Incidisti in Passum

There was an explosion of cheers from the crew behind the eight cameras scattered around the studio. Louis and Harry had just finished presenting a compilation video from fans in Norway. This live stream had been going on for about five hours now, non-stop, with a few technical difficulties. It had been rather entertaining, watching the boys make fools of themselves as different activities kept them preoccupied. Long Live the Dead, my band, was one of the special guests. Someone thought it would be a good idea to bring us to the show for some chit chat and a live performance of our new single. Since our album came out a few days after One Direction's "Midnight Memories" and I was closely connected to Harry, it all seemed like a good idea, but no one really knows what happened in that hotel room on Christmas Eve. No one knows what happened afterwards. The epilogue to our romantic kiss in December, now a year later, isn't what I pictured in my head. After giving me the dandelion necklace, Harry kissed me. I can still remember the calming shiver than flowed through my body, now it feels like a blow to the chest. The way his lips fit with mine now remind me of the sting of the hot chocolate. Because after our spontaneous kiss, we allowed adrenaline and impulse to guide of movements. It wasn't long before a soft spark erupted into wild fire. Our lips clashed like thunder, soon enough out tongues danced with one another's. Before I could remember how to breathe, we were laying in the master bedroom, tangling our fingers in each other's hair. Harry moved his hands to my thighs and lifted my small body into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his hips before I lower down onto the bed. I felt so small as he stood over me. His torso alone exceeded my height. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at me in the dark. My eyes adjusted well enough, so I could see his silhouette and features. I watched patiently as he pulled off his sweater in one movement. Before I could admire the artwork of his body, he lowered himself down to my neck. One hand lightly placed on the left half, he delicately pecked at the other with his soft lips. My hands wondered around the creased and muscles of his stomach, sides, and chest as I searched for a place to rest them. It was too much fun, exploring his exposed build. His abs felt like rivers, cut into hard earth of his figure. I liked to gently trace my fingers along his sides, from hip to ribs. He had a soft spot right in between that caused him shiver.

"I'm ticklish," he whispered and giggled in my ear. I smirked to myself and did it again. Without warning, he nipped at the nape of my neck. My own personal sweet spot. I could only gasp and remove my hands, running them back through his hair. "Did that hurt?" he asked sweetly.
"No, I liked it," I muttered in a small voice. He kissed the spot where he bit me before nibbling once again. His free hand was under my shirt, running up my stomach. He was slow and steady. Examining my body with his touch. As I trembled beneath him, I let out little gasps. I allowed him to remove my shirt and toss it to the floor. He cupped my breasts in his hands and began to trail down to my collarbone with is lips. Even the thought makes me quiver, but not with the same ecstasy as before. Now my body shivers with rage.

He continued down to my belly, caressing my curves as he went lower. My body surged with a roar of electricity as I felt him move. The touch of his skin on mine was enough to send me into a frenzy. I let out small whimpers, showing him how vulnerable I was. He has me under a spell, and I think he knew. I now tremble with a well fueled anger that only the bitter and heart broken can understand. I look at him from behind the cameras and crowd of crew members, wondering if he remembers me. Fresh in my mind, I remembered how I allowed him to take me. Calm, relaxed, and smoothly, he smiled at me in the darkness. Whispering tender words in my ears, landing soft pecks on my skin, before he began moving his hips in a slow rhythm. Such subtle movements caused me to gasp and sigh as the electricity continued to send random jolts through out my body. While he was composed and confident with his actions, I was nervous. I frequently blushed and whimpered, trying my best to remain quiet. This was my attempt to not bother him, which made it all the more embarrassing when he would ask me if I was okay. Every thing was okay, this was perfect. Yet I laid there, second guessing myself, scared, and worried of what he would think of me the morning after. This wasn't the time for that. Eventually I allowed the overflowing ecstasy to take me. My body moved to the same song as his as my weak sighs became full moans. I could feel his lips spread into a smile against the nape of my neck. He kissed it every so often to reassure me that everything was fine. It was soothing. The friction between our bodies made us sweat and made our breathing uneasy, but he continued to press his body firmly against mine. I could feel the ridges of his stomach against the smooth flesh of mine. My arms draped around his chiseled back as my nails lazily dug their way into it. But my muscle were numb to the ever growing earthquake that was erupting inside of me. I couldn't hold on to him. I could only wonder why he made me this way.
I watch his movements now on the set of their live stream. Much like on that night, he was fluid, calm, and charismatic. The natural light around him glistened, dazzling every eye that had the misfortune of gazing upon him. They weren't aware they were victims, much like my own ignorance. Inside of my body, the emotions I once felt for him flipped. The change in polarity was gradual, over many emotional months of loneliness and confusion. Before New York, Harry and I were close. He knew my secrets and I knew some of his, but they could've been lies now. We share hospital visits together. He slept by my side in my time of need, and never allowed me to forget his debt to me. At first I thought it was because he guilty and too kind, but now I think it was to keep me grounded. To make me feel guilty. Our closeness became distance. We packed our bags the morning after our sexual encounter. I awoke with my body tucked gingerly in his arms. His strong fingers running through the knots in my hair. Though my skin was clammy, with my hair a mess, and my body still weak from the night prior, he looks at me like I was something beautiful. With that smile as the first thing I saw that morning, I nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, and kissed it. I felt comfortable doing so. It was a strange feeling, but nice all the same.

"Is that okay?" I asked him, pulling my lips away from his glossy skin.
"Yeah, go ahead, Love," his words creating a surge of joy through out me.
Though we were this close, he still couldn't see how I felt. It was like we were pressing hands through a glass wall, but soon we would knock it down, and embrace. I was too scared at the time to ask if we were still friends, or more. I figured the right time would come for us to establish tedious titles. For now, we packed our clothes, and prepared for plane rides home. At the airport, he saw me off. He gave me the tightest, most meaningful hug he's ever given me. Then he took my face in his hands and kissed me. It was as if every feeling I've ever felt for him was exposed, blossoming in front of him like flowers. I thought that sealed everything, but it didn't. It created more confusion and worry than I could ever imagine. Because after we departed for our flights, I never heard from Harry again. Usually, we'd cam at night, or the morning for his time. We never did that again. Not a message, or a word. I tried getting a hold of him a handful of times after New York. When I arrived home, I messaged him on Skype and told him I had made it home safely, but I never received the same courtesy from him. Weeks past and I tried talking to him again. Long Live the Dead were billed for the UK's Warped Tour. I wanted to ask if he wanted to hang out when we were in town, but nothing. After four months of digital silence, I gave up trying to contact him. I figured he had abandoned me. The amount of pain I felt almost destroyed me. My heart swelled into a giant gray cloud. Thunder shook my chest with depression. It made for decent song lyrics and beautiful scars.

Most nights, I'd lay up in my room, alone, with notebooks, a pen, and my depression. I fought a one sided war for a year. Dennis, Dakota, Connor, and our new drummer Anthony, worried about me. I found out they would take turns checking up on me whenever I'd sleep. I found this out when one night, I woke up to Connor quietly standing in my doorway at 4 in the morning. He wasn't suppose to be there. When I exited my room for the first time in months, I found my band in my living room, watching TV, and eating pizza. Dennis confessed to his concern, as did the others. I realized I hadn't talked to any of them since I arrived. I just shut down. I didn't tell them what happened with Harry, I never did, but I told them we weren't talking anymore. I confessed all that I felt was necessary. Mostly I explained my depression and that I needed some help. My boys were there for me every step of the way. Most of my recovery took place on tour, in England. It was hard because I knew somewhere there was Harry, enjoying his life without a care, while I wallowed in self pity, and loathing. It wasn't easy, but eventually I felt well enough to stand on my own. There was many tears, a lot of heartache, and too many restless nights. My pillowcase was soaked in tears and screams, but that faded. It wasn't until the end of the tour that I could finally say that I didn't care about him. But that was a lie. I would always care about him, even if I hated him. I'd miss that goofy smile and stupid laugh. It hurt, realizing that I'd never get another chance to sit on a couch and watch dumb cartoons with him. No more jokes or tickle fights or hot chocolate sprinkled with cinnamon. I'd miss his childish ways. The annoying way he'd apologize for everything, like I did too frequently. The sweet way he'd try to make everything better, even when it wasn't his fault. I had to realize that he was cruel and heartless. The image I had built for him in my mind was a lie. It crumbled under the weight of my looming anxiety. The rumble of my beautiful fantasy laid side by side with the pieces of my heart. I desperately tried to pick up those broken shards and glue them back together, but nothing worked. I remained cold and empty. It was as if Harry had dove into my chest, hollowing out any loving feeling I had as he burrowed deeper. When he left, so did my affection.

I waited patiently with my band behind the scenes. I was surrounded by my best friends. Within their hearts beat the same amount of anger that I felt. I was thankful for my boys. They stood by me through my darkest times and never ran away. We had to push our harsh emotions to the side and trudged onto the set. Louis had introduced our band and motioned for us to join him and Harry in the lounge area. Harry sat alone on a black bean bag chair, identical to Louis's. Connor and Anthony sat on a two person loveseat, cramped next to each other due to Anthony's built stature. Dennis and I sat together on an identical love seat while Dakota sat on a lavender chair to my left. Harry was across from me, so it was hard to evade eye contact. Whoever thought it was a good idea to bring us onto the show was an idiot. I had my own division of hatred for whoever they were.
Louis read from small cards placed delicately in his hand. It was surprising how much he knew about our band and what we were doing. Maybe it was all written on his cards, but he knew about our tour and up coming album. He knew about our previous work as well, even things that we did before our big break. It wasn't until he asked about our tour in UK that Harry spoke up.

"You were doing shows in England?" he asked as if this was his first time hearing it. I must have told him a hundred times.
"And Scotland and Ireland. We were there for a while," I tried to reply with minimal attitude, but it was hard.
Whenever I'd feel Harry's eyes piercing through my wall, my chest would tense up. To stop myself from heaving and having an anxiety attack, I held my breath. It made my chest feel tighter, but it stopped me from shaking nervously. For the first time in a while, I rarely spoke during an interview. As the lead singer, I'm expected to answer questions. I put on smiles and show off my "friendly" personality with jokes and cunning remarks. Dennis took most of Louis's questions. Dakota fed off of his witty sense of humor. Connor even threw in a few jokes. Anthony, feeling shy and new, remained rather quiet with me. I noticed that other than Harry's one question, he was silent as well. Not that I cared, but it was hard to ignore. The usually fun filled boy was reserved and mute. His eyes would only go one of two places, the floor, or on me. The ten minutes conversation between Louis and my band felt like forever. The uncomfortable silence between Harry and I felt like a imaginary warzone. Like the words we wanted to say could be felt, but not heard. Even then he was hushed. The pain that appeared on his sunken face showed that he would feel the stinging blow of every harsh insult. It took a lot of courage, but eventually I dug my sights into him. I examined his new appearance. This is when I noticed that the boy sitting across from me wasn't my Harry. He was thinner and his face was hollow. The dazzling hazel eyes I had grown accustom to were bland; just one empty shade of dark green. His cheeks were sunken into sharp, slender face. It was as if his now tacky, tanned skin was clingy tightly to frame of his skull. His usual tight fitting clothes hung like drapes on his weak frame. Was he sick? I couldn't tell and I didn't have time to figure it out. By the time I picked up the pieces and began putting them together, Louis had stood up and introduced our newest single. The boys were already on their way to their instruments while I sat scrutinizing Harry. I hurried to the microphone. Pressing my lips against the cold metal and gripping the mic, I heard Harry speak up for a brief moment.

"What's this song call?" he asked, his words slurred and tired.
"Congratulations, I hate you," I said as I looked him dead in his emotionless eyes.
Just then music picked up. The boys played their instruments hard and vigorously. It probably wouldn't be what One Direction fans were use to, but that didn't matter. Our lyrical content was far from the boy band, poppy words they were use to and our sound was much harsher. Everything from the screech of the guitars to Anthony's relentless double bass was different.

I took a deep breath as the intro faded to a slow rhythm. My part was coming up.
"Thanks for the warning, Baby. You have venom in your voice. I had no choice but to fall. Oh, Baby, please, don't use those words on me. I'm already swallowed by the sea of sound. I'm drowning, drowning in your lungs. You took the dream we built and brought it to it's knees. You ravaged through my mind, like a bullet, and destroyed all of me," I sang softly into the studio mic. Out of all the eyes on me, Harry's were the strongest. It was difficult not to glance over at him as the words left my lips. They were all for him. "And as I screamed your name, the earth quaked beneath my feet. Maybe it's just me, but I thought I meant something. There is no sympathy for the dead. I have no remorse for the one who shoved the bullet through my head. With a final gasping breath I say..." I took another deep breath after the chorus. My grip tightened around the microphone and I ripped it off the stand. My fingers coiled around it tighter as I rather my other hand through my hair and exhaled another verse.
"Don't worry about me, I swear I'll be fine. Just give me time. Give me lies. Oh God, please, keep your misery away from me, I couldn't handle another sleepless night. Another clash against the sea. Sure, Darling, I'll wait for another winter evening. By then I'll stain your stain your image and blur your words. By then you'll have forgotten all about her. I promise, Baby, one day, you'll be crawling back. Once they all forget your name and there's nothing left," by then I was jumping and practically yelling as I sang. The music behind me lifted me up higher and higher. My adrenaline ran through my veins. I was angry, hyper, anxious, and ready to confront Harry whether he wanted to or not.
"As I screamed your name, the earth quaked beneath my feet. Maybe it's just me, but I thought I meant something. There is no sympathy for the dead. I have no remorse for the one who shoved the bullet through my head. With a final gasping breath I say, congratulations, I hate you. I don't care if this hurts you, I'll finally spill my guts. How will you expect to find me through the smoke and dust? I refuse to shed another tear. Don't expect to find me when the smoke has cleared," I finished. The music faded gently, besides a swiftly, rapid drumming from Anthony. This is when I took a monologue, and began speaking.
"No one ever said that life was fair, and I'm not saying that it should. But to know that you're where you want to be and I'm not comes as no surprise. So don't expect me to be happy for you, and don't you dare smile at me and tell me things will work out for me too. I don't want your pity," with that I pushed the mic back into the stand and we left the stage.
I took a final look over at Harry, but he was no longer there. Louis stood alone, applauding our performance. The camera swung around him, clapping awkwardly by himself. He looked into the lens with a playful smile.
"That concludes this hour of our livestream. Stay tune for about three minutes and hang out with Niall and Liam," just as he said that, Harry ran back onstage, and stood next to Louis. His new appearance was happy and joyful. He draped one arm around his friend with a wide smile on his face.
"Why leave? I could go for another hour or two," Harry said as he jogged in place and bounced up and down. He was full of energy. But before anything else could happen, the cameras swapped their time for Niall's and Liam's. Just moments later, me and the boys were escorted to our dressing rooms as where Louis and Harry, but they were taken by separate body guards. It was a good thing, I didn't want to be within twenty feet of Harry.

Notes