Blowing Smoke (Harry Styles)

Chapter 48

Harry’s POV:

It was gone. Everything was gone. Everything that I had left to remember Monreau was now ash that just lay in the foundation of the house, mocking me terribly. My journal was gone. Her clothes were gone. All my belongings. All her belongings. It was all gone.

Each Westsider that lived there had to move in with their parents, so I was now living with my mother since I loathed my father. My mother lived in a small home just outside of London, which made it difficult for me to continue my business, but I didn’t mind since it was much better than being with my father, the bastard.

I missed Monreau so much. She had been gone for nearly seven months. I had given up. I had gotten my hopes up so high that day that the house burned down that I wasn’t expecting disappointment at all. When I got it, I was crushed. I had basically lost all hope that I had in finding her, leaving me a shell of the man that I was before.

I lay awake, staring blankly at the very light blue tinted ceiling. The blue reminded me too much of Monreau’s gentle eyes to fall asleep. It wasn’t as good as getting lost in her eyes, but it was as close as I could get for now.

My mother tapped on my door, catching my attention and made my focus fall out of my grief.

"Honey, Olivia is here to see you." my mother said sweetly from the other side of my childhood bedroom door in which I had slammed many times before and hid behind when my parents were screaming at each other.

I rolled out of bed and pulled opened my bedroom door, staring down at my small mother who smiled at me like she did in that photo of the day that I was born. Her nearly black hair was pulled back in a lazy ponytail and clipped to the back of her head.

"Are you two going out for dinner?" my mum asked me, her wrinkles on the corner of her eyes becoming evident as her smile widened.

I nodded my head, not sharing her enthusiasm nor smile.

"Have fun." my mum stated simply and went back to her study to work since she barely made enough money to scrape by financially.

I shut my bedroom door behind and walked down the staircase with my hands in my leather jacket pocket.

Olivia was standing inside, her Canada Goose jacket unzipped to show off her fairly flat chest. Her body was very skinny, small and frail, but her face was sweet. She had dark brown hair that seemed to wave lightly. Her eyes were a greyish tint to them. She reminded me somewhat of Monreau, because of the way that she looked, which was exactly why I was dating her.

"Hi, sweetie." Olivia greeted me, her American accent thick as she spoke in her slightly high pitched voice. Monreau’s voice was deeper than the average woman’s and somewhat raspy, which was one thing that I loved about her.

"Let’s go." I said simply, rather than returning the greeting.

Every time I looked at Olivia, I thought about Monreau. I wondered what she was doing while I was on a date with Olivia. I wondered what she was doing that day that I met Olivia in the bathroom at a bar, since she was so hammered that she went into the men’s bathroom.

I remember seeing Olivia’s blue eyes turn to look at me, her gaze distant, and her full lips parted in confusion. She looked somewhat like Monreau, but not nearly as striking. She caught my attention because she reminded me so much of Monreau, so I kissed her right then and there. Olivia’s lips were sloppy and tasted of nothing but alcohol while Monreau’s lips tasted of watermelon. I put my hands around Olivia’s waist and nearly sunk with disappointment when I felt her tiny and small frame, hardly any muscle beneath her skin which was much more tan than Monreau’s.