Solace ~ h.s.

If he weren't there... I don't know what would have happened.

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45. ⪻ 45 ⪼

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“Your whiskey sour, miss.”

The correct response after finding out your birth parents have been dead for years, your father was a drug addict, and everything, is to get shįt-faced. Now don’t get me wrong, alcohol doesn’t solve your problems, but sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. Since I don’t have Edward to worry about, I might as well take this chance to let loose.

“Thanks mate.” I mutter to the bartender before raising the glass up and downing the beverage in a couple large gulps; very unladylike, I know. The Scottish bartender's eyes are wide as I drop the glass down on the bar top, probably mimicking the eyes of the caring man sitting to my side. “Another please.”

“Belle, are you feeling okay?” Harry speaks up as soon as the bartender ran off to make me a second drink. He sounds weary to hear the answer to his own question.

I turn towards the man, sitting on the stool beside me, and send him a cheeky, sarcastic grin.

“I’m just great.” I respond, dropping my gaze to the bartop. “I found out that not only my birth parents, but also my adoptive parents, are dead. I got my hopes up, said I wouldn’t but it was inevitable. Now I’m drinking, so I’m even better.” Looking up from the bartop, I meet those beautiful green irises I know and adore.

I know Harry just wants to make sure I’m okay with everything that went down today, and it’s sweet that he cares, but I don’t really want to talk about everything that’s happened. I want to drink and try and forget, at least for a night.

“Is drinking the best thing you to be doing right now?”

“Why not?” I say with a shrug. “I’m on holiday, I don’t have to worry about Edward, and you’re here to make sure I don’t do something I shouldn’t.”

“I don’t think you should drink too much.” Harry tells me, eyeing me carefully as the bartender sets my second drink down.

I thank the man, because I’m polite even when I’m kind of upset, and eye the drink in my hands. This time, instead of downing the entire alcoholic beverage, I take a gradual sip before looking to the man at my side; the man who has been with me through it all.

“Relax, Harry.” My words are sweet and purr at him like a cat. “I know my limit and I’m not to it yet.” I assure him as I take another sip of my second drink.

Harry sighs heavily, reaching across the bar to wrap a large hand around my smaller hand. He gives it a squeeze as my eyes scan from our attached hands to his flawless, slightly scruffy, face. I send him a miniscule smile to assure him I’m fine.

“I think we should talk.”

I will want to talk about what happened earlier with Harry, I will, just not now. The wound is still fresh and I want it to scab over a bit before I begin picking at it, as gross as that sounds. Perhaps it would be more beneficial to talk about it now and get it over with, but I’m stubborn.

“Talk about what?” I ask, feigning confusion as I feel a bit of annoyance bubble over in my tummy. “How upset I am? How I thought I was actually going to meet my birth parents after all this time? How I thought that this would be the start of something great?” I question sarcastically, my voice gradually getting louder until the bartender’s attention is on me from across the bar. Smiling an apology, I lower my voice, “No, thank you.”

“Belle, I -”

“Harry, drop it.” I snap, immediately regretting it when I see hurt flash across his features. “Please, I’m sorry.” I mumble, turning on my stool to face Harry.

Wrapping my arms around his torso, I lean against his body and breathe in his scent. It pains me the hurt that came across him as I yelled at him. I never want to fight with Harry, or yell at him, or hurt him. I’m hurting right now and unfortunately Harry and I are to that part in our relationship where he feels my pain, in a way.

“I just need this right now. We can talk as much as you want tomorrow.” I promise Harry, pulling my face from his shoulder to get a look into his eyes. He looks down at me and sends me a miniscule smile to match my own before pressing a quick kiss to my lips.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” I double-check as I reach for my glass.

“Yep.” He declares, slamming a palm against the surface of the bar. “Bartender,” Harry starts, causing the older gentleman behind the bar to whisk around and face us. Harry sends the man a smile and ponders for a moment, “whiskey, please.” Shaking my head, I turn back to my drink. Before I know it, Harry’s leaning down and whispering in my ear, “if you’re drinking, I’m drinking.”

Laughing, I turn towards Harry and lick my lips.

“Fantastic.”

Two hours, and many drinks later, Harry and I are a stumbling mess in our hotel. We made it all the way home, or should I say our temporary home, from the pub and now we’re stumbling clumsily down the corridor towards our room. The poor girl behind the desk downstairs didn’t know what to make of two mid-twenties adults pretending to be sober, she simply stared with wide eyes and let us do our thing.

“I’m drunk!” I whisper-shout to Harry as he pulls the hotel key card out of his wallet. Harry chuckles to himself, trying desperately to get the key card into the slot on the door. It takes him a few tries, but finally we’re in the comforts of our own room.

“Me too!” Harry actually shouts as soon as our door is closed behind us. We both laugh at his proclamation and enter further into the room with the lights still off.

“Don’t know when the last time I was this drunk.” I say into the darkness, having lost track of where Harry went to. From the sound of him grunting and a smacking sound against the desk, I take him to have found his way across the room near the window. “It was p’rolly university, with what’s his face.”

“No! We don’t talk about that båstård.” Harry scolds.

Seconds later light from the lamp on my bedside is shining throughout the room. Harry smirks in his spot from beside the bed. Before the light was on, I ran into furniture at least twice, so I’m glad I can finally see.

“Sorry!” I slur, kicking my heels off onto the carpet before diving onto the bed.

“You’re so pretty.” Harry tells me, giggling. Poking my head up from the bed and resting my chin on my hand, I grin up at my boyfriend.

“No, you’re so pretty.” I respond, drunkenly as Harry falls down onto the bed beside me.

“But I said it first.”

“And I said it the bestest.” Harry laughs at me and I roll over into his side, cuddling against him tiredly. I’ve found over the years of my adult life that whenever I drink too much I get giggly and extremely tired. “I love this bed. I wanna marry this bed.” I tell Harry as I snuggle into the soft, plush mattress. A slight groan is heard from above my head and I poke it up to look at Harry, who’s pouting. “Why’re you pouting?”

“‘Cause you love the bed more than me!” He exclaims sadly. Giggling, I sit up quickly and turn towards Harry. In a swift move, I straddle Harry’s waist and sit down on his lap, smirking down at him.

“That’s not true! I love you more!”

“Really?” Harry exclaims, sitting up quickly so that our chests are flush together, his body heat resonating through his and my clothes to warm me.

“Yes, do you love me?” I ask, batting my eyes at the man beneath me. Harry smiles widely and leans forward, pressing a messy kiss to my lips.

“O’ course I love you.”

“Awwwwwww!” I coo, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m pushed off Harry’s lap and back down onto his side of the bed. Gasping, Harry switches our positions and climbs over me, my chest rising and falling at our quick movements and Harry’s seductive eyes.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s fück.”

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