Rain | Harry Styles

EPILOGUE

'SO I DROWN IT OUT, LIKE I ALWAYS DO, DANCING THROUGH OUR HOUSE WITH THE GHOST OF YOU-'

-

H.

I set my glass down on the table, letting out a slow exhale as I ran my hands over my face. My hands were cold, and my face was dry; lifeless. I didn't dare touch my lips; cracked, and dry - most likely painted with dry blood from the lacking of regard for them, a dull ache and a harsh sting made known from them when I so much as parted them to say a word. It was seven o'clock, and the sky was grey - the night soon to draw in and the clouds never ceasing to fill the sky.

I reached for the bottle of whiskey, filling my second glass far more than I should have, and bringing it to my lips, to take a swig, the swig quickly turning to the downing of the entire glass.
"Daddy?" a small voice sounded from behind me, and I bit my lip, setting the glass down once more to turn around.

"Hey, pretty girl," I smiled weakly, crouching down to meet the height of the little one in front of me, "how was your day?"

"Jenny said I could wait until you got home from work to see you," she told me in a hushed voice, assuming it was later than it was, while playing with the hem of her PJ shirt, "she said I could wait to give you a kiss goodnight."

"Ah," I nodded, glancing around to note the money gone from the table, making it clear the babysitter had left, before holding my arms out, "well give me a kiss and a cuddle then, darling, and then you're off to bed. S'past your bedtime."

She stumbled tiredly into my arms, her small frame enveloped entirely in my larger one as I held her tightly. She buried her head into my chest, before I released her, pressing a kiss to her nose and then her forehead.

"Come on, Evelyn - bed, now," I lifted her onto my hip, gripping her easily in one arm as I took long strides along the hallway, my office shoes tapping against the floor as I headed for her bedroom, pushing the door open. I eyed the scuffed pink walls, once holding a beautiful shade of fuscia - now peeling at the edges and holding a slight tinge of grey, the wall untouched for over three years, when I'd spent days painting it in anticipation for our first-born.

I pulled back the covers of the single bed, gently placing Evie onto the mattress, and tugging the covers back over her, as her head sank back into the pillow.

"Will you read to me, Daddy?" she asked sleepily, and it was no secret she was already close to a deep slumber.

I sighed, "Not tonight, darling. It's already very late past your bedtime.."

"Please," she whined, and I bit my lip.

"Which book, Evie?" I gave in.

"The one with the S's," she told me, and I closed my eyes for a second, knowing what she was referring to.

"There's no point reading things like that to you, darling, you're a bit young," I tried to reason with my little girl, but it was no use. Since she'd first caught me with the book in my hand a few months ago, she'd been desperate for me to read her a few lines nightly. I'd always leave out what wasn't appropriate, and only read her what she had no chance of understanding or absorbing, and though I tried to read her anything but that - she wouldn't budge.

"Please, Daddy, just a few bits," she whined again, and I exhaled, knowing there was no point in arguing. I was exhausted, and I'd give in anyhow.
I stood up from my crouched position beside the bed, walking over to the table above her reach where I'd left the book the night before. I ran my hand over the cover of 'Sense and Sensibility', a sting greeting my eyes as it always did.