tour began, I could never reach him.

Later that night I linked up with Gemma and Cal and a few crew members and headed to a local bar in hopes of finding a karaoke machine and lots of booze. I wasn't much in the mood for singing, so I was glad when it turned out they didn't have karaoke setup. I'd just done an entire show and had a migraine from crying, so singing was the farthest thing from my mind.

At that hour the place wasn't crowded, which was a relief as we entered, spotting a few locals who couldn't give two f—ks who One Direction was and didn't recognize me for even a second. Our team got a few tables in the rear of the main room, and I sat with Gem and Cal upfront. We discussed the humidity and some of the gigs up next. We were able to request whatever tunes crossed our minds from the bartender, and he keyed them up without delay—letting them blare from hidden overhead speakers as we imbibed.

First up was "Trouble" by Ray LaMontagne. Then we moved on to a few tunes by the Beatles, "Hurt" by Johnny Cash, and then Cal requested "Bad Company" by Bad Company and some Rolling Stones. Eventually we ended up at Walk the Moon's "Shut Up And Dance", which I adored.

"That one nearly hit me in the mouth, did you see it?" I asked tiredly, referring to the debris thrown onstage. "It was like a glow-stick or something."

"No, but I saw the bra." Gemma snickered. "That one took me for a loop. I didn't expect you to catch it!"

"They've caught enough bras to open a Victoria Secret by now." Cal muttered, swishing the amber drink around in his glass.

"Any panties?"

"Well, sh-t, Gemma..." I nearly gasped, surprised she had said the word so casually.

"What should I have called them? Knickers?"

"You're starting to sound like mom." I shook my head. She stroked her chin a little.

"Huh...I don't know if that's a compliment or if I should resent that."

"Take it or leave it, mate." I grinned. "And don't act like you're not always trying to put on a posh accent to make me look like an idiot when we have company—"

"I'm not company." Cal said offhandedly.

"He's not." She chucked a thumb in his direction, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a humph. "And I'm not posh. You've just...I don't know...sort of picked up different accents in your travels."