***Harry Styles***
Saturday, July 14th, 2012 – North London, England

There was no way I was going back to mine and Louis’s place. No way in hell. Everything there reminded me of him, of us, and like I had made clear, there was no us. I also knew that if I went to the house, Louis was really the one who wouldn’t have anywhere else to go. I still had my family. Of course, I wasn’t going to go to my parents’ and worry my mom over this – she loved Louis, and she loved that I was with Louis, and she loved that I was living my dream of being in a band. No way did I have the heart (what was left of said heart, anyway) to tell her I had just somehow managed to lose all of that in one day. So I drove to Gemma’s, but I don’t really remember how I got there. It wasn’t like I could see because I was crying so hard, and the tears had matted my hair to my face, hindering my vision, but I didn’t care. Somehow, I made it, and I pulled up in front of her apartment and banged on the door, just like I had at Liam’s earlier that day; not even the long drive was enough to calm me down. Gemma thrust the door open and saw me. She didn’t even ask me if I was okay, she didn’t have to because she knew I wasn’t. She pulled me inside and wrapped her arms around me in one of those tight loving hugs that only a sister can give. She held me for a long time, rocking me back and forth, not even trying to tell me it would be alright because she knew me well enough to know that wasn’t what I needed to hear. Finally, when I started to breathe like a normal person again, she started pulling us towards the couch, but she kept both arms around me as we did so, and continued to keep them around me as we sat down. Eventually, she took one arm away so she could look at my mess of a face. She smoothed my hair back out of my eyes.

“Talk to me,” she said.

“Louis and I broke up and then the whole band got in a huge fight and I think we broke up too but I’m not sure because we have a contract and everyone’s mad at everyone and Louis hates me and I don’t know what to do!” I said it all in one breath, and then I covered my face with my hands and rocked back and forth. Gemma wrapped both of her arms around my shoulders and leaned back, pulling me back against the couch with her. I rested my head on her upper arm and cried into it as she stroked my hair, which only made it worse because that was what Louis always did when I was upset.

“Harry,” she whispered. “Sweet, sweet Harry,” was all she said, like she used to when we were kids and she would try to get me to fall asleep. I just kept crying. I couldn’t stop. I was letting out everything I’d been holding in since even before Louis and I were together. All the pain, the depression, the darkness, the cutting, the hiding, the lying, the fear, the anger, the guilt, the regret – all of that on top of all of that day’s events. All I wanted was my razor blade. It consumed my thoughts. That was one thing Gemma didn’t know about me – if she found out, she would freak out and worry and tell my parents and then who knows what they would do. I knew I had to calm down before I started talking again, or I would slip and mention a razor blade or cutting and then things would only get worse – which didn’t even seem possible at the moment. “Deep breaths, my sweet, sweet love,” Gemma said gently. I obeyed, and took a few deep breaths. It started to calm me down. “Now,” she said, kissing me on the temple, “why did you and Louis break up?”

I went into the whole story, starting with what had happened with Management that morning, and I didn’t even skip a beat transitioning from my fight with Louis to the fight with the whole band. I skipped the parts that had to with cutting, though, and amazingly, I did feel slightly better when I was done talking about everything. Gemma sat quietly and listened intently the whole time, rubbing my back or squeezing my hand when I would start to get upset again. After I finished, she gave me another hug, her eyes full of sympathy and worry.

“Okay,” she said when she let go of me. “You have two choices.” I already knew what one of them would be. Ever since we were little, when I would come to Gemma with a problem, she would ask me if I wanted her advice before she gave it to me, knowing that sometimes I just needed her to listen and not try and fix my life like she was so inclined to do as my older, protective sister. “I can either give you advice, or I can give you a beer.” I almost smiled.

“Beer, please,” I sniffled. She nodded, then gave me another long hug.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go see what you can whip up for dinner.” That time, I did smile. Nobody ever wanted to cook if I was around, because they knew I could do it, and that I enjoyed it. Gemma pulled me to my feet and we went into her kitchen.

We spent the evening cooking dinner together, drinking, joking around with each other, and I almost even had fun. She knew exactly what I needed, and she knew that if and when I was ready for her advice, I would ask her for it. Halfway through dinner, her phone buzzed with a text message. She looked at it sadly.

“Everything okay?” I asked her. She looked at me and bit her lip.

“Louis wants to know if you’re here,” she said, gently. I couldn’t evaluate what my insides did right then – the instantaneous sick to my stomach feeling was either because I was glad Louis cared or frustrated to hear from him now that I was starting to feel better. “What do you want me to tell him?” Gemma asked. I felt bad, because I knew Louis was sitting at home by himself, going through the exact same thing I was, only I had my sister. I felt the guilt spread throughout me.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “You can tell him I’m here. And – and make sure he’s okay, will you? But don’t tell him I’m the one who wants to know.” Gemma smiled, nodded in agreement, then typed into her phone. I waited impatiently for Louis to write back. Her phone buzzed a few minutes later, and I held my breath as she read it.

“Louis says he’s glad you’re okay,” she said slowly, peering up at me from her phone.

“He didn’t say if he is?” I asked. Gemma shook her head.

“But he’s obviously thinking clear enough to text me, so I’m sure he’s fine,” she reached across the table and squeezed my hand, and I lost it again, crying into my plate. Gemma rushed over and wrapped her arms around me once more, and I gave up trying to eat, or fight the tears. She pulled me over to the couch and sat with me as I cried myself to sleep. We ended up passed out on her couch, her arm around me as I snuggled against her.