Chapter 1- Fall
Harry Styles was fucked up. He knew he shouldn’t have drank so much, but it was Austin’s annual back to school party and he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything. He pulled a random red headed chick toward him and she giggled as he pushed her softly against the wall. He was forgetting something important, but before he could dwell on what, the red headed girl pulled him roughly toward her. Their lips crashed together and she pulled him closer, slightly tugging at his infamous curls.
His mind was clouded with drunken thoughts and desire, but the more she tugged at his curls, the more his mind itched to remember and suddenly, he did.
“Isabelle Evans, I, Harry Styles, promise to make your 16th birthday, the best one, yet.” Harry proclaimed as they sat in their old tree house. The same tree house their parents had built for them 10 years ago.
“And how do you suppose you’ll do that? Because honestly, there’s no way you can top my sixth birthday,” she said with a sarcastic smile. Harry frowned. Her sixth birthday, the year he’d accidently set the table cloth on fire and destroyed her birthday completely.
He ignored her comment and continued. “Just be ready by 9 tomorrow and be prepared for Harry Styles to blow your mind.”
Isabelle laughed, her electric, blue eyes shining. “Okay, but I’m only agreeing because I love spending time with those mesmerizing curls of yours,” she said as she leaned slightly toward him and tugged at one his curls
Harry gasped dramatically. “Is that why you spend so much with me? For my curls? I feel so used”
“Pretty much,” she said as she ruffled his hair.
To say he felt like shit, was putting it lightly. He lightly pushed the red headed girl away from him and stumbled toward the door, pushing people as he went along. Even in his drunken stage, Harry knew driving to her house was a stupid idea, so he did what any other insane, wasted person would do; he ran— staggered really— to her house.
Harry came to a slow stop, pausing to catch his breath, before continuing on; he was definitely out of shape and his drinking habits weren’t exactly helping his running skills. As he continued in a steady pace, his drunken haze began to fade and his thoughts became clearer. He’d let her down many times and she’d always forgave him, but deep in his gut, he knew she wouldn’t this time. He arrived in about 20 minutes, completely out of breathe. Harry passed her house, jumped the fence, and went to their tree house.
She was there of course. Her dark, black hair which she usually kept up, was down in messy, loose curls and it covered her face like a curtain as she looked down at her blue notebook—her sketchbook. He made a loud noise as he stepped on one of his old action figures and her head snapped up. He gave her a slight smile, but she simply ignored him and continued drawing. Harry knew he was screwed; there was truly nothing worse than Isabelle’s silence. She always had a lot on her mind and when she had something to say, she would be the first to let you know. Her silence, however, indicated her mind was made up and no words needed to be exchanged. He stood there awkwardly for about five minutes, not really sure about how to begin apologizing. Before he could say anything though, she spoke.
“Next time, you come to apologize to someone, make sure not to reek of alcohol,” she said, placing her sketchbook beside her and standing up. He noticed her outfit and guilt flooded him. She wore a dark, blue dress and black toms and she looked absolutely beautiful. “Also,” she said, walking toward him. “Lipstick doesn’t suit you.” She ran her fingers across his lips and rubbed the lipstick off. Harry wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol affecting him but her fingers left behind a trail of warmth. He cleared his throat and she stepped back, staring at him with her gorgeous, blue eyes.
“Look Izzy, I know I fucked up big time, but I swear I had this huge picnic set up and we were supposed to-”
“But you decided to go to Austin’s party instead” she interrupted.
“I wasn’t supposed to stay. I was only stopping by, but Austin” he stopped. Isabelle wasn’t listening. She stared past him which was something she did when she’d lost interest or simply didn’t care about what you were saying. He suddenly felt desperate: desperate to be heard desperate to make her forgive him, desperate not to lose her. “Isabelle, you have to forgive me. You’re my only friend—my best friend. You have always been my side. Even, when I fuck up so bad my parents think shit about me.”
“You’re Harry Fucking Styles, I’m sure you can make new friends.” She walked passed him and left. For the first time in his 16 years, he was truly alone and the last person, who’d believed in him, had finally given up. It was about time, he thought as he sat in the old, ragged tree house.
Doctor Who meme: Nine scenes: You just want to mate? (3/9)