Infatuated (hsau)

chapter 4.

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She's casual and she don't mind
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Harry Styles

It's one of those nights. I can't sleep, no matter how hard I try. I've sat on the floor with my guitar, I've sat on the edge of the bed with my guitar, I've sat on the floor with a book, I've sat on the edge of my bed with a book. I can't sleep.

For some reason it's those blue eyes my thoughts keep wandering back to.

The time was now 8.30, I've been awake all night and by this point, there was no point in me even trying to sleep. I always do this, always fucking do this. One line turns into two, two turns into four and four turns into a whole night awake.

Now I'm stone cold sober, hating myself for always doing the same thing.

I keep thinking about Harlow, there's something about her I'm so god damn fascinated by.

Much more fascinated than I ever would've anticipated.

The thing is she's clever, very very clever and so successful yet I can't help but think the girl who wears the constant smile and showers strangers with love is just a character, a mask even. When I was watching her last night the smile did fade, it faded but then someone caught her eye and it returned.

And that's what made me follow her outside, only for my eyes to be met with the picture of that little boy holding her wrist like he was the shit.

But I was too high to make sense of much else other than the fact she's vegan, that was her ex and she likes old music and musicals.

I like that though, for someone who you'd expect to have the typical leather chair, wooden desk office and big black car, she's actually pretty cool. I saw her record collection too, she has taste, immaculate taste.

She hates me so much and I love it because she knows she can't hate me in a club full of people. It's so amusing to me, seeing her cringe at the slightest thought of affection and I mean I'm not one for affection, not that I've ever experienced it much, but Harlow acts as if this deal of ours is the thing that's gonna take her out.

It's not and I can promise her that. There's a lot she'll find out, just not now.

I step out the shower and wrap a towel round my waist, hair dripping down my back as I search for my phone. My phone however is nowhere to be found. Of course it's at her club, of fucking course it is.

A drive to good old Club Carnal at 9AM it is I guess.

Grey joggers, black high top converse and an old green college sweatshirt that I found in the back of my wardrobe...not the best of outfits I've ever worn but to go pick up my phone, grab a coffee and come home again, it'll do.

Harlows got me in the mood for some 80's music. I remember her playing some David Bowie last night and Space Oddity has been playing on repeat in my head since I got in the shower so David Bowie it is.

Three songs later and I'm pulling into the car park round the back of the place. Don't know whether I'm supposed to go around the front or come round the back but either way, I just wanna get my phone and leave until tonight.

Ah, how do I get in?

Nice one, now I'm stood at the back door like an absolute tit.

What can I do now? Call someone? I fucking wish.

It's that moment where I'm stood thinking about what to do, that the memorable small dark green car pulls into the car park, the familiar driver looking awfully confused as to why I'm stood here. What are the chances?