You Wound Me, Styles

Nighttime must have been running thin, since dawn filtered through the cream curtains of the window. It didn't take long for Harry to almost puke on the immaculate hotel carpet, but I agilely led him to the bathroom.

I helped him wash up, careful to support his teetering build.

"Thanks, Rosie," he murmured, cracking the signature Harry Styles grin.

It was such a bewilderment that I almost dropped his weight altogether, almost left him to accidentally face-plant the wall.

Then he lost all consciousness, fainted right on the spot.

I struggled to support his doubled up weight, and semi-crawled my way to a bed, where his body made a gentle plop and, boom, he was at peace in dreamland.

I was thankful to have had two beds here in the room, otherwise I would have resorted to sleeping in the bathtub.

Just because I could, I also rummaged for all the books I could find and stacked them on Harry's abdomen, awaiting his response. There were exactly ten thick books miraculously piled on his stomach, and he did not react.

That ought to give him a nice surprise when he awoke, though.

I laughed inappropriately and was quickly knocked out by sleep as well.



Upon waking up my eyes' first instinct was to check the other bed where Harry was supposedly sleeping in.

The bed was abandoned, blankets tucked in, pillows plumped and unwrinkled, the ten books sitting atop the nightstand. Harry was gone.

I was indifferent to that realization and wrapped myself in a sweater, eventually going downstairs for breakfast.

"Arabelle..."

I spun on my heels and faced an apologetic Gemma, somewhat impatient about the fury building in my stomach. What did they offer for breakfast here, anyway?

"I apologize for last night," Gemma said. "I was expecting Harry to be sober when I sent him to you."

"It's okay. We had fun. Well, I did, He probably doesn't remember." I smiled, but it probably looked weird, like that of a sexual predator's God awful leer.

Gemma blinked, momentarily sighing.

"He's in the gym right now, by the way," she informed me before completely taking off.

I felt my stomach trying to chew itself off; well, it was time for food.

Once I finished, I travelled via the elevator and had my exercise for the day (which was defying gravity). I was pretty content, until the elevator dinged and in came Harry donned in a t-shirt with cleavage so low it would have been illegal for women to wear it because boobs.

"Hi," he murmured, catching me glancing at his chest.

Immediately, I looked elsewhere. Still, the sexual tension grew.

"Morning," I mumbled.

The fact that both our designations were on the thirty-fourth floor was really infuriating. So disturbingly silent, too.

"How's life as a famous band member?" I asked, sounding more like I was interrogating him, but honest to goodness, I hadn't meant to sound like so.

"It's amazing," he answered, a smile growing on his face. "Me and the lads are always making Paul miserable. And I fancy this wom..."

Before he could continue on, two bright red spots flowered on his cheeks.

"What?" I questioned. "Why'd you stop?"

"Why are you here, Arabelle?" His query echoed, in my head at least.

I shrugged. "Food." I proudly showed him my stock muffin.

"I meant here in Ireland. What brought you here in Ireland?"

"Oh." I deliberated my answer. "Well, Gemma was telling me—"

Ding!

"Harry!" A tall stilettoed woman strutted right into the elevator and threw her arms around a welcoming Harry.

"Good morning," Harry said in his deep sleepy voice. He was smiling genuinely, and I felt a pinch of jealousy rush into my veins.

The woman had dirty blonde hair that tumbled down to her mid-spine, her dress was very classy and tight-fitting. And she was snogging Harry right in front of me.

I tried to blink as many times as I could as a means of distraction.

As soon as possible, I escaped the elevator room and scampered to my hotel room, clenching my teeth together, only to be welcomed by Gemma.

"Oh, hi, Arabelle, can you try on this dress for me?"

I didn't even realize how she'd goaded me into altering my whole appearance for a whole hour. I had on a simple black dress that made my pale skin glow and my red hair look so fiery. Gemma had stealthily swept my hair, brushing aside the wavy reds and let them cascade down my right shoulder. I looked like one of those hipsters on Tumblr, oh my God.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, not sure of my reaction.

"We're going to a club tonight," she answered calmly.

"What? Why?"

"We're going to a club tonight." This time, she stated it with a smile.

For the sole reason of not wanting to seem like an unappreciative prick, I just nodded and acquiesced. We arranged how she would sneak me inside, since I was underage.



The club was loud, raucous, grumbling with speakers, and most of all, everyone was sweaty and sticky and rubbing up against each other.

They were so touchy-feely I could die.

This man kept offering me shots, and I almost accepted it. However, a boyish face interfered and said, "No, she's with me."

I looked up, seeing a guy with suspenders; I knew by his accent that he was from England.

"I'm Louis, Harry's friend," the boy said. "Are you Arabelle Rose Morel?"

He cringed a little at how my name was a mouthful.

"Kind of," I replied, wide-eyed.

THIS IS FOR HANNAH AND KIM AND ALEXISE AND RACHEL.