antidote | h.s.

17 - daydreamer

harry styles

I have an hour to come up with a fantastic apology and speech to get Ashton back on my good side. 

In all honesty, even if I plan this out, I'll probably fuck it up in the moment and just wing it, but I'll feel better going into it if I have a faux sense of stability. 

I had Drew tell her the time to come tonight, and I'm just praying she actually shows up. I've been shitting myself ever since we talked on the phone, and I don't really know where to go from here. I don't know if any of this is salvageable, but I sure as hell hope it is. 

The past twenty six hours have felt like the longest in my life, and I know this next one is going to be just as bad, if not worse. 

I didn't end up going out with Drew last night, but I promised I would next weekend, and made him ensure me he'd go out again too. I think they all went over to Hank's for drinks or something, so not a whole lot, but I was definitely not in the mood. 

Instead, I did the same thing I had done all day yesterday, which was pity myself.

I watched a movie and ended up crashing on the couch, only waking up when Drew and Violet came home and let the door slam way too loud. I moved to my bed and got the worst sleep I've ever had. 

It doesn't matter, though, because of course I don't get to be well rested for one of the most nerve-wracking things I've ever had to do. 

That may be a bit dramatic, but I'm really fucking nervous. I feel so vulnerable, and I don't like that at all. I'm not one to apologize first a whole lot. I do it sometimes, mainly with Violet, but I'm also not one for mistakes, so this is weirdly new to me and I'm not a fan. 

I have to just keep telling myself that it's Ashton. I like Ashton. It's easy to be around Ashton. It always has been. These past two days are an exception, of course, but I just have to imagine I'm talking to the Ashton from the beginning of Thursday instead. Otherwise, I may just curl up into fetal position and plug my ears like an overwhelmed toddler the second I see her. 

Drew has been setting up for game night all fucking day, and I am not sure how that man manages to not have a massive fucking hangover. He came home plastered, and Violet was practically carrying him over the threshold like a couple of newlyweds. 

But he was fine. He woke up at his normal, annoying hour, sitting at the island in the kitchen with his coffee in his hand and that big, annoying fucking grin on his face. 

Then he proceeded to bug the shit out of me and Vi about the 'party' tonight, as he kept calling it. We kept reminding him that we're having five of our friends over, and it's not at all a party, but if he wanted it to be, we could make that happen. 

He would simply roll his eyes at us and then continue on with his cleaning and pillow fluffing, which would immediately become un-fluffed when either Violet or I would forget and sit down on the couch, earning a growl from a very frustrated Drew.  

That's where we both are now; on the couch while Drew runs around like he's a slaughtered, headless chicken. 

"Do you think he'll tire himself out before midnight?" Violet speaks up beside me. 

"I don't know, I'd give him until one, maybe one thirty," I squint at Drew while he dusts the tv. 

I love Drew with my whole heart, and honestly, I get the most entertainment out of watching him just live his life. You really wouldn't expect it from how he looks. I'll be honest, it's hilarious to watch a six-foot-something, built like a jackhammer guy run around with a Swiffer and an apron on, screaming about how his cookies are going to burn if someone doesn't help him.