tw: s*xual assault
❀❀❀skip to the flowers in the middle of the chapter if you are not comfortable with this topic.❀❀❀
harry styles
"What's your name, baby?"
My mind spun as I turned to see the owner of the voice in my ear, being met by bright blue eyes and a pearly smile.
"Harry," my response was short as I let the corners of my mouth crease into a lazy, friendly grin.
"Well hi, Harry. I'm Zoey," her hand fell to my bicep, squeezing it too tightly, so I held back a wince.
"What's up, Zoey?"
I wasn't in the right state to protest the order of another round. I didn't have the capacity to predict. I should have seen.
Her hand rubbed my thigh up and down as we took our shots, my shot glass being replaced with her lips upon mine before I could realize. She tasted like alcohol and stale mint gum.
It was blips of the night sandwiched between shadows. The dance floor. The bar once again. The bathroom. Her mouth on my neck, my lips, my chest.
I don't remember if I reciprocated. I don't remember if I gave her signs of yes. I must have.
She fell to her knees, hands pulling at the button of my jeans, grazing me in a way that woke me up enough.
"Wait, stop," I must have been too quiet, "Zoey..." I trailed, the simple act of talking feeling similar to running in a dream. The action was right in front of me, I was able to do it, but I couldn't. I thought I was. I was trying.
Hands on my skin. Skin that was sensitive, skin that was mine.
"Stop, I can't. Stop, please."
Was I saying it out loud?
"Stop. Stop!"
I knew I was crying. That much I could tell. I was helpless.
Her mouth came to my skin, sending a gasp through me.
"Fuck!"
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My chest heaves up and down, sweat pilling on my skin as I open my eyes and try to recognize my surroundings.
"Harry?"
Ashton.
I'm on Ashton's couch. Nova's with me.
I feel like I can't breathe. How do I breathe?
Ashton walks out of her bathroom, sweatpants and a sweatshirt replacing the jeans and tank top she went to bed in last night. Her hand holding a makeup wipe and her face reddened from scrubbing the wipe on it.
Her face is worried. I don't want to worry her.
"Good morning," I plaster over my panic with an easy smile.
"Did you just scream? Are you okay?" she tosses the makeup wipe into the trash on her way over to me, sitting down on the coffee table to face me, still laid on the couch.
"Yeah, sorry. Woke up with a Charlie horse," I lie, watching her eyebrows turn up in the middle, her head tilting to examine my face.
I stall, turning my face down and catching a glimpse of Nova taking up a good majority of the couch by my knees.
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