Broken 2 // h.s.

t w e n t y o n e

t w e n t y   o n e.

(A/N) For this chapter, I'm briefly taking it back two years prior to when Harry and Lana meet. I'm doing this so you can see what happened between Harry and Vince. Then I'll switch back to present time, picking back up where Black Ice called Lana.

Two years ago. . .

Harry's POV:

I stare at the liquor in my cup, the way the ice cubes sway back and forth. Tonight should be a celebration, it's my birthday and I was just signed a record deal for my first album. Tonight, I should get drunk or get laid or both.

But I can't stop thinking about her.

It's been almost a year and a half since I've last heard from Lana Grey and tonight, I'm feeling shitty all over again because I saw a girl that looked like her on the dance floor; maybe she was even prettier, but for a moment, I thought I saw Lana. And I pushed through the crowd to get to her only to be faced with disappointment.

"Why the long face, babe?" The bartender, Maritsa asks. She's a funny woman in her late thirties. She always pokes her breasts out toward me, struts a little when I'm around, leaves her hand lingering on my chest for a tad too long.

"I'll never admit it to anyone, but I have to say it and you're the only person here to hear it." I sigh. "A girl broke my heart."

"What'd she do?"

"She just...stopped contacting me...and never told me why."

She places her hand on top of mine. "Oh, babe."

The way her hand felt on mine was odd; her palms were calloused and sweaty. I couldn't help but remember the feel of Lana's hands on my skin. Everything seems to be reminding me of her tonight. I wonder when I will get over this, over her.

I stand on my feet and fish out a tip, handing it to Maritsa. "Thanks for the drinks."

"Sure, sure. Do yourself a favor and enjoy yourself tonight Harry. You deserve it."

Fucking hell, I do. After nearly an entire year of sending my music to several producers and waiting out in front of their buildings to beg for one chance; I got it and I made it. And now, me and the crew have been busting our asses these past few months trying to put together a memorable first album.

I try to squeeze through the crowd, desperately trying to find someone I recognize or a pretty enough girl to dance with. If I were someone else, I'd go and find that girl who looked like Lana; but the idea leaves a disgusting taste in my mouth. It would probably leave me more hurt than earlier anyway; looking into the eyes of a girl that reminds me much of the one that tore my heart out from my chest.

"Harry!" I feel someone crash into my side. My first reaction is to clench my fist as a precaution; these parties get out of hand sometimes. But I turn to see Vince, the drummer. Me and Vince instantly clicked the moment we met. We were good friends; we partied together, we wrote badass songs, we fist fought whenever one ate the other's sandwich... we even skydived together one time.

But like most good people, there is always a flaw. Vince was a drug addict. He snorted coke, shot up heroine, popped pills and after some time at rehab, he got his shit together; turned his attention to music and there, he excelled.

But recently, I've seen the change in him. The way he's been coming to rehearsals drowsy and high, the way he's been leaving earlier; barely able to keep his weight up. Others have been noticing it too; the yellow, purple bruises on the insides of his elbows.

I know we all should have left the moment I was done with my gig. But of course, everyone wanted to stay in order to celebrate my birthday. I did too, but I remember my manager, Wayne, telling me to keep Vince away from the party scene. Supposedly, addicts have small triggers and parties are full of triggers.