I won't mind. Even though I know you'll never be mine.

I had my first hangover when I was fifteen. I was at a party, red cups were everywhere, and I wanted to have fun. The next morning, though. The next morning was anything but fun.

Waking up with my head buried deep in the toilet, was not fun.

Throwing up, all over my carpet was not fun.

Having fun, didn't seem like fun anymore.

"Get up!" Louis' orders, banging a spoon on an unknown hard surface. "Up! Come on!"

I can't feel my head. Literally, cannot feel my head. "Louis, shh."

"Get up!" Ben suddenly screams. "We have absolutely no sympathy for you, right now. Get your ass up. You have to take your meds, get up." There is a threatening beat, behind each and every word.

"It stinks in here." The smell is making my stomach churn and twist.

"Yeah, you can thank yourself. You fucking threw up so many times--it was ridiculous. You filled up twelve buckets."

"Oh," I groan.The blanket is ripped away from me, Ben glaring down at me. "Please stop." I feel terrible.
Like, I got run over. Over and over. It's so bad, I don't even remember how I got here. Don't remember leaving and coming here, by free will.

I struggle to sit up and when I do, regret it instantly.

"I really hope you feel like shit."

"I do," I moan pathetically. "What happened? How did I get here-- why are you banging a fucking spoon?"

"Because it is hurting you and I like that," Louis mutters easily. If I had the energy I would roll my eyes. I'd yell and push him on the floor and kick the life out of him. But I'm in pain and I'm useless.

"Here," Ben grits, pushing a glass of water towards my face and dropping two white pills in my hand.
"Take these, get up and come downstairs. I've made you tea."

"No thank you." I cup my head between my two hands and try my hardest not to cry.

"I wasn't asking."

They're mad. Beyond furious, and I don't deserve to blame them. Not when I have no inkling of what the past night included.

I run my hand through my hair and begin to get up. I look at Ben and guilt immediately floods through my system.

Guilt and regret.

I begin to open my mouth, but before the first syllable can escape, Ben's arms are around me; abrasively and suddenly. He squeezes my shoulders tight and exhales deeply.

"You stupid, inconsiderate, asshole. God, I fucking--" he puffs out a wet breath, his arms only tightening.
"You're so stupid."

"I know," I manage. "I'm sorry."

"Go," Ben sniffs and let's go. "Your tea will get cold."

"Be-"

"Not now," he dismisses. He shakes his head softly, but says nothing further. "Go." He repeats, softer.
I meet Louis' gaze and give him a look, that I hope will express my sentiment, my regret, and how sorry I am. I don't know if it does, because Louis' looks down at his feet, and my chest aches with a heavy emotion, I don't like.

The tea has gone cold, and my parents are apparently out for the day and won't be home until very late. It's a grey morning, I decide. It's slow and ironically it's Sunday, and everything bad always happens on a Sunday.

Someone clears their throat from behind me. I turn slowly, glad the motion doesn't make me too sick.
"You didn't take these," Ben utters. He drops the pills into my hand and doesn't look away until they are down my throat. "How's your stomach?"

"Fine," it actually aches, but, I don't think now is the right time for me to voice that.

"You know you're not a good liar."

"Yeah," I sigh.

"Are you hungry?"

"No," I whine. "Oh God, no."

"Too bad," Louis cheers. He plops down next to me and takes a sip of my tea, wincing at the bitter taste. "This is a poor excuse for tea, is what this is."

"You are so loud."

"And you're a shit that needs a good spanking." I gape at Louis, feeling slightly relieved that he's back to cracking jokes. "Ben and I are going to go and get some burgers. You need grease, and fat and maybe a new brain, cause yours is fucked up."

I'd be offended if it weren't true. "Why can't one of you go? Why do you both have too?"

"Because I'm me? I need another pair of arms for protection." I roll my eyes and shrug. "Being famous has it's disadvantages."

"Right, I need to grab my shoes and throw away the two shirts you ruined with your vomit." My cheeks heat up as Ben runs upstairs.

A minuet or two go by, and for a second I think my punishment is over but then, Louis' rubs at my head in a way that makes it clear that this is far from over.

"You said a lot of things yesterday, Presley. Like, I saw a whole new side of you that I didn't know existed." Louis says, head down, shoulders hunched.

And there it is.

"I was drunk. People say stupid things when they're drunk. It's like a rule somewhere."

"Drunk words are sober thoughts." Louis' states in a matter of fact tone. "I wish I had known you were looking for us, Presley. Then maybe I could've done something."

"Like what?" I snap, unintentionally. "You would've come back?" Louis' silence speaks volumes. It's almost too loud. "That's what I thought."

"It wasn't that simple, Presley. Harry and I had reasons and we thought it'd be easier if we left."

"Easier? Easier for who, Louis?"

"For yo--"

"Don't you fucking dare say for me. We both know you guys left for you. Not me." Louis sighs tiredly. "It doesn't matter anymore," I scrub a hand over my eyes, trying to become alert. "We've come a long way, you and me. I don't want that to turn into shit over this, okay? Whatever I said yesterday doesn't matter, cause I was drunk. Let's just leave it at that."

"Presley--"

"Just leave it, Louis."

"Is everything okay?" Ben asks, coming back, looking quizzically between Louis and I.

"Yeah," Louis croaks, standing. "Just talking. Ready?"

"Yeah," Ben mumbles unsure. "Do you know where your phone is, Presley?"

"No," I search my pockets and now that I'm thinking about it, I don't remember seeing my phone this morning. I don't remember if I even came home with it. "Have you seen it?"

"No, I wanted you to have it, incase you need to reach us while we're out. But I'll leave you with mine, then." He holds it out and nods as I take it. "Try calling it-- it might be in your bag or under your bed."

"Okay, thanks."

"We'll be back soon," Louis says, strained. Awkward almost.

"Okay, be careful and always punch first, apologize after."

"Thanks, oh-wise-one," Louis' murmurs with a roll of his eyes. He cracks a small smile and holds the door open for Ben.

"Ring if you need us," Ben reminds me. I nod and hold up the phone, dialing my number. "Stay out of trouble."

"I'll try."

****
There is a powerful, roaring, banging against the front door. It sounds terrifying, like someone is being chased by someone with the intent of killing them, and they are looking for refuge in my home.

"Okay," I call. "Okay, I'm coming."

I move lethargically to the door and open it as the banging continues. I had only meant to open the door a smidgen, in hopes to see the intruder's face, but the door is slapped open and I am pushed to the side as Harry barges in past me.

"Harry?"

He looks murderous. A whole new emotion that surpasses anger. I can see him heave a breath in as it comes out shaky and ragged. He looks like life has been a bitch to him. Done him wrong so many times, he's finally snapped, like a rubber band, stretched far too thin.

I don't move towards him. Don't even try. I'm too preoccupied with surprise. I'm stumped, baffled, frantic and so confused.

So fucking confused as to why Harry is here, ready to kill me for something I don't remember doing.

"Harry?" I ask again, shutting the door.

"No! Shut the fuck up! Stay fucking quiet." He snarls between his teeth. Both of his fist are clenched tightly, face hard, eyes ready to burn through anything with a single glare. "Look at you." He sneers. "God-- you're fucking playing me! You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" He looks like he wants to kill me. He's red in the face, cheeks flushed, hair barley kept in his headband. He slaps his forehead, hard, and laughs, loud and frantic. "You are so good at this game. So fucking talented when it comes to manipulating me."

I flinch visibly, my arms itching to shield my face. "What are you--"

"You didn't think I'd hear your messages?! That I'd just let it fucking go?"

"What?"

"Your voicemails! You think I wouldn't get the fucking messages?! I did!"

"Messag-- I haven't left you a voicemail in a long time? It's not my fault if you just got them." I calmly respond, hoping that it will soothe Harry. But I doubt it.

Harry looks taken back for a quick second, only to mask it just as fast with an incredulous look of pure rage and fear. "I'm not talking about those!" His hands move to his hair. He grips the curly strands and laughs once more. He looks beyond insane, and this is the first time I've ever been afraid to be alone with him. "You think I didn't hear all of those? Fuck! Stop playing with me!"

"I'm not!" I want to sound threatening. Like, for once I'm not blinded by my love for Harry. Even though I still love him, hard and pathetically.

He takes a slow step forward, as I instinctively take a step back. "You fucking think this is a joke?! That I wouldn't get your fucking voicemail?"

Harry bares his teeth, hands reaching inside his pocket. "You think I have time for this? My world doesn't revolve around you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I shout, frantically confused.

"Tell me Presley," Harry asks, feigning calm. "Do you think I have time for you? For this?"

"No. I don't."

"Bullshit! You are so full of shit!" Harry yells, all portrayal of serenity gone.

"I don't know what I did!" I throw my hands up, ready to throw in the towel. I'm tired, my head is pounding, and Harry's here, looking like I've pulled off the ultimate betrayal. "I'm sorry, Harry. I don't remember calling you-- or what I said-- or why you're here, like this. I don't remember anything, but I am so sorry for making you feel like this."

Harry only stares at me, jaw tensing twice. "You're not fucking sorry," he seethes, in a dangerous whisper.
He pulls his hand from his pocket, phone now visible. He sits on the closest chair and fumbles with the device, and I've never been forced to sit through one of my sent voicemails, but I don't know if I can live through it.

Hi Harry. I'm alone-- no surprise there. I'm drunk, and I think I've finally realized how fucking lonely I am. I'm so drunk it's laughable. I got your present from Lou and it made me mad Harry. It made me so mad that I threw up in my bushes, and got drunk. I came down to Rusty's. You know, the place where you first told me you loved me? God, that seems like forever ago. Barney was there and he gave me the look. I hate that stupid look. Everyone gives me that look because of you and Cale--

The phone abruptly cuts off.

"Harry--" I begin, only to be stopped by another deadly glare.

Your phone is being mean, Harry. I don't think it wants me to keep going. That's not very nice. You're not very nice. Neither is your girl. I don't think she likes me that much. Or you. I think what she likes is your name. But it's your choice, I suppose. There's a pause for a second or two, and then I continue. I'm a mess Harry. I'm a whole new level of mess. I can't get my shit together and I was hoping you'd save me from the nothing I've become. But that's not fair. I know that now. It took a few decades and one too many apple sours for me to realize ho--"

The phone cuts off again, and Harry's gaze is on the screen, he begins to play another message, making me question how many I left.

"Harry, please--"

I'm almost done. I hiccup and the phone begins to make a collection of muffled noise. I promise I'm almost finished. Truth be told, I should have finished this a long time ago, Harry. But I'm not brave. At least not without getting pissed drunk. I wish I could be this brave all the time, because then I'd be able to tell you how sorry I am for putting you under so much pressure. For making you feel like you had to babysit me. I'm sorry for being so dependent on you and ruining parts of your tour. I'm sorry for being selfish and making you feel so suffocated. I'm sorry I wasn't better for yo--

"Stop it Harry," I beg.

He hits on another message and rubs his forehead.

You were the first person I ever loved, besides my family. And I'm so sorry you fell in love with me-- or that I thought you were. I'm sorry I can't hate you. I know it'd be easier if I did. Just like I know it was easier for you to disappear and take Louis' with you. I'm sorry I called you so much. I'm sorry I tried to find you, Harry. I thought I could change your mind. But what I should have done was take the hint and let you run. My parents told me to let you go. And I tried, Harry, I promise I did. But I couldn't, and Caleb told me it was because I gave you more than what I actually had--

I don't try and argue as Harry hits play. I just pray this is the last one.

Caleb told me I gave you everything way too fast. And at the time I didn't know that once it's gone, it's gone forever and I remember when I told you how weird it'd be if I hadn't gone to your concert with my aunt Shelly, and you told me not to worry, because you'd find me anyway. Well. I laugh, voice thick and sad. You found me and I'm still lost. But it's not your fault, Harry. It's mine and I'm going to stop. I'm going to listen to everyone and let you go. You're engaged and I think you must be happy, if you're still with her--

"Please Harry, I can't listen to anymor--"

I've lost you twice, Harry. Twice, and I don't think I deserve that. I don't think anyone does. But, I also don't think Jasmine deserves me being the reason you're unfaithful. So I'm going to stop, Harry. And it's not because I've stopped loving you. That'll never happen. I'm just rooting that it does. Root for me too? That's the last thing I'll ask you to do for me. I promise.

"I don't remember sending that," and I don't. But somehow, deep down I'm relieved I did and that it's finally been said.

"I don't care if you remember or not." Harry throws his phone against the wall, smashing it into serval pieces. "I want to know why! Tell me, Presley-- why did I get those fucking voicemails during the cake testing for my wedding? Why did I deserve to get all this shit from you?"

"I'm sorry, Harry--"

"You're not sorry," he says through clenched teeth.

"I don't know what you want from me!" I shout back, doing a pathetic attempt at being threatening.

"I want you, to look me in the eyes, and tell me you didn't mean that," he whimpers, lips trembling. "Please, Presley. Tell me you didn't mean any of it."

"I--" I stop and breathe out, caught off guard. "Okay, Harry," I settle for and say. I don't know what I can say in this situation, if I should be explaining this. The message we clear enough, I think. "I thought that was what you wanted?"

"You don't know anything," Harry murmurs.

"But I do," I nod, forehead wrinkled. "I'm not the same person, Harry. I haven't been that person for a while now." I'm feeling brave; in some twisted way. Feeling, light and half free. I'm halfway there. "You live this big, fast pace life. You have all this money, all the fans, anything you could ever want, and I'm so happy for you, Harry. I'm so fucking proud of you. You've made it and that's fucking incredible."

"Stop it," Harry tries, face verging on desperate.

"You're engaged, Harry. And I think, this time you'll actually make it down the aisle." It's a terrible thought for me. But it's what Harry wants and it's okay. Even if I won't be. "I don't fit anywhere in your life, Harry. I don't want anything from you. I don't want you to try and fix things, to try and make amends. I don't fit your puzzle anymore and it's okay because you don't fit mine, either."

"Shut up!" Harry stands, looking crazy and alarmed. "Don't you get it?"

"I don't get things, yet, but I think I will one day."

"No, you're going to get it now." He traps my head in between his hands, his eyes spilling tears silently. "You don't know anything. I don't," he whimpers once. Twice. He rubs his face against his arm. "I don't want you to let me go, Presley. I don't want you to stop, and leave me behind."

"I have too," I stress. "I can't keep going with the way things are. We can't kiss and do all of these things and then go on like nothing happened. It's not who I am, and I forgot that, because it was you, Harry. My head always makes an exception for you and I have to stop that."

"No, you don't," Harry wipes my eyes with his thumb and cups the back of my head. "You don't ever have to let me go again."

"You're not making any sense."

"I left, Presley." A whimper escapes my throat, making Harry's eyes soften. He presses a quick kiss on my lips and coos, quietly. "I went away and I came back, because I knew I couldn't stay away forever. I proposed to a girl, who likes my name and what it comes with, all in attempt to stay away from you and look where I am. I did the impossible to get away from you and I'm still here. It's always been you. Only you and I am so sorry you have the misfortune of being the one exception to all of my rules."

I'm trying to understand, but it's hard when it seems so unreal, like I'm about to wake up hungover and alone.

"I want to kick you out, Harry, but I can't." I admit, defeated.

"Then don't," Harry breathes, wet and warm against my lips. "Do what's easiest for you. It's time things became about you, brown eyes." I search his eyes and I can feel my hands trembling.

"This is it? You're not going to change your mind in the morning?" I need to hear it from him. Need to make sure I'm not imaging this. "Harry, you have to be sure, because I can't go back to how things were. I need you to be positive-- willing to promise on my life, that, this is it."

"This is it," Harry says, eyes connected to mine. "I promise on my life, that, this is it. That, I won't ever let it get back to how it was." My face crumbles and my will not to cry is broken and gone. I bury my face in between his neck and shoulder and cry. I cry silently and relieved.

"I've got you," Harry promises quietly. "You know I've got you, brown eyes."

And this time-- this time, I think, he really does.

Notes