***Louis Tomlinson***
Thursday, July 12th, 2012 – Anaheim, California, USA

“You two old enough to drink?” the bartender – Chuck – asked Harry and I as we approached the counter. My voice got caught in my throat.

“Uh, no, actually,” Harry said for me, “are you Chuck?” The bartender nodded, and I built up courage.

“I’m Louis Tomlinson,” I said. Chuck looked at me, expectantly, my name clearly not meaning anything to him. “I was in the taxi cab that you hit last month.”

“Congratulations,” he said sarcastically. I don’t know why it surprised me that he was a jerk – I mean, he fled the scene of an accident, but still, I’d been hoping that had just been a lapse in judgment. I ignored his rudeness.

“I just wanted to say that I forgive you,” I said, softly. He let out a snort.

“I don’t need your forgiveness, Kid,” he grumbled as he walked around the counter to us. “In fact, if it weren’t for you what – getting all drunk and needing a cab ride home? – then I would still have my truck and I wouldn’t be faced with a traffic ticket and hiked insurance costs that I can’t afford.” I dropped my jaw. Harry, out of nowhere, punched Chuck square in the jaw, causing him to stumble backwards into the bar. Lucky for us, he didn’t fight back. “Get out of my bar,” he said. “I don’t ever want to see either one of you again.”

“Come on,” I said to Harry, who was visibly heated. I took his arm and we left the bar, luckily not having caused too much of a scene as not many people had noticed the spat. We went outside and began walking back to the hotel – Harry was angry and I was, well, hurt, so neither of us said anything. We got to our room and I sat down on the edge of the bed, defeated. That had been the last straw. Harry began pacing around the room, shaking his head in disbelief. I rubbed my eyes.

“Don’t listen to him,” Harry said harshly. “Don’t go there. What a jerk. Who does that?!”

“Harry,” I said, my voice an unrecognizable tone of sorrow. It was enough to get him to stop pacing and look at me, realizing I needed him. His face softened and he sat down on the bed next to me. We sat quietly for a minute, not touching, not talking, and then I lost all control. I jammed the heels of my hands into my eyes and rocked back and forth, crying and yelling out in frustration. Harry just took both of his arms and wrapped them securely around my shoulders. I felt the need to grab onto something, so I lowered my hands from my eyes and clutched tightly onto the outside of Harry’s forearms. He kissed me on the temple, and I buried my face in his arms. I couldn’t talk – even if I could, I didn’t want to. What was there to say? Harry knew exactly what I was feeling.

“Come on,” he whispered after awhile, pulling me back against the pillows with him as we laid down on the bed. I curled up into his chest and he stroked my hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a few minutes of silence. “I shouldn’t have pressured you to go.” That only made more tears spill from my eyes. I wanted so badly to tell him this wasn’t his fault, that he needed to stop taking the blame, that I loved him so much for defending me and punching Chuck, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak, and it would’ve been too hard to tell him any of that anyway. Maybe I couldn’t be there for him like I thought after all.