Fat // Harry Styles

chapter twenty-five

(hope all of you are having a great holiday break! merry Christmas & happy holidays! can't believe it'll be 2016 already, wow... enjoy the chapter x)

chapter twenty-five

THE SMELL OF chicken tenders and fries filled my car, nauseating my mind yet making my stomach indescribably desperate. I trailed behind Harry on the way to his house, trying to focus on the road and the traffic instead of the ache in my abdomen. I had another headache forming, but those were practically routine by now.

My stomach growled, an annoying pain. I clutched it and bit my bottom lip, glancing over at the to-go box in the passenger seat. Harry pulled to a red light, halting me as well, and it was even harder to ignore the aroma I'd missed for so long. With shaking hands, I popped open the lid just a crack, my brain tumbling over the decision for what felt like ages, but the light hadn't turned so it couldn't have been more than mere seconds.

Groaning in frustration with my indecisiveness, I tore off a piece of chicken and hesitated before taking a bite. My tastebuds danced, however, my throat was closing up. The light turned and I started driving once more, all while trying to swallow the small bite of food. Somehow I succeeded, but I had to gulp half my water bottle to keep myself from retching it back up. I tossed the other half back into the container and closed the lid, feeling the tiniest bit satisfied with myself as my stomach settled down just the slightest.

It wasn't much, but it was the most I'd had in a couple of days.

Maybe I could tell Harry when we got his crazy ex taken care of. A bite wasn't much of an achievement to a normal person, but I hoped he'd be proud of me for trying. That's all I ever did. Try, try, try; fail, fail fail. Same procedure, same results, same disappointment.

I rubbed the base of my skull, hoping to relieve the steadily growing throb in my head. To no such avail was I rewarded, and it merely got worse when I pulled behind Harry into his driveway. A few of his neighbors were out, frowning and looking anxious. A wild blonde girl pitching a fit stood on the stairs to his front door, a spray paint can in hand. Another girl was with Nicole, fiery red hair yet with a twinge of doubt in her gaze.

Harry got out first, already diving into the argument by asking her if she'd lost her mind. Nicole hardly spared him a glance, continuing to write on his front door with the red paint. I stood back, unsure really of what to do. My task was moral support, but I wasn't sure if Harry would even comprehend an attempt to be unbiased. He was livid--rightfully so.

Nicole had spray painted a bunch of crude words on his door, practically all of them in the English language. Some of them were obviously some she'd made up out of spite, but others made me cringe.

Harry grabbed her by the wrist, but she yanked out of his grip, throwing the paint can down with her other hand and yelling gibberish. Her friend stood back, looking much like me with a distraught yet nervous face.

When Nicole nearly fell down the stairs from stumbling, it became evident that she'd been drinking. A lot. Her makeup was running and her hair was tousled like she'd been clawing at it all day. She was shoving Harry, then she was trying to hug him, then she was pushing him again and hollering.

"It's not fair! You can't move on and be happy while I'm miserable! I love you, Harry, and you love me, but you're being an asshole!"

"Nicole, I don't know any other way to tell you that we're done. I don't love you like that anymore, and I'm pretty sure you don't love me," he replied, trying to gather composure but still his face was flushed.

"Bullshit!" she yelled, roughly shoving him in the chest, though he seemed ready and barely budged. "You have to take me back, Harry!"

"Nicole, please get off my yard and go home."