DETACHED || HS ✔️

T W O

"I'VE TOLD YOU COUNTLESS TIMES..."

Arabella began to speak, but as soon as she did, her throat slowly closed in and tears welled in her eyes. She flicked a stray piece of raven hair away from her irises to act as if that's what was bothering her, but Harry knew the truth. She was trying her hardest not to cry. It's a form of weakness, she always told her husband.

Harry slumped lower in his seat, the jacket wrapped around his torso doing no good for the type of cold weather. It was a shock that the amount of liquor the singer drink didn't warm him up in the slightest, but he was used to the feeling. He had been cold ever since his daughter died and marriage crumbled.

Arabella felt his forest eyes on her, but she continued to tighten her hands around the wheel as she drove. She wouldn't back down. She was a twenty-seven-year old woman with a mission to not cry in front of her husband or make eye contact. That was another weakness of hers. 

She felt sick to her stomach when she turned sharply, Harry feeling the same but choosing to ignore it. His eyes continued to study the features of her face, the features that had been once so similar and beautiful that he wanted to look at forever. Now when he did, he just saw her, and she was a terrible memory.

"Where are we going?" Harry suddenly asked, his hand coming to fiddle with the other, thick fingers touching the rings. He didn't dare touch the diamond encrusted ring on his left hand, though.

The wife closed her eyes for a moment before returning back to reality and blowing a breath through her plump lips. "Home, Harry."

But that's not my home, his thoughts dared to say, yet he kept his lips closed for the first time in a while.

Throughout the long and awkward car ride home, Arabella wondered what it would have been like to have a loyal husband after five years of marriage. She thought about the sneaky kisses and loving sex and everything that lovers would've done, but her marriage was in the drain, and she was just trying to save it.

Harry wondered where Francis Monroe was, and that was about it.

"We're here," the heartbroken wife mumbled before opening her door and leaving Harry in his misery.

He stayed there for a few minutes, fingers twitching to have them wrapped around a bottle or clutching onto the bare hip of his mistress. He sighed loudly before he surprisingly joined his wife in the house, posture wobbly and sluggish, but his vision was much more clearer.

As soon as his presence was made, Arabella attempted to clear away the tears, but it was too late. Her sorrow wasn't music to Harry's ears. He hated it.

She was hunched over the kitchen counter, elbows planted to hold her upright while her fingers frantically rubbed at the tears to clear away. She sniffled loudly, in short steps until another loud sob broke through the silence. Arabella saw Harry's silhouette in front of the door, but she didn't make another move to stop herself.

She was weak.

"Arabella, stop," Harry insisted before clumsily walking with long strides toward his wife. She didn't budge when his hands reached for hers to take them away from his face. She wouldn't back down. "Please. I hate seeing you cry."

Arabella couldn't help the cruel words that fell out of her mouth. "What a surprise that you say that," she pitifully laughed before taking her hands out of her grasp and wiping away a few stray tears. "You weren't saying that when you were fucking her, cheating on your own damn wife. Please do tell me, Harry, what were you thinking? Why-why would you do this to me?"

Her voice cracked at the end as another sob broke through his wife. Harry watched her with emotionless eyes and a frown on his lips. It was getting too hot in the room for him, but he didn't dare to take off the jacket. He didn't dare to do anything really, because frankly, for the first time in a while, he didn't know what he wanted.

But, Harry Styles was an asshole at its finest.

"She was there when you weren't," he simply states before walking around his sobbing wife to grab the bottle of whiskey in the cabinet. His back turned to his wife as he slid the glass across the counter and into his hands to pour the intoxication. He had sobered up too much.

Arabella rotated on her heel with three things: wide eyes, swollen cheeks, and another piece that torn off from her heart. She sniffled all the courage back down her throat when her hand unconsciously rubbed her stomach.

"I wasn't there? Why do you tell yourself these lies? I was always there. I was always there waiting for you to get home, or supporting you at nearly every damn concert or every fucking awards show. I was there when you were deathly ill with the flu, and I was there when your father died. You can't say I wasn't there. Jesus Harry, I was always there, even when Oli-"

"Don't fucking say her name!" He growled out before a glass of whiskey flew across the room, smashing against the wall with pieces flying across the floor.

Arabella flinched, her hands flying up in defense. Harry walked closer to her until he backed her up against the counter, his large hands coming to settle beside her hips on the furniture. "You don't know how much shit I've been through. I fucking-I cared so much for her," tears swelled in his bloodshot eyes. "You and her were my world and now, now it's all just crumbled."

Harry's wife began to shake her head, the short, raven wisps of her hair falling into her eyes. She narrowed her eyes as another tear fell, glaring into forest ones. She felt his hot, alcoholic breath hit her cheek, but she didn't back down at the emotional man.

Arabella moved herself closer to her husband's face, almost where there was no air to breath. "Even after everything that happened, it didn't mean you had to go and cheat."

"You're so fucking selfish," Harry seethes through gritted, pearly teeth as he increased the space between the two. He ran a hand through his mess of curls before he shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip until blood raised. Arabella opened her mouth to speak, but Harry beat her to it. "No, don't talk at all. Just don't. That's all your worried about. The fact that I cheated on you? What the fuck. Our child died right before our eyes. You're not even affected."

"It was a fucking year ago, Harry! I can't mourn her death all my life. I loved her so much, don't you understand that?! I still do, but I can't fucking think about it. I have to tune it out that our daughter is dead. She's gone! But the best she would want for us is to move on. I'll never forget her, but I can't drown myself in alcohol. Or other women."

Arabella was out of breath as her rant, fresh tears streaming down her face while she rubbed at her stomach once more. Harry didn't know whether he was angry or sad at the facts his wife listed. Except, he still thought she was too selfish for her own good. And, she didn't care about the baby.

Harry watched his wife shake her head once more before waving her hand in the air, a sign of forfeiting.

"I'm done. I'm done talking, Harry. I feel like shit so if you want to continue this talk about your infidelity, I'm sure Liam would love to hear it. But, I'm done," Arabella finished her statement before slowly walking into her bedroom. Not theirs, just hers.

But the only thing he was worrying about was why his wife kept rubbing her stomach.