Fire (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 23

We clambered out of the club hand in hand, slightly drunk from the copious amounts of alcohol available. This had to have been the best night of my life, David Bowie, Harry, I punched some bitch, and it was all going amazing. Plus, I assumed it wasn’t over as it was only 11 pm.

“What do you want to do now sweetheart?” He asked, a tilt to his head and a beaming smile plastered on his handsome face. I turned to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck, he placed his hands on my waist leaned down for a kiss. Our lips collided roughly against each other. The cold chill of the air seemed dulled by Harry’s warm breath panting across my lips. He reluctantly pulled away, giving me a lustful look.

“Ready to go?” He asked, I assumed he was talking about that little den he had built, and to be honest; I thought it would be the highlight of the night which is a big ask considering I just saw David Bowie live in concert. I nodded my head in reply, biting my lower lip as I did. Harry’s face lit up as he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, at a pace, which my feet were unwilling to go, I stumbled in my heels and was not aided by the alcohol.

“Hold on.” I said, leaning down to pull off my heels, before I had the opportunity though, Harry had swooped me up and was carrying me. I laughed uncontrollably for a second; just knowing that Harry was so eager to get home. But he didn’t smile. His face was blank. His eyes were darker than their usual shade of brilliant jade.

“Harry,” I started, he didn’t look at me, his eyes were firmly set on the path in front of us. “Harry.” I said, this time a little more stern and with more emotion in my frail tone. This time he noticed, he looked down on me, still holding the same facial expression as before. His grip on my body became tighter as he sensed my meagre resistance at his dominative status. Now I was scared. In a matter of seconds, Harry had transformed into this…sex-crazed boy. I assumed this was how he acted with the women before me; he faded into a state of anonymity which allowed him to shut off from the rest of the world and easily forget his partner.

“Harry!” I shouted, my fingernails digging into the back of his neck as his footsteps became faster and more ferocious, the veins in his neck were sticking out more than usual and his eyes were almost black in his rush. His breath hitched I his throat as his eyes locked on mine and immediately softened, gradually returning to their usual shine. His lips parted but no words came out, his footsteps ceased as he looked down on me, and I up at him. I rolled my head back in relief, relief that I had him back. He seemed distressed, I knew why. He didn’t want that sort of thing with me, he didn’t want a relationship built purely off sex like he had in the past. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was upset.

“Harry, it’s okay.” I assured, my eyes trying to hold as much sympathy as they could manage. He pursed his lips in anger and carefully lowered my legs to the floor, releasing his entire grip on my body. He walked forward alone, his back muscles tensed through his tight black t-shirt. He was furious at himself. He walked away at a fast pace; I would have no chance of catching him in the shoes I wore. I took them off and began to walk behind him, going at a rate much slower than his own, I didn’t even call after him. I knew he just needed time.

I walked along the buzzing streets of London alone, I knew the way to our little den, but I was taking my time getting there. I looked across the broad road, noticing the hundreds of cars and pedestrians in a desperate rush to go somewhere. Most of them were with a group of others, but there was the occasional one like me, walking on their own. I didn’t mind that Harry had stormed off, but it would have been nice to not feel so vulnerable. I noticed a group behind me, they weren’t laughing and joking like the others I’d seen, they were just whispering to each other. I didn’t turn around to see them, not knowing the scale and type of group they were, but it struck me as strange that they were just whispering. I hoped that they were just drunkards on their way to the next club or bar in London, that maybe they’d cross the road or even just walk straight past me.