I know I was drunk. I can remember the feeling; the liquid courage coursing through my veins. The talking and giggling without reason. Yet that was three hours earlier. Three hours earlier when I screamed after Niall. Now the alcohol feels like nothing more than a dull throbbing in my head. I would’ve thought the guilt―or at least the fear―would’ve been gone by now: but neither of them are and I can’t bring myself to drink more alcohol, sticking with water.
“Sweetness lets go back to the hotel,” Harry mumbles in my ear, his hand firmly attached to my ass. I move his hand and place it on my waist instead. He drops it back to my behind.
“Stop grabbing me,” I say.
“Why?” he complains.
“When we’re alone okay? Not in public,” I tell him, moving his curious hands once more. “Let’s head back to the hotel.” He huffs and places a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
“I love you,” he mumbles drunkenly. I nod and grab his hand, tugging him towards the exit. “Why don’t you say it back?” he pouts once we’re outside. I hail a taxi, helping him to stand straight. “Sophie say it back,” he demands, tugging my arm like a child. “Don’t you love me?” he frowns, his eyes sad.
“Very much,” I acknowledge. A cab stops in front of us and I help him in the back seat. I struggle to get him to sit up straight in his seat.
“Where to?” the driver asks, looking at us through the rear-view mirror.
“Uh...” I frown, not recalling the name of the hotel. I turn to the curly-haired boy. “Harry what’s the name of the hotel?” I ask once I’ve tied both our seatbelts.
“I’m not telling,” he shakes his head childishly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not until you say you love me.”
“I love you,” I sigh. My head is starting to hurt.
“Like you mean it Soph,” he shakes his head again.
“Harry Styles, I love you,” I repeat, gazing into his eyes.
“Then kiss me,” he demands.
“Just head to Los Angeles’ best hotel,” I tell the driver, giving up. That’s the type of hotel the boys would go for. He nods and starts driving.
“Why don’t you want to kiss me? You’re acting weird,” Harry accuses, squinting his eyes at me.
“You’re the one who’s acting weird,” I counter. “You’re usually not so touchy feely―”
His hand slides up my thigh, his face nuzzling in my neck like a kitten.
“I’m so tired of hiding you,” he replies, cutting me off. “I don’t care if the media sees you: I want them all to know that you’re mine!” he declares, rolling down his window. I stop him just as he’s about to stick his head outside and yell. He huffs. “You’re boring tonight,” he states. “Why don’t you want to kiss me? Why can’t I just hold you...? I want to touch and kiss every single inch of your body,” he rambles drunkenly, his hands reaching for me once more.
“At the hotel Harry... Right now is inappropriate,” I whisper, watching the driver looking at us through his mirror.
He huffs and leans by the window, looking at the night fly beside us.
About ten minutes later, we finally stop in front of a hotel. I can’t help sighing in relief when I realize it’s the right one. I help a stumbling Harry out of the car, before handing a 30 dollar bill to the driver.
“Keep the change,” I tell him, keeping one hand attached to Harry’s arm.
“You be careful miss,” he responds, shooting a glance in Harry’s direction. “His intentions seem slightly unclear,” he adds. “G’night.”
I watch him as he drives away, before walking Harry inside the hotel and inside an elevator.
“Soph we’re alone now,” he remarks, smirking as the elevator goes up. He backs me up in a corner.
“We’re almost in our room,” I reason. The elevator dings and the doors open. “See? Already on our floor,” I smile, tugging him out of the lift and down the corridor.
Once we’re in front of the hotel room, he swiftly pulls the room key out of his pocket and urges us inside. The second we enter, he pushes the door shut and grabs my face, kissing me passionately. My back hits the door.
“Right, our room,” he mumbles, grabbing my arm and pulling me to our room.
His hands are all over me as soon as we cross the door frame. I get a glimpse at the time as I slip my shoes off.
“Shit Harry it’s three A.M.” I state, responding more or less to his kisses. I try motivating myself for what’s about to come, recalling my father’s proposition. I’m going to do this. I’m going to tell him no, and he’ll respect my decision. Even if he’s drunk, deep down, he knows what’s right. “Harry it’s really late―”
“Yeah and? I want you right now. We’re alone. I want you,” he repeats. His eyes are a little lost, his hair is tangled and his breathing is uneven.
“Harry, I don’t feel like doing this tonight,” I stop him, my head ache growing.
“Do what? Talking? I know. Talking sucks. Let’s just get to fucking alright?” he slurs, desperately trying to latch himself back on me. His crude words scorch my ears.
“I just want to go to sleep,” I shake my head, stopping him once more.
“No. You can’t do that.” It’s his turn to shake his head. “You can’t taunt me all night, and then simply deny me of what’s mine,” he scoffs, slightly loosing balance on his feet. I’m taken aback by his response.
“No. Sophie that’s mean. You can’t do that,” he persists, wagging his finger at me. “You can’t say ‘not in public, when we’re alone,’ and then simply say that you don’t want to when we finally are alone!” The alcohol in his system results in anger. “Sophie you’re mine. I can do as I please. I love you and you love me. You’re supposed to understand that!” he states angrily, towering over me.
So that’s all I am to him? An object he can use when he feels like it? My eyes drop to my fingers momentarily, his words piercing my heart.
“Look at me!” His hand grabs my arm bruisingly tight. “So pretty Soph... Now kiss me.”
“Harry no―” he squeezes my arm. “Ouch! You’re hurting me!” I protest.
“I don’t care! That’s what you get for leading me on!”
I can’t help it: I start crying.
“Why are you crying?! I didn’t do anything to you yet!”
I rip myself out of his grasp.
“You don’t understand do you?!” I sob. “I’m important too! It’s not always about what you want!” I end before storming out of the bedroom.
“Come and join me when you’ve stopped being a demanding little bitch!” There’s a pause. “I need another beer,” I hear him slur from the other side of the door. I lock myself in the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably. Dad was right. He doesn’t really love me. He’s just using me! Taking my head in my hands, I curl into a ball on the tile floor and I break down, biting on my arm to dim my cries.
I don’t answer the door when Harry comes back a few minutes later, knocking and mumbling drunkenly. Using my arms as a pillow, I lie on the floor and shut my eyes, tears still gliding on my cheeks.
The cold tile on my skin pulls me out of my sleep. Confused, I sit up and rub my neck, looking around. Bathroom. Right. I slept in here. I stand up carefully and wash my face by the sink. My head hurts. I don’t know if it’s from yesterday’s drinking, or simply yesterday’s crying. I don’t even bother looking at myself in the mirror, knowing very well the sight wasn’t going to be pretty.
I step out of the bathroom and head back to Harry’s bedroom to search for a change of clothes, hoping he’s asleep. I walk inside to see him sitting shirtless on the bed, holding his head in his hands.
“Sophie?” he says, voice ragged. “Love, where were you this morning? Where did you sleep?” he questions as I search the suitcase for clothing. His question takes me by surprise.
“You don’t remember what happened last night?” I reply calmly, grabbing a shirt and sweats before turning to look at him. I struggle keep a straight face, last night’s attitude engraved in my mind.
He rubs the back of his neck, pondering.
“No I really don’t remember much of last night,” he remarks. “I think I drank too much,” he adds, grimacing. “I’ve got one of those hangovers...Would you mind grabbing some painkillers for me? They’re in a red pouch in the front pocket of my suitcase,” he continues. Without talking, I rummage into his suitcase and hand him the red pouch before fetching a glass of water for him.
“Are you alright?” he questions once he’s downed the glass and pills. “You aren’t very talkative,” he points out.
“My head hurts,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. He stops me as I turn to leave.
“Do you remember something that I don’t?” he continues, eyebrows pulled together in worry.
“Harry, can I go change? I’m not comfortable right now. We can talk afterwards,” I counter, motioning my dress. He nods. I walk back to the bathroom and lock the door before pushing the dress off me and sliding the shirt and sweats over my body with a blank mind.
I step out, pausing in the doorway when I hear Liam talking to Harry in his room.
“Have a look at this Harry. Sophie wasn’t completely honest yesterday.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“What. The. Fuck,” the curly-haired boy practically growls. I hear shuffling. That’s my cue to leave. The second I’m about to turn around, Harry’s glare meets my face. “Come in here,” he demands, pulling me in his room. He sits me beside Liam, and plops beside me. “Can you, somehow, explain this?” he demands, motioning Liam’s smart phone. I take a look at the older boy’s phone, realising it’s a video. I squint, looking more closely at the screen. My heart skips a beat.
“What is this Soph?”
“A video of Anne and me at Ellen’s,” I mumble.
“And what are you doing?”
“Talking to a man.”
“Who’s that man?”
“I uh-... I don’t know? A random man―”
“I know who he is Sophie!” he states angrily, standing up. “I recognized him! I can’t believe you actually talked with your father! Without my permission!”
“I have the right to talk to whom I want, thank you very much!” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
He passes his hand through his hair, sighing in annoyance.
“I know that alright?! But that man is able to put all sorts of ideas in your mind!”
“Well he’s not the only one apparently,” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?”
“You don’t know what’s good for you anymore Soph,” he shakes his head. His comment angers me and words pour out without restraint.
“You’re right. That’s exactly why I put his suggestion into practice last night,” I scoff sarcastically before placing my hand over my mouth in shock. Shit.
Harry’s eyes turn to slits.
“Last night. You were the one who kept handing me alcohol,” he recalls. He laughs dryly. “I can’t believe you. I have no idea what happened last night, but I doubt it advantaged me, right?” He shakes his head, throwing his hands in the air. “Why would you manipulate me like that?! Under the demands of your father! I mean you no harm!”
“You’re not the only victim here!” I retort, also standing up. “Last night, you showed some of your true colors Harry, and I didn’t like them. At all,” I say, voice breaking.
“Nothing of what happened last night is my fault,” he declares. “I was drunk!”
“You weren’t that drunk when you practically assaulted me! I made sure you didn’t drink too much!”
“You’re the one who grabbed several other beers afterwards and undoubtly passed out!” I cry out, frustrated. “Everything isn’t always my fault!”
“What’s with all the screaming?!” Louis barges in. “Jesus fucking Christ!” he states, placing himself between Harry and I.
“Sophie I trusted you,” Harry continues, on a much calmer tone, ignoring Louis completely. “And you took that trust for granted.”
“And I trusted you. Too bad I realized how you really felt about me last night,” I seethe, stomping out of the room. I hear their voices behind me, but none of them attempt to stop me.
“First couple fight?”
“Shut the fuck up Lou. Sophie wait―”
I stride rapidly through the hotel room, aiming for the door. Blinded by tears, I bump into Niall.
“Come with me,” I say, grabbing his arm. “I need some air and a chaperone apparently,” I snarl, pulling him out of the room without further explanation.