Perfect ➵ h.s

She doesn't like him, he doesn't like her.
But somehow in the middle of the media perception of two different people, they find each other.


Harry Styles Real Life


3. 2 | "Listen here, you cherry chasing dot muncher."

Songs for this chapter:
- Crazy Kids | Kesha, ft. Will.I.Am
- We Can't Stop | Miley Cyrus
- Cheap Thrills | SIA
- Bad Influence | P!nk


Chapter two. 


[Indiana POV]


"I don't understand why you can't just ditch those guys and come with Lucy and me?" Tyler whines as he buttons his jeans. I roll my eyes and wipe my lips free from excess cum. It's eight thirty and Tyler has been nagging me since seven to get a blowjob, though I kept telling I didn't have time because I have plans. And yet he convinced me.

Now, my plans usually involve Tyler and Lucy, so honestly, I'm not blaming Tyler and his Paris Hilton stupidity level. Of course, he was curious to know what people it is that I have plans with, but I have yet to actually tell him. Not that I'm going to, but you know.

"You can stop talking now, Tyler." I groan and slip my navy-blue dress on. The fabric clings to my body in a way, I know drives the male species crazy. I ruffle my curled hair and swipe the nude lipstick quickly over my lips.

"I just don't get why you'd want to waste your night with some other guys when you have Lucy. And me." He tries miserably to flirt and runs his clammy fingers down my arms. I cringe and push his hand away. This boy doesn't know when to quit.

I'm just about to tell him to fuck off, when Lucy stumbles through the door, wearing only her almost nonexistent thong and the smallest possible bra, ever. She's got her red lace dress in her hand and an annoyed expression painted on her overly maked-up face.

"It won't fit!" She yells and feverishly tries to pull the dress over her ass. Failing, too, may I add.

"Oh, big surprise there, Willy Wonka," I say and roll my eyes. She huffs and pulls her dress even harder than before, in the end giving up and getting Tyler to help her. She's an attention seeking whore, so I know that she can fit the dress she bought a week ago, just perfectly, but of course, she just wanted to have Tyler almost grope her.

She's always had a stick up her ass about Tyler and I. Honestly I don't know why he's not the least bit interesting. He's okay in bed and doesn't stick around afterwards, but that's about as much as he's good for. Other than that, he doesn't stop talking and doesn't know when to pull his nose out of other people's businesses.

So you can imagine my hatred towards the dumbass when I first got to L.A, and he wouldn't stop asking me the most intrusive questions.

"Alright, well I'm gonna go now," I state as I finally manage to slip my heeled boot on. I swing the little bag around my shoulder and trudge out of the over-crowded room at Lucy's apartment. I roll my eyes when Tyler yells 'see you later' after me and slam the door after me as I walk out in the cold.

The drive to the Argyle is boring, and the only company I have in the otherwise silent car is the screaming men and their bad music-playing. It's a band called Motörhead, and they absolutely suck. Okay, I wouldn't go as far as saying that they suck, but I think that they would definitely be better if it hadn't been Tyler who suggested I listened to his CD and practically forced me to listen to the entire album. That's just 40 minutes I won't get back.

I pull up the curb a few blocks away and start to make my way towards the crowded, music-filled club. People are standing in a long line, waiting to get in, and I can't help but feel the need to smirk in triumph as I walk past all of them, and straight to the bouncer, who's giving me a dirty look.

I put on my best fake-smile and run a hand through my hair. "My name's Indiana Harris, I should be on the list?" I ask sweetly and for extra effect, flirtatiously bat my eyes at the broad-shouldered man in front of me. He runs his eyes over the list and finally looks back up at me and gives me a small nod, before talking in into his headgear and pulling the strap away for me.

Another man comes and quickly asks if I'm Indiana, and I say that I am. He tells me to follow him, and I do so; to the VIP section, I presume. Sure enough, the man stops in front of the VIP sections and practically pushes me into the secluded area.

My eyes run over the few unknown people in there, before finally settling on Louis who's holding a shot glass to his lips. I grin and make my way over to him, and that's when my eyes fall on him.

His hair is wild, slightly curly and he's got a big grin on his pink heart-shaped lips. He's wearing a weird-patterned shirt, with the buttons undone to the middle of his chest. His fingers is fiddling with an empty shot glass as he listens to whatever bullshit Louis is telling him.

"Louis!" I yell as I near them and gain the attention of both of the men. Harry narrows his eyes at me - for a reason unknown to me -, but Louis smiles widely as he spots me. I flip my hair back and sit down beside him, snatching the last shot glass out of his hand, and smile widely at Louis, and throw my head back and let the burning liquor travel down my throat.

"Indiana, you made it!" Louis exclaims happily and wraps a tight arm around my shoulder. Under normal circumstances, I would relish in the attention and the possible out turn of it, being me having his cock buried inside me. But this isn't normal circumstances, and I absolutely hate the heavy feeling his arm around me is giving me.

"Course I made it," I look over at Harry, who hasn't stopped scowling at me since the minute I sat down. Being the sarcastic fucker I am, I reach my hand out to him and give him a broad, fake smile. "Hi, I'm Indiana."

"Harry," he responds like I don't fucking already know. I look him straight in the eyes as I pull my hand back and never even blink, neither does he. He brings his glass of whatever that brown liquor to his lips and licks them afterwards, still keeping eye contact with me. Almost daring me.

Louis breaks out in a long ramble about something I honestly don't know, because I'm only focused on the music, the drinks that keep coming, and now and then, Harry's murderous stare, that never fails to leave me.

I feel the alcohol seeping through my blood, the room starts to slightly spin and the music becomes nothing but a distant noise. This is what I've been waiting for; the mental numbness that comes with drinking way too much tequila. This is what I live for.

Sad, but true.

After about an hour or more, I couldn't tell you, Louis gets up from his seat and makes his way to the bathroom, leaving Harry and me alone in the big booth. I close my eyes briefly to clear my head a bit, but when I open them again, Harry is still glaring at me. I don't know if it's the alcohol or just plain stupidity, but I forcefully scoot closer to him and narrow my eyes at him.

My lips are pressed into a tight line as I watch his body move away from me, and there goes the last bit of my already nonexistent patience. "What the fuck is your damn problem? You've been glaring at me the entire time, what did I ever do to you, you pretentious asshole?"

He looks slightly baffled, but quickly recovers and runs a hand through his hair. His green eyes are bloodshot and it's clear that he's been drinking. Not as much as me, though. "You haven't, per say, done anything. It's more what I think you're going to do."

"Well that's rich, taken that you don't know me or my intentions at all, but let's hear it, Harry. What am I going to do?" I sneer and cross my arms over my chest, knowing that they're getting pushed tremendously up, and I do a mental victory dance when Harry's eyes briefly darts down to my exposed cleavage.

"Let's just say that Louis told everything about what you said earlier." He leans back in his chair and mirrors my actions; crossing his arms in front of his chest. I mirror his as well and look down to his exposed, tan skin and the intriguing butterfly tattoo on his stomach, which is barely visible.

I can't help but laugh at his words and I know I must look like a complete lunatic. "So that's what this is about? Sorry I hurt your feelings when I said that you're not going to make it in the movie-business, darling."

"Hurt my feelings? Please. What I meant was, that I think that the whole 'oh, I hate One Direction soooo much'- act you're pulling, is nothing but an attempt to seem more interesting to Louis and to get his attention. Which I'm sad to see worked out, just the way you planned." He leans forward and his eyes, despite the redness in them, is cold as ice.

Everything slightly amusing about our fight is immediately gone and without thinking, I slam my hands against the cool table. "Listen here, you cherry chasing dot muncher; you don't know shit about me or about the things I say or do, so I suggest you keep your dick out of my business, or I can promise you, that what you think I'm doing, will seem like child's play compared to what I actually will do!"

I stand up and push past the one-sided prick, who's sitting with a puzzled look on his idiotic face. My face is burning red and I can only imagine how other people must see me; nostrils flaring, lips pressed into a tight line, fists clenched and my cheeks a deep crimson colour.

I stop in front of the bar and immediately order the strongest they have. A man looks at me weirdly, but after giving him my precious middle-finger, he backs off and returns his attention to the more attention-seeking whores at the bar.

I take the cool glass between my warm hands and chug it down in mere seconds. The vodka is burning my throat on the way down, but the indescribable coldness it brings, sends me over the edge and my muscles immediately relax a bit. But I'm an addict, and I need more.

After arguing with the bartender for a good five minutes about getting my fourth drink, he finally gives up but takes his goddamn time making it for me. In the meantime, despite me trying to stop it, my head fills with thoughts. Thoughts that I've tried to push as far away from me as possible.

Thoughts about me and me and her laughing and wasting time doing nothing. Thoughts about her and I sitting on the phone, talking about the only things we ever talked about, for hours, and still not having managed to cover what we actually wanted to say.

I feel my eyes burn and I curse myself out. I haven't cried in two years, and I'm certainly not planning on starting now. I've always been good at separating my emotions from my actions, and that turned out to be a really fucking good quality in the end.

I've gone two years, not thinking about my past, and then this pompous ass, also known as Harry Styles, swoops in and ruins everything I've tried to build up. I don't even know why I'm so affected by this. I should just shake it off and keep my head held high, just as I've been doing for the past two years. I mean, I didn't distance myself from my psychopathic family for fucking nothing, did I?

I quickly dry the tears away, down the drink the bartender unwillingly placed in front of me and straighten my back. I walk back to the booth - okay I say walk, but it was more swinging back and forth - and when I spot Louis and Lord Snooty and sit down beside Louis, who's smiling brightly at me; obviously oblivious to the tension between me and his needle dick friend.

I'm just saying, that maybe someone's - Harold - compensating for something else, by being a huge dick, y'know?

Despite the spinning room, I take the drink that Louis places in front of me and smile lazily up at him. His blue-green eyes are shining in the fluorescent lighting in the club and I can't help but admire his facial structure. What can I say, he's not entirely bad looking. 

I will never admit that I've said this, but I kind of regret not coming with Tyler and Lucy to the party in the Underworld. It's an underground party, where all the riff-raffs come and party. It's our only refugee in this God forsaken town.

"Where'd you go?" Louis says in my ear and I immediately look over at Harry with hatred in my eyes. He's looking over at one of the other boots in the VIP section, more specifically on one of the girls in one of the other booths. She's got long, blonde hair and big red lips. Her boobs look as fake as the laugh that comes out of her mouth when her male companion says something. He's probably married, and she's definitely well aware.

"To the bar. I had to clear my head," I reply honestly. Louis furrows his eyebrows, a clear sign that he's not quite following. I blame the alcohol for my need to elaborate. "I just have some personal issues that someone felt the need to meddle in."

Louis' eyes widen and he looks at me with a sour-surprised expression. "Who was it? What did he do?" I almost feel like laughing at the oblivious state Louis is in. I can see Harry rolling his eyes in the corner of my eye, and I smile victoriously at him, before returning my gaze to Louis, who are waiting excitedly for me to spill the gossip.

"This jerk tried to intimidate me, said all these things about me, even though he doesn't know me." I sigh and bite my lip, trying and succeeding to come across as hurt as hell. Louis wraps an arm around my shoulder, again, but this time I don't push him away. This time I let him "comfort" me and promise me that he'll beat the guy who hurt me's ass.

Harry remains silent during the whole thing, and when Louis dozes slightly off, I look at him with the biggest grin on my face. He scoffs at me and crosses his arms over his firm chest. Again, I blame the alcohol for making me want to rip that hideous shirt off of him and run my nails down his exposed skin.

I'd run my fingers along the lines of the ship on his left arm and suck on the sweaty skin on his neck. He'd be breathing heavily and working feverishly on trying to get my skin-tight dress off of me. I would have my legs wrapped around him, as he carries me to his bedroom; only wearing my underwear. I would wrap my fingers around his black jeans and rip them down, along with his boxers; exposing his long, hard -

"Hey, are you still with us?" Louis waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my daze. My breathing is heavy and my cheeks are flaring; the room suddenly seems extremely hot. I look over at Harry, who's looking uninterested at me and then Louis.

Why the hell did I think that? Of all the things, why that?

"Hey, Harry; Danielle will have my head if I show with Indiana, but I don't exactly know where she lives," Louis' voice seems distant and though I' hearing everything he's saying, it's like it doesn't come through to me. I realize I shouldn't have persuaded the bartender on giving me a fourth shot of vodka. Three was definitely enough.

"Why is that my problem?" Harry seems to say. I can see his lips moving, but it's like the voice that says it isn't Harry, but some unknown guy sitting beside him. 

"Please, mate. Can's she crash on your couch or something? Just for tonight?" Louis pleads. I feel sorry for the girl that they're talking about. Sleep on Harry Styles' couch would be the last thing I would do. I'd rather sleep on the dirty floors in a subway, than sleeping in the house of Harry Styles.

"No. Absolutely fucking not." Harry's voice raises, but my mind dozes off again and I can't help but think about those pink lips moulded against mine, and his sweaty body under mine.

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