H.

"Shit!" I cursed a little too loudly as I tripped over what must've been the thousandth twig in the past fucking hour. Fucking hell, why couldn't Louis have wanted to meet at a damn Panda Express or something less hazardous? Bastard.

Tomlinson was a twisted bloke - there was no doubt about that, and frankly, I would've much preferred to have nothing to do with him, but - whatever keeps Ana's mind at peace.

Wow, Harry - whipped, much.

A scuffed green bench lay in the place it did before - the paint hardly remained, while the wooden legs stood crooked, weeds of some kind intertwined around the surface - and sure enough, the twisted fuck sat right upon it.

"Isn't it disrespectful to sit on benches like this?" I asked pointedly, folding my arms. Louis glanced over his shoulder for a moment.

"That's what it's for, isn't it?" he scoffed, "A memorial bench."

"I guess," I shoved my hands in the front pocket of my jeans, wandering over to stand in front of him.

"Mm," he hummed, drumming his fingers along the tattered surface, staring down at his lap.

"Right, well," I exhaled, "you wanted to talk, 'Tomlinson. Talk."

"You're right, 'Styles - I did," he looked up at me, and I wrinkled my nose.

"Why are you acting like this is an episode of 'The Vampire Diaries', or some shit? It's fucking weird - cut to the chase, yeah?" I scowled in attempts to ignore the humor I was finding in his dramatic tone.

"That's cold, I always thought of you as more of a 'Parks and Recreation' kind of guy?" he mused, and I felt my hand twitch in a sudden desire to slap him. Parks and Rec was my shit, anyway.

"Get to the point, Louis. I don't want to have to knock your teeth down your fucking throat."

"Do you miss Caleb?" he blurted suddenly, and I frowned.

"Everyday," I didn't skip a beat.

"He deserved to die," he muttered, and I took a step toward him.

"Say that again, you narcissistic fucking son of a-"

"Calm down, Haz, I'm just making conversation," he smirked and I felt a knot of anger tie itself in my chest.

"That's fucking conversation to you? Piss off with that shit," I raised my voice, becoming even more infuriated with myself - Louis always knew how to get under my skin, "and don't call me that."

"Why not, hm? Remind you of something?" he pressed, and I tried my best to resist the urge to rip his head straight off his shoulders.

"Shut up, Louis," I gritted my teeth, as Louis practically bathed in my discomfort. Fuck, I hated him.

"You're a terrible person, aren't you, Harry? Always have been," he stood up, "Even better, actually - you're a terrible friend. A horrible one. From the minute we met all those years ago, to the day we finally called it quits."

"Called it quits?" I scoffed, "you mean when I finally got fed up with you pushing me around for so many years? And after Caleb-"

"Fuck Caleb! You abandoned me!" he roared suddenly, and I shot him a glare, "my fucking dad died, and what did you do? Nothing! You left me - alone. This bench is all that's fucking left of him."

"We both know that's not what happened," I spat, "you composed that sick plan to get Caleb out of the way, so can you really fucking blame me for being unable to look at you after that? You're sick."

"I don't care," he hissed, and I rolled my eyes.

"I'm sorry about your dad, Louis - seriously, you know I am. But I don't know what you expect me to do-"

"I don't expect shit from you, Harry Styles. Not shit. I know you'll fall back into your old habits soon enough - I don't have to screw you over, in that case. We both know you don't deserve a girl like Ana, anyway," All I did was scoff as he continued, "but, I know something I'm sure you'd like to."

"Enlighten me," I narrowed my eyes.

"Ken Styles has been back in touch, Harry - and I think he'd like to see you."

-

A.

"This movie is such a classic," Tasha grinned, clicking on '13 going on 30'.

"I've never seen it," I confessed, chuckling at the look of disbelief on Tasha's face.

"You're kidding! It's the best," she assured me, clicking on 'full screen', "one of my all time favorites."

"What time is it?" I asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl.

"9:30," she answered, tossing her phone down onto the bed.

I nodded, making a mental note to go home straight after the movie ended. After spending lunch with Tasha, and having discovered the ease I found with being around her, we had decided to hang out tonight. We had planned to study, but had ended up collapsing in a heap of laughter, and the decision to make popcorn and watch a movie.

It was nice to have a girl-friend like this - to be able to sit back and enjoy time with a friend, a real friend.

I couldn't help but wonder how things had gone, or were going, with Harry and Louis. I was praying that Harry had kept his temper at bay, though it was likely he hadn't. God, I hoped everything went smoothly, with whatever Louis had to say.

The credits began to roll, and I came to the realization that it was now past 11, and I would have Celia on my case when I got home.

"I gotta run," I announced, picking up my bag and tugging it over my shoulder.

Tasha nodded, yawning, "Yeah, it's pretty late, I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you," I shot her a smile, before retracing my steps from earlier down the stairs and out of the front door. The Range Rover I'd taken from the garage earlier was parked neatly outside, and I pulled the keys from my pocket, unlocking the vehicle and hopping into the driver's seat. Would my parents murder me for stealing this car? Absolutely.

As I started the engine, my phone began to ring from my bag. I sighed - it was most likely my mom; maybe she actually decided to check on me, as she did once in a blue moon.

I read the caller ID, frowning down at the name on the screen.

"Louis?"

"Ana Banana! How are we on this fine night?" he shouted cheerily into the receiver, and I wrinkled my nose.

"What do you want?"

"I just thought you'd like to know," he sneered, and I winced inaudibly, "Harry's got himself in a bit of a pickle," he laughed.

I frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"The bar on the corner of West Terrace," he said simply, before hanging up the phone. I bit my lip, what was he talking about?

I knew where West Terrace was.. it wasn't far.

Before I knew it, I was speeding off down the road towards the bar, my feet working faster than my mind. I was likely over the speed limit, but I didn't care. I needed to know what was going on with Harry.

The street was filthy - I didn't often come to this part of town. Any other time I would've been apprehensive of my car getting destroyed and vandalized - but again, I didn't care.

I slammed the car door shut after pulling up messily on the sidewalk. I shoved my phone in my back pocket, heading towards the door. The bouncer didn't bother asking for ID, which surprised me, but I counted my blessings, since I didn't happen to have my fake ID on me.

Music blared loudly through some speakers I'd yet to locate, and the room was packed, everybody with a drink in their hand as they screamed over the music to converse.

Focus, Ana - find Harry.

"You here alone, beautiful?" a voice sounded in my ear, and I flinched.

"I'm looking for my boyfriend," I huffed, taking several steps aside.

"Then stay with me until you find him," I turned to face the man speaking in my ear - pale, with spiky blonde hair.

"No," I said simply, walking around his tall frame to continue my search for Harry.

My eyes scanned the room in search of him, and it didn't take long for my eyes to land on a head of brown curls. I sighed in relief. Harry.

I walked across the room quickly, "Harry, I-" I stopped myself, my mouth falling open.

It was definitely Harry - he stood in front of me, alright - but he wasn't alone. He faced the bar counter, standing directly between the tanned legs of a petite blonde - their lips moulded together, his hand between her legs. I gasped as their kiss broke, her lips dropping to his neck as his hand still moved between her legs.

"Harry," I choked, and he finally heard me, turning to look at me, shrugging the blonde off him.

His eyes were red; bloodshot - his hair messed up, and his cheeks flushed. I almost winced at the sight of him.

"Well, look who it is," he smirked, his look not holding the same genuineness it usually did, "My beautiful, beautiful Ana Grace."

I felt tears sting in my eyes as I remained determined not to let them fall, "What are you-"

"I guess you're not my Ana Grace, though, are you?" he narrowed his bloodshot eyes, "you were always too good for me," he slurred, waving the beer bottle in his hand as he spoke.

"You're talking shit," I spat, "is that why you were sucking her face off?" I began to question why I was even having this conversation with him.

"Look at me!" he raised his arms, stumbling towards me and discarding the blonde beside him, "look what a catch I am."

"You're drunk," I stated, wiping a tear that had fallen, "and high."

"So what if I am?" he slurred.

"You're not thinking straight," I tried to convince him, but more myself.

"You," he took my chin in his forefinger and thumb, searching my gaze as he always did, though I didn't recognize the eyes I looked into now, "you are so fucking beautiful."

"Stop," I pulled myself from his grip, and I could feel a sob rising in my throat.

"I thought you would be such a bitch when I met you," he continued, taking a swig of his drink as he struggled to stand still, completely unbalanced, "but, fuck - you-you, you are amazing to me!" he continued to slur, "and look at me," he chuckled, "if you hadn't showed up - that pretty blonde and I would be fucking right now."

"This isn't you-"

"Bollocks!" he snapped, suddenly throwing his bottle against the wall forcefully, where it smashed. Nobody seemed to notice over the volume of the music and chatter, but I jumped in sudden fear of the boy I didn't recognise in front of me. When he turned back to face me there was no sign of upset in his eyes - they were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. In that moment I knew he was already far away, and he was treating me as if I was the enemy, "this is me, take it or leave it."

"Harry-"

"I can't change," he rambled, "I will always, always be this person. I don't fucking care about anyone; anything."

"What happened with Louis earlier, Harry?" I pleaded.

"Oh, that's your fault, too," he spat, "if you weren't so fucking meddling - I wouldn't be here right now!" he exclaimed, and I winced.

"Harry, please," I was crying now, and I couldn't stop.

He laughed, "you're a beautiful girl, Ana Grace, but you're fucking delusional. Because this," he signalled between us, before grabbing another drink from the counter and taking a swig, "is nothing."

"You don't mean that," I cried, and I felt him chipping away at me piece by piece as he continued.

"We were never going to be something," he continued to slur, "we never could be - we don't fucking work."

"Harry-"

"You know what?" he scowled, taking another drink, "just fuck off, because I," he announced, "I fucking hate you."

Those words crushed me - I tried to tell myself he was drunk; that he didn't mean anything he was saying - but between his insults and his attempts to have sex with that random girl - it was too much.

"No," I croaked, my hands shaking as I tried to stand my ground.

"Yes," he laughed bitterly, taking another long drink, "Ana Levin, I hate you for making me fall for you, and I hate you for even thinking that you could fix me."

And with that I ran - I couldn't bear to look at him any longer. I could feel my heart breaking piece by piece, and I couldn't hear another word from him.

I got straight back into my car, and pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, as tears flooded from my eyes. My chest was aching, my hands and legs shaking as I bawled into the eerie silence of my car.

I wanted to hate him more than anything, but I couldn't. I knew no matter what, I couldn't hate him - I couldn't hate Harry Styles, not even for breaking my heart.