WRONG // (Harry Styles)

t h i r t y e i g h t

CHAPTER 38

Claire's point of view

"Your ID," he repeats, as I try not to look nervous. He must be almost double my height, and his gigantic build makes me squirm as I look down into my purse. I don't even know why I came here, I can't even come inside. But then I see the guard next to him nudge him, pointing at me and leaning in to mumble something into his ear. He looks me up and down, blinking twice.

"Are you Claire Tomlinson?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, y-yes I am," I stutter, not daring to look into his eyes. A few moments of silence passes, before he slightly nods and steps aside.

"Go on ahead," he unbuckles the red velvet rope, and I walk into the building. I am not wearing a proper attire for this kind of place, but I couldn't stop to change. I couldn't go another second feeling something. If I let it all in, I'm afraid of what I'll do.

The room seems pitch black before I notice the blaring and blinding lights, flashing all over the place. I head straight to the counter, sitting down, intimidated by the crowd of dancing people.

"Can I get'ya something?" A boy behind the counter asks, throwing a small cloth over his shoulder. He flashes a smile, and I think hard about my answer. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't.

"A shot?" I ask, and he laughs.

"Of?"

I shake my head at myself, embarrassed.

"Anything, sorry, I've never been to a place like this before," I explain, bringing up my wallet to get a few dollar bills out. The blazing light of different colors makes it hard for me to make out a hair color, but after a while of staring I figure that he must be blonde.

"One shot of anything coming right up," he smiles, grabbing a small glass and pouring a small amount of liquid from a green bottle.

"Here you go," he says, sliding the glass towards me. I put the glass in between my fingers, looking down on it. I've made so many dumb decisions in the recent weeks, and I know this will be another one. But I don't care. I can't feel like this for one more second.

I put the glass to my lips and lean back, and swallow it all with one go. I pathetically cough and drop the glass on the counter, wiping my lips.

"Hey, let me buy you another one," a familiar voice sits down next to me. I turn towards it, and it takes a few seconds before I vaguely remember it.

"Hey, Claire, is it?" A few strands of the black hair falls in front of his forehead. The waiter. At the restaurant, Harry and I's first date. I remember, Harry practically ambushed him for giving me a compliment. Now what was his name...

"Zayn," I breathe out.

"You remember me!" he laughs out, just loud enough to hear over the loud music.

"Well, it's nice to see you again," he says, and snaps at the bartender.

"Two beers," he says, and they arrive shortly.

"You should never start with a shot, you work your way up," he blinks at me, handing me the beer.

"I really shouldn't," I shake my head, putting the glass down.

"Hey come on, let your hair down, have some fun," he suggests. I'm reminded that my hair is literally up in a bun, so I let it down.

Fun. The concept is so foreign for me now. Having fun is something I desperately crave. I look at the glass for a few seconds before grabbing it again, witnessing the sly smile from Zayn.

"Did you come here alone?" he asks, taking a sip. I nod.

"So where is your boyfriend, Harry?" His shirt is nearly not buttoned at all, tucked into his black jeans.

"Not here," I sigh, suspicious over why he's wondering.

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom," I say, excusing myself from the situation. It's not that he's rude or anything, but already a shot and two sips of beer is making me dizzy and nauseous. I go to the bathroom, and wash my hands whom where all sweaty from before. I stare at myself in the mirror and convince myself that I am doing nothing wrong by being here. I'm just having fun, letting go, like normal people do. I get back, and Zayn has not moved at all. He still sits right next to my stool.

"Aaand she's back. Why don't you finish your drink and we go dance?" he suggests. I furrow my eyebrows at him, knowing I don't want to dance with him.

"Or you could just dance, without me," he smiles, and I breathe out slightly relieved. He's not a total creeper.

"But I'd like to get to know you better, in a totally friendly way."

I consider it for a second, and I realize; what bad could it do to talk to this guy for a few more minutes?

We sit and talk, having a couple of laughs as I drink the rest of the beer. I learn that his last name is "Malik," and he is a part-time waiter, and a singer too.

"I haven't quite made it yet, but I plan to," he says with a smirk. I feel warm, and a urge for recklessness rushes through me.

"I wanna dance," I say, getting up from the stool and walking to the dance floor, clearly a little intoxicated. I follow the crowd of people, my hands in the air. I jump up and down to the beat of the music, and feel my hair bounce, the hot and humid air somehow seeming refreshing.

I feel Zayn get up behind me, and put his hands on my hips. I push them away, and turn around to face him. I feel an immense drunk feeling across my body, making my muscles weak as i look into his wicked eyes.

I back away, walking through the crowd a bit to find a new spot to dance. I completely let go of my worries, closing my eyes and dancing to the beat. I slightly lose feeling of my body, and I can't figure out how I'm this affected by one glass of beer and a shot. I start feeling nauseous again just by breathing, and I feel more required to breathe deeper.

Zayn appears again, this time with no smile on his face. He grabs me by the waist again, and I don't feel the strength to push him away again.

Last thing I see before I collapse, is the empty glass of beer, resting on the bar counter.

A/N: Hey:) This is short but I updated like yesterday so its all good right??:)

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