DETACHED || HS ✔️

O N E

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE, HARRY."

Arabella Styles was a young, independent woman who had enough of her husband's grieving behavior. It had been a year, a year as in three hundred and sixty five days that only felt like yesterday to her depressed man. And it was all just an accident, an accident that was waiting to happen.

But now, Arabella Styles was fuming while Harry Styles was filled with confusion.

"What are you talking about?" He questioned with wide forest eyes and parted ruby lips. A sad expression came across his face because even though he asked such an oblivious question, Harry knew that his wife was bound to explode at any moment.

Arabella violently threw down a pair of her trousers to the hardwood floor, her lip curling in anger. She had enough of her husband, drowning his misery in whiskey and lipstick stains. Perhaps his behavior was bound to happen, too.

Harry watched his wife from the couch with his legs spread apart, thick, ring-clad hands holding his jumpy thighs in place. It was terrible to admit, but he wasn't into the conversation as much as his wife was. He couldn't be.

The female spouse felt tears swell in her eyes, but swallowing the lump down her throat helped to defeat them. "I'm just tired of it all, Harry, seriously. All you do is sit there or sleep in the bedroom. It's been a year, you've got to get up sometime. I'm okay."

And this time, Harry was fuming with anger. His hands balls into fists atop his thighs as his nostrils flared in frustration. He didn't understand how she felt, nor did the other way around. He had been struggling while Arabella was alive and well. 

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. We lost our daughter. We watched her die, and we made all those memories with her. Don't act like you weren't apart of her life and that you don't care anymore."

"Harry, I do-"

He held up his hand, immediately silencing his wife. His guilt trip speech was finished.

His fingers ached for a drink, a drink of anything really, as he stood up from his longing relaxation, forest eyes searching the expanse of the counter for anything. He already had a plan set up in his mind for what to do in these type of situations: go to the nearest bar and drink away his pain. But, there was a secret as always, something that wasn't really a secret to Arabella anymore because she washed all laundry and lipstick stains.

There wasn't much to say about it in Harry's opinion. The woman was a quick fuck, a quick getaway from everything since his wife reminded him of the mistake that happened so close yet so far away, tucked into the past.

He shook his head as if to rid the thoughts before pushing all of his weight on his hands. He nearly slipped because of the slight intoxication running through his blood, but the man quickly regained his composure by holding himself up. His wife watched with hooded eyes and a broken heart, her arms crossed over her chest as well as her pinkies. She really hoped he wouldn't go back to her.

Harry spared one last glance at his broken wife with narrowed, dark eyes. They used to be light once, when his daughter was alive and well, and his wife was well, his loving wife. Oh, how they used to be so in love. Harry and Arabella Styles could never been separated in the past days, their eyes cast on each other, and only each other. The singer was too in love, and the journalist was too deep.

Arabella sighed in defeat. She didn't dare watch Harry walk out the door of the house because she didn't know if it would be the last time. She did that every single moment, turning her back to her husband when he left, so it wouldn't be as much heartbreak by not witnessing it.

But really, it would all hurt the same.

Harry's lanky body somehow ended up at the same place at the same time he was usually seen. The flashing lights from the cameras dared to blind him, yet he still continued on with his saddening journey because nobody could stop him. He had a plan, and frankly, the singer was going to stick with it.

The bartender nodded at the man as the doors blew open, smoke lingering in the air with the occasional smell of two strangers fornicating somewhere in the place. Harry's nostrils breathed in the stench, as if it was home.

Which, the bar had come to be home.

Arabella Styles wasn't really a comfort anymore.

"The same?" The bartender asked, his eyebrow cocked in a questioning manner as his hands already worked at the usual drink. Harry nodded silently in reply.

His nearly-bloodshot eyes glanced around the bar, noticing how it lacked the crowd it used to. When he started coming here, the place was full of men and women, either drinking away their sorrows or coming for a good time. It was just Harry's luck that he came for both at the right time.

Before the bartender interrupted the singer's search, he noticed a burly man sitting at the end of the table, as well as one with the same biker jacket playing pool in the corner. Harry frowned at the sight.

He didn't belong there.

"What's landed you here again, Styles?" The man asked whilst sliding the drink across the table to him, his palms placed flat against the bar with a questioning stare. He knew what Harry was here for, but he was lonely and needed someone to talk to. Hell, everyone knew what Harry Styles was up to. The Internet and news buzzed with his name, either speaking about his "alcohol addiction" or his longing affair with a beautiful model.

He didn't care, though. His reputation had been ruined years and years ago when he began dating Arabella Winters, only to be even more tarnished when the two lovers were engaged. He had come to realize that the fan base didn't give a fuck who he was with. They wanted him with nobody so they could have the singer to themselves.

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his slightly greased curls before his hand grasped the drink. He downed it too quick, asking for another as he began to speak. "The same thing," he rasped, not really understanding what he was referring to, yet going along with it.

The bartender only nodded before his shaky hands put another alcohol-filled drink in front of the intoxicated man.

"You need to go home, Harry."

Harry suddenly laughed at the blunt statement, catching all the eyes in the crowd on him. He slammed his hand down loudly before wiping a stray, sarcastic tear from his cheek. The chocolate curls curtaining his face sway when he shook his head.

"I just got here, mate. There's no way I'm leaving."

"You came here already drunk off your ass. I'll call a cab for you, just go home, man."

Harry shook his head, but he reluctantly fished his phone out of his tight jeans. The men that previously had their eyes cast on the inconvenience go back to their day, one playing the game while the other shyly continued to witness a drunk man falling apart.

The singer's vision was blurry when his fingers rapidly tapped against the phone. He frowned at the name before widening his bloodshot eyes. He didn't want his wife to pick him up, but Liam was working and wouldn't do such a thing for him during his work hours. On the inside, he silently hoped she would text back after he pressed send.

Arabella Styles hated and loved her husband at the same time, so she could only do one thing when she received the text.

Her hands reached for the car keys.

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hello! i'm shit at author's notes but yeah. let me know what you thought of the first chapter! this is a short story with only ten chapters.

what do you think of harry??

please vote and comment, thank you again!