Him. // h.s

"Stay away from him," they said.
"He's only trouble," they said.
"He's not worth it," they said.
"But, I love him," I said.

Copyright.© 2014 All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission by the author.

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2. Chapter 2.

"H-Harry? Harry Styles?"

A smirk pulled at the corners of his lips and he winked at me. "So you do remember me, yeah?" He pulled a pack of Camel Lights out of his pocket and placed one between his lips without lighting it. He offered the pack to me but I shook my head. "Come on, Summer, it'll help with the nerves." I reluctantly took the offered fag and slipped it between my teeth, allowing him to light it and watching him do the same to his own.

I took a drag, remembering the last time I'd done this. Back in high school... the first time I met Harry. He'd taken me out under the bleachers during free period and gotten me drunk off of wine coolers. Back then, he was a womanizer. Couldn't hold a steady girlfriend because most of the girls at Pencey Prep didn't want to put out. (Oh, the joys of Catholic School.) After eleventh grade, when he supposedly got a girl pregnant, his family moved him out of state... at least, that's the rumor that spread like a wildfire after he left. What was he doing back here, after all these years?

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, the only noise being our inhaling, I spoke up. "What do you want from me, Harry? Why are you back, why now?"

He flipped his fringe and, get this, smirked at me once more. "Oh, Summer. You really don't know, do you?"

My breath hitched in my throat, causing the sound that tumbled out to be caught between a gasp and a cough. What? What don't I know? What is he talking about? I couldn't rack my brain to find the words to speak, so instead, I shook my head.

Harry says no words. Before I can process what is happening, he is pinning me against the wall, whispering against the crook of my neck. "Did you miss me?"

Unfortunately, my head was a whirl from the unexpected turn of events. I had never thought that I would see Harry Styles standing in front of me for the rest of my life, yet here he is, pinning me against the wall and pretending he never left. Which makes me question the potential harsh truth: did he ever even leave at all?

Harry was right: I did miss him. However, not in a way that you would think. I miss who Harry used to be, not the he that he is now. Harry and I were childhood friends, so in return, I knew every fucked-up, demented, tormented, torturous, life-changing disaster that surround the life of Harry Styles, consuming the light and turning it into darkness as it dragged him into the depths of Hell with it.

"Did you hear me?" he asks.

"Sorry..." I trail off.

He laughs and I had almost forgot what a real laugh sounded like tumbling out of his mouth. And in that moment, I am transported back to when Harry and I were five, before every fucked-up thing began to occur. I watched my best friend in awe as he rambled on about his first day at school that wasn't labeled as a pre-school or daycare. He was surprised at the size of the classes and the new friendly faces, including a girl named Lillie. Yet, he seemed distraught even then. It wasn't until years later, when he was about eight or so, that I had come to know why the precious five-year-old was distraught on his first day of school; he had been bullied persistently by the same kid since day one.
Now, standing here, pinned against the wall by my childhood friend, I refuse to accept the road that the devastating events had taken him down. When I smell the whiskey, and substance that I choose not to disclose, on his breath, realization hit me that I will never be able to know that boy again. I will never be able to know Harry Styles.

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