The Message That Ended Us

The bass from the speakers thrummed through the floorboards and up into my spine, a steady pulse that matched the two shots of tequila I'd knocked back an hour ago. I wasn't drunk. Not yet. But the edges of the room had gone soft and golden, and that was close enough.

I leaned against the kitchen island, watching Hanna and Niall destroy each other at beer pong on the dining table we'd definitely ruined three parties ago. Hanna's aim was vicious tonight. She sank another cup and did a little shimmy, her blonde ponytail whipping around, and Niall clutched his chest like she'd shot him straight through the heart.

"You're a menace, Marin," he yelled over the music.

"Your girlfriend's a menace," I called back, and Hanna blew me a kiss.

The house was packed. Our house, technically. The one Liam's parents co-signed for, the one where seven of us had signed a lease and only five of us actually paid rent on time. The living room had been converted into a dance floor by the simple method of shoving all the furniture against the walls. Someone had strung purple lights across the ceiling, and they caught the sweat on everyone's skin, made the whole room look like it was underwater.

I felt good. I looked good. I'd spent an hour on my hair, the blue-to-purple waves falling past my shoulders, and I'd worn the black dress that made my legs look like they went on forever. My mother would've called it too short. My mother wasn't here.

A hand landed on my lower back. Warm. Familiar in a way I refused to think about.

"Hey, Nik."

Harry. Of course.

I didn't turn around. "Hey yourself."

"You're not dancing."

"Neither are you."

"I was looking for you."

There it was. That thing he did, the way he said *you* like it meant something specific and private. I turned then, because not turning felt like losing, and I met his eyes. Green and stupidly pretty. His hair was pushed back from his forehead, damp from dancing, and he'd rolled the sleeves of his shirt up past his elbows. He smelled like sweat and cedar and whatever cologne he'd been wearing since high school.

"Found me," I said. "Congratulations."

He smiled. That slow, crooked smile that had been making girls stupid since the ninth grade. "You're in a mood."

"I'm always in a mood. It's part of my charm."

"Charm," he repeated, like he was tasting the word. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I reached past him for the bottle of vodka on the counter, poured a shot, and knocked it back without breaking eye contact. The burn was good. Clean. It gave me something to do with my face.

"You gonna stand here all night, Styles, or are you gonna go find someone more interesting to bother?"

"I'm exactly where I want to be."

My stomach did something I didn't authorize. I set the shot glass down harder than necessary.

"Careful," I said. "People might think you mean that."

He opened his mouth to respond, and I willed myself not to care what came out of it. Six years of this. Six years of Harry Styles standing too close and saying things that sounded like promises and never quite becoming one. I'd learned to hold my breath around him. I'd learned to want things I couldn't have and then pretend I didn't want them at all.

But before he could speak, Kendall appeared at his elbow like she'd been summoned.

"Harry, there you are." She touched his arm, casual and proprietary, and I watched his attention shift. Just like that. A door closing.

"Hey, Ken."

"I've been looking everywhere for you." She laughed, light and easy, and leaned into him. Her hair was perfect. Her dress was perfect. She was the kind of girl who made everything look effortless, and I hated her for it in a way that had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me.

I grabbed my drink and pushed off the counter. "I'm gonna go find Aria."

Harry's eyes flickered to me, something unreadable passing through them. "Nik—"

But I was already walking away, weaving through bodies and bass and purple light, and I didn't look back. I never looked back. That was the rule.

I found Aria on the back porch, wrapped in Louis's jacket and arguing with him about something that sounded like a movie plot. She was the only person I knew who could make existential dread look glamorous.

"Hey," I said, dropping onto the step next to her. "Save me."

Louis raised an eyebrow. "From what?"

"From everything." I leaned my head on Aria's shoulder, and she smelled like vanilla and clove cigarettes, the way she had since we were fifteen. "From boys. From parties. From my own terrible decisions."

Aria patted my knee. "Harry again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You never do."

I closed my eyes and let the night wash over me. The music, the laughter, the cold air on my bare legs. Somewhere inside, Harry was probably laughing at something Kendall said, touching her back the way he'd touched mine. I could feel it through the walls, or maybe I was imagining it. Either way, it hurt.

That was the thing about Harry Styles. He could make you feel like the only person in the room and then remind you, without ever saying a word, that you weren't. That you'd never been. That the space he held for you was borrowed, temporary, a place to rest until something better came along.

I'd known him since we were fourteen. I'd watched him date half the girls in our high school and charm the other half without trying. I'd told myself a thousand times that I was immune, that I knew better, that I'd seen the way he burned through people and left them standing in the ashes.

And still. Every time. Every stupid, reckless time, I let myself hope.

"Come on," Aria said, tugging me to my feet. "Let's dance. Fuck him."

"Fuck him," I agreed, and meant it.

We pushed back inside, and the music swallowed us whole. Louis spun Aria into the crowd, and I let myself disappear into the rhythm, into the heat, into the press of bodies that didn't know my name and didn't care. For a few minutes, I wasn't Nikki Martinez with her guarded heart and her careful rules. I was just a girl in a black dress, moving like she had nothing to lose.

The song shifted, something slower, something with teeth. I felt hands on my hips and turned to find a guy I didn't recognize, tall and dark-eyed and smiling like he knew a secret.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself."

He pulled me closer, and I let him. I let him because it was easy, because he wasn't Harry, because for one night I wanted to be someone who didn't overthink everything. His hands were confident. His mouth was close to my ear.

"You're beautiful," he said.

I almost laughed. Almost.

"I know," I said, and kissed him.

It didn't mean anything. It never meant anything. But for a few seconds, with his lips on mine and the music pounding and the world blurring at the edges, I could pretend I wasn't waiting for someone else. I could pretend I wasn't still looking for green eyes in every crowd.

When I pulled back, I caught a glimpse of Harry through the crowd. He was watching me. Kendall was talking, her hand on his chest, but his eyes were fixed on me, and something in his expression made my heart stutter.

I looked away first.

I always did.