From The Dining Table [H.S]

Be Alright

I know you love her, but it's over mate
It doesn't matter, put the phone away
It's never easy to walk away
Let her go, it'll be alright

***

Harry's POV:

Date: Sunday, 7th May
Days until album releases: 5 Days

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak, without anger, pain, and disgust leaving my mouth.

So, I left.

I packed my bags, and I left.

I didn't know where I was going, I didn't know what I was thinking, I didn't know what just happened. I couldn't comprehend it: every time I let the image of Primrose kissing Dan sit in my mind, it was immediately thrown out and covered with thoughts desperately trying to make me forget everything.

My head and my heart usually tell me the same thing, yet, I'm torn. My head told me to run, to leave, to get the fuck out of there. But my heart told me to stay, to comfort Primrose, to hear her out, to make sure she was okay.

But... my mind won.

I got in the first taxi I saw, and said "take me to London.".

Slamming my front door open, I stormed through my lounge and into my kitchen. I didn't know what time it was - quite frankly I didn't care. All I knew was that it was dark. Dark, and cold.

I tossed my bag carelessly onto my granite, along with a packet of cigarettes I'd bought from the service station. Opening my liquor cupboard, I pulled out the first bottle of glossy brown liquid I saw, and ripped the lid off. I latched my lips onto the cool, glass neck of the bottle, and let the burning sensation trickle down my throat. My eyes squinted shut as I took 5 large mouthfuls of whiskey, each sip easing my pain slightly as it hit my empty stomach.

Slamming the bottle down, I hung my head in my arms, and hunched over my counter - desperately trying to make the relentless throbbing in my head leave. Whiskey that missed my mouth slowly made its way down my chin, hugging my jawline before falling onto my granite. You wouldn't have been able to tell it was whiskey, because it was drowning - drowning in a puddle of my tears.

I was drowning - drowning in a pit of heartache, rage and shock.

The image of Dan and Primrose appeared in my head again, yet this time, it wouldn't go. It just sat there proudly, watching the anger rocket in my body.

"Get out!" I yelled, throwing my arms to the side of me, trying to push away the image that was painted before me. My heart hammered against my chest, as my breathing lay heavy and rough, making my entire mouth dry out.

I heard the door to the kitchen open, and could see two figures stood in the doorway. I didn't look at them as they slowly made their way towards me, cautiously assessing the situation.

"Harry..." Mitch began, but cut himself off when he noticed the smashed bottle of whiskey on the floor beside me.

I watched them as they looked around the room: Sarah was examining the things I'd thrown over the counter, and Mitch was carefully stepping his way through the sea of smashed glass.

Looking up from the ground, his worried, concerned eyes met my sad and teary ones. Immediately, I looked away, not wanting to show my vulnerability. But, I could tell Mitch knew I was hiding something.

He reached his hand out slowly, and placed it over mine, and I flinch away at the contact. I was cold, trembling, weak. Mitch's touch made shooting pins and needles spread up my entire arm. It hurt.