Spotlight |h.s|

Twenty Two

Aubrey Hart

What the fuck am I doing?

When I wake up with Harry's face still close to mine, I realize just how stupid I've been in the past 24 hours. I let him see me break down, let him stay here, and worst of all, I didn't hate it.

I open my eyes after a minute, knowing what I'm going to see in front of me and still dreading the sight, as if me keeping my eyes closed would make it any less real. I see his closed eyes in front of me, a serene look of sleep on his face.

We aren't fully touching anymore, the bridges of our noses having about an inch between them. I still feel his body heat radiating off of him and onto me. He's laying on top of my comforter, taking deep breaths as he sleeps in his black jeans and nice blue hoodie. He looks so calm right now.

I know damn well that peaceful look won't last much longer. He's going to wake up and be a complete asshole, especially after not doing any coke last night. My breakdown made him hold back the anger I know he had to have inside him. Harry without coke is not a good Harry. Not in the slightest. Definitely not one I feel comfortable laying next to in my bed.

With that in mind, I carefully pull my forehead off of his. I slowly get out from under the covers and head to my bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I brush my teeth right away, hoping my breath didn't smell bad or anything.

I look at myself in the mirror for the first time in almost a full day, seeing how puffy and red my face still is. My eyes are bloodshot, the blue color of them being extremely vibrant in contrast. It's 11:00 am, so I thought it would've died down a bit by now.

Sadly, it didn't. I'm still dealing with a pounding head full of dehydration accompanied with burning eyes and puffy bags beneath them.

My arms are covered in a mixture of dried tears and snot along with my face. I'm disgustingly covered in it, making me cringe at the feeling. I decide on showering, not caring about waking him up since I know he'll be in a bad mood no matter what I do. I might as well be clean before the impending argument.

I wash my body, exfoliate, shave, shampoo, condition, and wash my face. The hot steam from the water fills the entire room, fogging up the mirrors and making my airways feel more open after seeming so clogged by phlegm along with my own anxiety.

I get out once I'm done, putting on a dark blue silk robe and brushing out my wet hair. I then moisturize and put some toner on my face, also putting some lotion on the rest of my body after that.

I open the bathroom door once I'm ready to grab my clothes and get dressed, seeing an empty bed before me and furrowing my brows.

I head to my door and peek down the hall, there still being nobody in sight. My eyes scan everywhere in front of me as I walk toward the stairs. I pull the front door open a crack once I make it to the first floor and see no Tesla in my driveway. He's gone.

No words exchanged. No arguments. He simply left without as much as a signature "fuck you". I was expecting some kind of argument stemming from his withdrawals, but instead, my silent house is all I have. Just me and Charlie alone in the big empty area.

This fact makes me happy, knowing now I won't have to deal with his pre-coke attitude. Something tells me the drug has to do with his rush to his place to begin with. There has to be some serious motivation for him to turn down one of our fights. I feel like they entertain him at this point. He'll take any opportunity to make himself feel stronger and me look dumber.

I calmly walk myself back up the stairs and change into a pair of pink and white plaid pants and a ribbed white long sleeve. I let my hair air dry and put on nothing but light mascara for the day.