Wicked Game

I was day-drinking, which I suppose was the first sign that my life was slowly turning to shit, but I also couldn’t be fucked to care.

It wasn’t like I was going out during the day to the pub and getting completely pissed. I’d only done that once, and that was back in May or June. It was now the end of October and I felt like that was an accomplishment. Anyone else in my position probably wouldn’t even be functioning, so I felt like I was a step ahead of the game. I was still going to my classes and I’d even been going to Charlie’s football matches when I could make myself get out of bed; I felt like that was a vast improvement from a few months ago.

I was trying. I was trying really bloody hard, even if it didn’t seem like it to most people.

My phone buzzed on the top of the bar, lighting up with Charlie’s name over and over. He had a match that night, and I was supposed to be at it or at least in transit, but instead I was sitting in a pub with a pint pretending no one else existed.

I felt bad because football meant the world to Charlie and he absolutely loved having me come to his matches. I used to love it too, but that was before when my life actually made sense. Now I wasn’t sure what I liked. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I even liked anything.

Except Charlie. He was my constant. I thought, anyways. He was supposed to be, so I just kept reminding myself of that.

That was something I found myself doing often, unfortunately. Reminding myself of the things that were important, reminding myself how to interact with people normally, reminding myself that a constant scowl wasn’t okay. If I didn’t, I would go through the day without speaking to anyone, without a smile, with nothing.

I was pathetic, in all honesty, and I was aware of it, but there was nothing I could do about it.

I finished off my pint and set the mug back on the top of the bar before I rested my forehead in my hands. I screwed my eyes shut and felt the beginning of a migraine hitting my temples. I briefly thought about going home, but it was October 23rd and I knew I couldn’t do that.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

I released a frustrated noise before I picked my head up and glanced at the boy taking up residence in the seat beside me. I narrowed my eyes. “No.”

He chuckled, as if I was joking, and then ordered two pints. “Bit early to be drinking, aye?”

I knit my eyebrows together and scoffed. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the one who just ordered yourself a pint yeah? Pot meet kettle?”

He smirked and brushed his curls off of his forehead. When they fell back in place, he stuck his hand out for me to shake. I did it so I didn’t come off as a complete tosser, but then dropped my arm back on the bar. “I’m Harry,” he said with a grin, dimples etched into each of his cheeks.

The bartender set two pints down in front of us then and I grabbed the one closest to me before taking a large drink. “Emerson,” I said. “And I know who you are. I’m not a bloody idiot,” I muttered before taking another drink. I think in any other situation, at any other time, I would have been effected by the fact that 1/5 of England’s biggest bloody boy band was sitting next to me, but I wasn’t in the slightest. “What are you doing in a pub at 3 in the afternoon on a Wednesday?”

His eyes danced over me, amused, before he took a drink of his own beer and avoided my question. “Are you in uni?”

I sighed. “We’re not about to play twenty questions, yeah?”

“Why not?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“‘Cause it’s 3 in the afternoon on a Wednesday and I’m not in the mood.”

He laughed. “Love, you’re too young to be so bitter.”

I glared at him over the top of my mug. “And you’re too rich to be here, yeah?” We weren’t exactly in the poshest place around. I hadn’t checked the name before I’d stumbled in; it was nearly empty, dimly lit, and pretty much a hole in the wall, but it did the job.

He shrugged, but didn’t say anything else.

My mobile buzzed again and I frowned down at it. Charlie’s name flashed across the screen, his face smiling up at me. I knew I should have answered, told him I just wasn’t feeling up to going to the match, but I didn’t want to hear the disapproval in his voice when I told him I was at a pub drinking at 3 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Because that wasn’t proper, and he hadn’t said that to me yet but I could feel it whenever he looked at me, whenever I reached a particular low and couldn’t pick myself back up, which unfortunately for me was happening more often as of late.

“You gonna answer that love?” Harry asked me, nodding to my mobile as it buzzed once again.

I picked it up, hit ignore, and then shut the phone off before shoving it into my pocket. “No, no I am not.”

“Someone’s trying to get ahold of you. Shouldn’t be ignoring them, should you?”

I glared, which silenced him right away. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I muttered before taking another drink.

“Not really. I’d ask you the same, but by the way your mobile was blowing up I’m going to take an educated guess and say you do in fact have somewhere you should be that isn’t a pub at three on a Wednesday.”

I glared again. “You’re kind of a wanker, you know that?”

He just shrugged, a smirk on his lips as he took a drink of his beer, his eyes on me the entire time. But then he was looking over my head towards the entrance of the pub and waving. When I turned my head, another lad was taking a seat beside me. “Took you long enough,” Harry said to the lad. When he turned his eyes to me, he said, “This is Zayn. Zayn, this is the bird who took your drink.” His eyes never left mine while he said this, a smirk falling onto his lips.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, but tried to play it off as I picked up the mug and finished it off with a shrug before I turned to face Zayn. “Sorry for taking your drink,” I said with a small shrug. “Nice to meet you though.”

He gave me a short nod. “Nice to meet you too, even if you lifted my pint.”

I rolled my eyes. “‘nother pint, please!” I called to the bartender before smirking at Zayn. “Better?”

He chuckled and nodded.

“Don’t ask her what she’s doing here because she’ll just fuck about the question and bug you for an answer of your own.” I narrowed my eyes at Harry, but he just smiled, his dimples showing off once again.

I made a show of turning my whole body towards Zayn, ignoring Harry completely. “Three in the afternoon on a Wednesday and two members of Britain’s elitist are sitting in a hole-in-the-wall pub knocking back pints. How come?”

Zayn shrugged. “Aye, why not, yeah?”

I kept looking at him, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a pair of black rimmed glasses, his hair was falling over his forehead in a mess, and he had a smattering of scruff on his cheeks. He looked tired, the kind of deep-in-your-bones, overwhelming sense of tired that someone could only know if they’d felt it before.

I could relate; that had been my life for the past six months.

I tore my eyes away from his physical looks and that was when I spotted the plastic wrapping sticking out from the sleeve of his shirt. Before I even realized what I was doing, my hand was brushing lightly over the plastic. “New tattoo?” I asked, which caused him to look up at me and then down at his arm.

He nodded. “That’s where we were, Harry and I, but we didn’t feel like heading back to our flats yet.”

I nodded before looking at Harry. “You couldn’t have just said that?”

He smirked. “Never asked, love. You asked what I was doing here, not where I came from.”

I rolled my eyes and looked at Zayn again. “Your mate’s a tosser.”

His lips curled upwards and he nodded. “He is.”

“Aye! Just having a laugh!” Harry protested. “Moody wankers,” he muttered, obviously pouting.

I talked to Britain’s Elite for a little while longer, enjoying their company for the most part. It was nice having new people to talk to. At one point, Harry’s mobile went off and he stepped away to answer. I sighed, pulling my own phone out and turning it on to check the time. It was half six, and Charlie’s match would be starting in a half hour. “I should get going,” I said reluctantly.

Zayn nodded and stuck his hand out. I looked at it funny, unsure if he was trying to shake my hand or what. After a moment passed, he chuckled. “Your mobile?”

Oh. Right. I set it in his hand and watched as his finger tips ran over the screen quickly before he pulled his own out. The whole thing took only a few minutes, but I watched his every move. Before I knew it, he was handing my mobile back and shoving his own into his pocket. I must have been looking at him funny, because he shrugged. “Now you have my number, and I have yours.”

I scoffed in disbelief. “Who said I was going to ask for your number? Bit presumptuous, aye?”

He shrugged. “Maybe, but I was gonna ask for yours, so this was easier.”

“I never even told you my name.”

“Gave you a nickname.”

Well, that intrigued me. “What is it?”

He just smirked before standing, his eyes going over my head, presumably towards his mate. “Time to head out. Nice to meet you,” he said again with a nod before Harry appeared and he cupped his hand over Harry’s shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Emerson. See you around, I hope.” Harry grinned, waved, and then the two boys headed out.