the writer // harry styles au

chapter 13

Harry

I was currently out with Zayn. He was drinking himself silly, like always, and so was I. It's been a week. A whole week since I've seen Alexis. I hate myself for what I did. All I can think about is what I said, how I let her walk straight out that door without begging or pleading. I was so ready to get on my knees and not let her leave. But I froze. I was so angry at myself. I drank myself silly, draining nearly a whole bottle of scotch. Each sip burned down my throat, numbing my stupidity a little bit more each time. I was angry at myself. I'd lost my muse.

"Harry," Zayn slurred. He took his hands and placed them on either shoulder. "You're a fucking idiot, I hope you know that."

I repeated his actions, placing my hands on his shoulders. "I hope you know that I know I know that."

Zayn was quiet before totally cackling. He was laughing so hard, hands clutched on stomach, dropping to his knees. We are so drunk.

"I'm going to write about this. This is fucking hilarious," Zayn said from the floor.

I fell the the floor with him, laughing. I'd never gotten this drunk with Zayn before, and right now, we were pissed.

"I was going to write about Alexis. But I fucked up." My sentences were becoming more and more incoherent. Each word dropped more syllables, becoming less of a word and more of a sound.

Zayn was attempting to push himself up as well as trying to say, "You were going to write about.. that Alice girl. Not Alexis. She was your body double for Alice with a different mind."

I sat on the floor, stunned. The alcohol probably added to my realisation, but I was completely out of words. What had I been doing? I had told myself repeatedly not to confuse the two. Maybe I liked Alice that little bit more, which was totally fucked up. I mean, she was a figure of my imagination. I chose everything about her; what she liked, disliked, thought, her personality.

"Harry, you drunk fucker-"

"You're drunk, too."

"-get the hell up, throw up, and go home. This is the lowest of lows for you. Fuck off. You're too good for this joint," Zayn finished.

I stood shakily, holding onto the table we were sitting at for leverage. I can't walk in a straight line, let alone get home. I call over Niall, a sports journalist and friend, who was too wrapped up in the football game on the TV that he barely had two sips of his beer.

"Niall, my man," I slur. I fist bump his shoulder, making him flinch a little.

"Harry, my drunk man. Want to go home?" Niall said, placing his hand on my shoulder blade, escorting me out of this.. joint.

I laughed. And laughed. Niall laughed too, shaking his head. He knew I was pissed because of a girl and it made him way too happy. He'd been dating this girl - called Lena, or something - for the past year. They broke up for about a month half way through their relationship and the amount of times I woke up to him knocking on my door, drunk, asking me to sing him to sleep was countless. He was so in love with that girl that he couldn't function without her. Now I'm him. I'm the drunk Niall asking to be sung to sleep and taken care of.

"Mate, you are right pissed. I'm going to have to stalk down this woman to see what all this hustle's about," Niall said, putting me into the back seat of his car, lying me down. The car smelt heavily of floral perfume and mint. The review mirror had a lipstick stain on the top right corner. Niall probably had car sex in here just before he left home, the fucker.

"She's so awesome, man," I slurred once Niall was in the front seat.

He chuckled. "I bet she is man."