First Love // H.S.

56

I wake up in an empty bed with a pounding headache. My whole body is sore. I drank way too much last night.

I sigh deeply as I reach for my phone on the desk beside the bed. I don't even know whose desk this is. I'm not in my own house. Whose house is this?

I feel my phone and grab it. As I turn it on, the light of the screen overwhelms me. It's a few minutes past 12PM. I put my hand in front of my eyes and try to read the many notifications.

Some text messages, some Twitter notifications, some missed calls, and something that I can't read because the banner is too bright for my brain to handle. It resembles my birth control app, but I'm way too lazy to think about any of my notifications right now, so I delete everything.

I sit up straight in bed and try to figure out whose bed is this. I slept with the owner of this bed, I remember that. I just struggle to remember who exactly.

I look around the room. When I see some pictures in the corner of the room, I whimper in despair and let myself fall on my back again.

I look at my wrists, and see there's a red mark around them. I have no idea what happened to them. When I look at my palms, I see the marks of my own fingernails inside them. Whoa, I must've really dug my nails deep in them.

I trust that the gaps in my memory will get back over the day, but if they wouldn't, it wouldn't really matter anyway. I slept with Harry last night. That's all I need to remember.

Where is he?

I sigh as I remove the blanket off myself. It's freezing in this room.

I push the curtains a little open to let some light in and open Harry's closet to find something warmer to wear than this oversized shirt and underwear.

I look inside his closet with a criticizing look on my face. Don't tell me he actually wore those literal golden colored Chelsea boots, or is planning on wearing them.

Why are there so many Chelsea boots in the first place? What is his obsession with those boots? I gotta say that it really does suit him, but is it all he can wear? I'm sure there are many other things that would suit him too.

I open some drawers. There must be something I left here when I was dating him. But maybe he threw it away. That is the most logical answer— why would he want to keep clothes of a girl that he thought had cheated on him?

There's nothing I can wear in his closet. I can't wear his sweatpants, they'll be sliding on the floor. What I can wear is a hoodie.

I grab the first hoodie on one of the many piles, and unfold it. I grin when I see what's on it. It's a One Direction hoodie, with a picture of One Direction in 2011 on it. I have no idea why Harry has this hoodie, but I love it.

I proudly pull it over my head. The sleeves are way too big and the hoodie is hanging just above my knees. I'm so tiny and petite🥺🥺 uwu. I don't understand why modeling agencies want me. They usually want the tall girls.

I look at myself in the mirror. I look no different then usual. A bit hungover, but that's all. I open the door with my phone in my hand and hear TV sounds. Thank god, I was getting afraid he just left without telling me.

'Hey.' I say when I see Harry sitting on his couch with something on that seems to be a onesie, the hood over his head.

'Hi, good morning.' He answers while he puts the TV on pause.

'Afternoon, actually.' I correct him. He looks at his watch, and shrugs.

'So, um.. last night happened.' I awkwardly start while I lean against the counter. Harry clears his throat.