Arabella.

I was very much accostumed to waking up alone. If I ever brought girls home (a rare and seldom event in and of itself because I usually fooled around in the car, their house, or the party where we met, or some other convenient location that didn't include bringing them here, but sometimes it didn't work out that way), they usually left by themselves in the morning. They weren't under any illusions - I didn't care and they didn't care, which was why I brought them over in the first place - about cuddles or breakfast in bed or any other romantic nonsense.

So, of course, imagine my surprise when I woke up to a frantic, panicked Arabella, hair mussed as she looked around the room. She was in a panic, hair hanging around her face in a soft, dizzy brown halo of curls and frays.

"Harry!" she hissed, slapping my chest angrily, hands cold. I glanced at her, wrapping my hand around her wrist to keep her from hitting me. Arabella narrowed her eyes at me, yanking her hand away angrily. "Wake up!"

"What? I'm up."

"Why am I naked?!" she asked worriedly, pulling the blanket up to cover her chest. "Why are you naked? Oh, God. Pezza's going to kill me." She sat up properly, hair tumbling down her back as she searched for her clothes. She walked around the room, picking her clothes off the floor. She rubbed her head, wincing. "How much did I have to drink last night?"

"A lot," I answered sleepily, watching as she tried to brush the wrinkles out of her clothes. Arabella sighed, grumbling under her breath. We don't really have an iron around, seeing as we're not the domestic type. She turned to look at me, narrowing her eyes as she pulls her skirt up her legs. "What?"

"So you took me home because I was drunk? Was it worth it?"

"What - no, Arabella. You could barely even walk, and - "

"So?" Arabella started buttoning her shirt, hands shaking as she shook her head. "I can handle myself. I'm from Tijuana, Harry. Do you even know what happens out there? Whatever happens here is nothing compared to there, okay? I don't need you."

"From Ti-who?" I asked. She sighed heavily, trying to brush her fingers through her knotted hair. She started cursing again, tugging at the knots. "I was trying to help you - "

"Help? Help? You're a great help, Harry. Really. Just fantastic. I'm sure you also thought of a great excuse for Perrie too." I watched her silently as she walked over to the bed again, tossing sheets in her anger. "Who do you think you are? A white knight? Where's the horse and your armor? Idiot. Does that make you feel good about yourself?"

"Arabella - " I reached out for her arm and she slapped my hand away, pulling her hair up and tying the ribbon around it loosely.

"Can you do me a favor? Make up your mind!" she huffs, stomping out of the room. I scrambled out of bed, sheets tangling between my legs as I tried to go out to follow her. I pulled on my pants and sighed, but the door was slamming loudly by the time I managed to get out into the living room. I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

Liam was tossed carelessly on the couch. Louis was in the kitchen (he had always been an earlybird) making a pot of coffee, and since I couldn't hear Niall whistling about Arabella, I figured that he probably spent the night with Mercy. Louis looked at me simply, sipping his coffee as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Have you found a place then, Harry?"

"A place for what?" I asked, confused.

"To go into hiding, obviously, because when Perrie and Zayn found out that their precious angel spent the night here with the likes of you, they're going to kill you. It was nice knowing you at least. You were a great friend."



Since no one says anything about Arabella for a few days, I think I'm off the hook. I go about my life normally, working at the garage, getting drunk, smoking, laughing, eating, living. I even take Molly out for dinner some nights, but still can't bring myself to take her home. It all goes well. I hadn't heard from Perrie, meaning Arabella probably hadn't told her sister or Zayn, which means I'm off the hook for one of my few, solitary acts of kindness.

Or at least, I thought I was. I had gone to visit Gem and her husband for her birthday, and really hadn't kept in touch with any of the guys for a few days. Gem's birthday went well. I bought her a card at the drug store and a cheap box of chocolates. Her husband got her a pair of real pearl earrings. We went to dinner at her favorite restaurant and her husband and I managed not to strangle each other, which I guess is an upside.

I go back home as if nothing happened, because as far as I'm concerned, nothing happened. We went to a party, she got drunk, I made sure she didn't go home with that creep, Carl, she yelled at me, and went home. That was it. She kissed me, too, but no one really needed to know about that, and I doubted she was in a rush to tell anyone about that anyway. I'm under the impression, for a few days anyway, that I can continue oun with my life as though nothing has happened.

That is simply not the case.

That night, we'd gone to a party - Lou and I. Liam went to visit his mom again, and Niall was out with Mercy, so it was just us. Not that I really minded. We kind of stuck to our own respective circles and weren't too obnoxious if the other brought a girl home. The party was meant to be nothing more than a simple party: drinking and dancing and maybe a fight or two. That was it. I usually didn't get involved in fights, and wasn't looking to do that either. Until, of course, Zayn shoved me into a wall and asked me if I had a hearing problem.

"Excuse me?" I asked, rolling up my sleeves as I abandon my drink. (He knocked it out of my hand, anyway, so what else could I do to salvage it?) I didn't know what I'd done to him if I hadn't even spoken to him or Arabella in almost two weeks. "What the hell's your problem?"

"You, Styles. You're my fucking problem," Zayn spits, shoving me again. I shove him back, scowling as my eyebrows knit together. "What part of leave her the hell alone did you not understand? Are you going deaf?"

"Zayn, what - "

"Arabella, Harry. How many times am I going to have to tell you to stay away from her?" he yells, throwing a punch. I dodge it, barely, feeling it graze my upper cheek. Louis tries to cut in, mostly because he doesn't like to fight and definitely doesn't like seeing other people fight. (He was one of those new-age people who thought that people could "talk" out their feelings.) "She's a kid! For fuck's sake."

'What - "

"I saw you take her home! And she hasn't been herself since then. What'd you do to her, Harry? Did she fight you? Say no? Did you force yourself on her anyway? You sick fuck. Do you like them young?"

"Zayn!" Perrie exclaims, cutting through the heavy, oppressive crowd of people that had formed around us. I wanted to roll my eyes. Even if I told Zayn that I hadn't slept with Arabella, he'd still think I had. Didn't anyone see that I was doing the girl a favor? Before Perrie can tug Zayn away, he's clocked me right in the nose. I can't just stay hit. We start brawling, but at least Louis has the prescence of mind to pull Perrie away before she got hurt. I can hear her crying and I don't really care anymore, not about any of them - they all were so self deluded and so full of themselves and I was sick of it.



Two days later, I'm still not sure who won the fight. I'm nursing a black eye and sore jaw, but Zayn looks a little roughed up too, so I have to say that the fight ended in a draw. From what I hear, Perrie wasn't happy, and Louis was pretty pissed off too. But what else is new? I've been stuck behind the desk at work since Liam doesn't want me working on any cars until my injuries heal. It sucks. I'm not really the desk type - I have to be hands on, touching, fixing, not sitting at a desk and answering a phone and writing out invoices all day.

It's honestly a little unfair. I didn't start the fight or even want to fight him in the first place, but Liam still had me on desk duty. He hoped I'd think about my actions or something stupid like that. This is exactly why I don't do anything for anyone, ever, because it always backfires. I set down my pen, digging my hand into the pocket of my shirt. Grasping my cigarette carton, I pull a crooked cigarette out. I jam the cigarette in my mouth and search for a pack of matches, opening and shutting drawers. I'm about to go home for lunch and would really like to just enjoy my cigarette and brood in the living room for an hour or so, but I can't find my matches, so my cigarette is going to have to wait.

I lock up the office and yell out for the guys, walking out and shoving my keys in my pocket. It's raining, which isn't so bad because I rather like the rain and how it feels. It's been pretty hot lately, so the rain is welcome. Or at least it is until a major downpour begins and I'm totally soaked by the time I get home. I flip my wet hair out of my face, digging my keys out of my pocket as I open the gate.

"Hey." I glance up, and lo and behold, it's Arabella. Her hair is sticking to her face, cheeks blotchy and red as she holds a handkerchief in her hands, squeezing it tightly as she looks at me. "Can - can I come in? I need to talk to you."