Highest Rank: #3 in Fanfiction! :D
Ellie is a bright and bubbly, yet dedicated new nurse in the Emergency Department at Chicago Medical Institute. Dr. Harry Styles, meticulous, hardworking, and driven, is the head of the department. Ellie's little q...
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"Harry, have you been drinking?"
I was met with complete silence. I couldn't see him very well in the dark, but I knew he was still awake since his breathing hadn't settled into his normal sleep pattern.
"Answer me," I demanded in a hushed whisper.
"I had a few," he mumbled.
I turned on the light and sat up, trying not to cry. "Why did you do that?" I asked loudly.
"Shhh," he said. "Michael's in the guest room."
"What?!" I yelled. "Your friend got too drunk to drive, is that it? Did you forget to mention that you can't drink, Harry? Everyone knows an alcoholic can never go back to casual drinking!"
"Since when are you the expert?" He demanded, sitting up and throwing the covers off. "I've spent the past three months doing everything it takes to get sober. You haven't been through it."
"I've been with you through it, though. And I'm pretty sure that they don't tell you in AA that it's okay to have an occasional drink. So don't try to defend yourself."
"Fine," he said in defeat. "I fucked up. I'm sorry, baby. I should have never let it happen."
"Is there any left?" I asked. He shook his head. "Are you lying to me?" I pressed further.
"No! I am not lying to you," he grunted. "Have a little faith in me."
"I did, Harry. I fucking did." I dug into the closet and pulled on some yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and then I went into the bathroom and threw a few things into my makeup bag.
"Ughhh!" He groaned in frustration. "I had one drink, Ellie. It's not a big deal."
"First of all, you just said you had a few. That's more than one. And yes it is a big deal!" I screamed. "God, haven't you learned anything over the past three months?"
"You're over-reacting," he drawled. "I'm fine, baby."
"No," I sobbed. "You're not fine. You're an ass if you think you can have one drink and it'll be okay. It will never be okay, Harry. Never!"
"Baby," he pleaded weakly.
"No," I cried. "Don't call me baby. I'm...I'm going to my place. I just need to get away from you for now. Just give me some time, okay?"
Harry fell back into bed, too tired to argue any further. "Please, Baby," he croaked.
I didn't even stop to answer. With tears streaming down my face, I left Harry's apartment and went to sleep in my own bed, for the first time in months. I broke down in sobs, hugging my pillows to myself and thanking the heavens that I had kept my own place.
How could I ever believe that Harry was going to stop drinking? How could I know for sure that he wouldn't relapse, three months, six months, ten years down the road? is this what it meant to love an alcoholic? I had no idea how to keep going at that point. I had given Harry every ounce of love and support I had, but he just went right back to it!
