The Wanted Girl

Louis' POV:

It was four pm and I was headed to a bar. Needless to say, I needed a drink. I was still in psycho-Louis mode, as Liam called it. Apparently to him, making up with Zayn wasn't a good thing. Wanker. He should have wanted us to be friends again. I mean, us against the world. Right? Not right. According to Dr Payne, I was showing signs of sociopathy and should probably calm down before I did anything 'rash'.

I just needed a drink. Really, that was all I needed. Soph had done what she always did, marched in during a bad time and tried to fix everything, even the things that didn't involve her. But that was Soph's problem. To her, everything was her business. She always had to be the saving grace, the hero, the fixer. But maybe just once, I wanted to fix something on my own. I wanted to fix my friendship with Zayn. But no, Soph was horrified that something was being resolved without her consent.

Zayn was my friend first. Long before the name Sophia George meant anything to us. Long before The Wanted meant anything to us! He was the one who would give me advice about girls, not that I was ever serious about any of them. He would tell me 'you gotta find yourself a girl like my missus, someone who'll take care of ya and make you feel alive'. I would always roll my eyes because I thought he was bat shit for thinking he had found the one so young. I didn't want to be like that. And then Soph came around and fucked everything up from the moment I met her.

Hell! I dragged her down some cobblestone ally in Belfast because I needed her to come to out late night snack session with us. I would scream at her in public places, do the most ridiculous shit to get her attention. It was never enough, obviously. But at first, Zayn loved it. He thought it was awesome that I had found someone to make me feel so 'alive'. But it that's what being alive felt like, I didn't want any part of it.

If I do recall, she's the one who didn't pick me in the first place. She chose him. Then came running to me when it didn't pan out. Yeah, I was pissed at Zayn at first. But I've known Zayn four years. I've known Soph two. I lived with Zayn for three years. Soph refused to formally move in with me., She wasn't calling the shots anymore, I was.

And in order to do that, I needed a drink

So I found myself driving to a bull shit dive bar in the middle of some shit town in Marlyand, away from DC, begging for a drink. I pulled up to the bar that read 'The Townships' and raised my eyebrows, checking the place out. I had to slap myself out of it and reming myself that this really wasn't the time to be a picky pop star. I wanted quiet and alcohol and from the looks of it, I had come to the right place.

I walked into the bar and removed my sunglasses after coming to the realization that no one here gave a fuck who I was. There was one middle aged bartender and a group of three or four men playing pool and watching NASCAR on the telly. So I relaxed (or tried to) and sat up at the bar.

The bartender walked over to me and gave me a warm, maternal, smile, "Hi darling what can I do for ya?"

I rubbed my chin, looking at the chalkboard menu behind her before letting out an exasperated laugh, "I'm not even sure why I'm looking. Whatever you had on draft is fine."

She raised her eyebrows nodded, "Rough day?"

I laughed, "You could say."

She pulled a glass out of the refrigerator and pulled the tap down, leaving my mouth watering for the beer I was about to indulge in. I had realized how long it had been since I had a nice, cold, beer. On tour, IF we drank at all, it was always hard liquor. Something to get us drunk fast and leave us less of a mess to hide from everyone else.

"Here ya are," she slid the beer over to me and sat down in the chair in front of me, "I can't promise it's as good as the beer you have at home, but it's the closest thing we've got."

I smiled, really smiled, at her hospitality. It was a small gesture, even calling out that I was clearly not American without coming off like a total asshole seemed to be difficult. But for some reason, the sympathetic look on her face told me she was a mom. A mom like MY mom. Which almost made me sad.

I took a sip and grinned, "This is great, thank you."

"What's got you here in Maryland, darling?" she asked.

My eyes lit up immediately. She had no idea who I was.

I was going to tell her the truth, really. I wasn't one for lying. Especially to adults. Not adults like me, but actually adults. Like my mum. And it wasn't that I thought she'd call the press or anything, I highly doubted she was playing 'What Makes You Beautiful' around her dive bar. But it was the way she was looking at me. It was a concerned maternal look. I knew she wasn't really asking 'Oh, are you studying abroad?' but more of a 'How the hell did you end up HERE?' And for once, I didn't mind. I didn't feel cornered. She didn't seem intrusive. She was concerned and interested. And I needed to talk anyways.

So I lied.

"I'm here visiting DC with some friends, kind of," I said.

So I didn't really lie, but I didn't tell the truth either.

She nodded and rested her chin on her fist, "You enjoying it so far?"

I let out a strangled laugh, "I was. But my ex fiancée showed up and….."

I didn't know how to finish that sentence. Luckily, she tried.

"She ruined your trip?" She asked, pity written all over her face.

I shrugged, "I guess. My arse of a friend who was SUPPOSED to come with us refused so she dragged him here instead."

She raised her eyebrows, "Why didn't he want to come?"

Because he's fucking in love with her and CAN'T HAVE HER.

"He was a bit heartbroken."

She sighed, "Heartbreak'll do that to ya. I reckon you're happy he's here now though?"

I nodded, honestly.

"So what's got you here at my little bar at four in the afternoon?"

Drinking in a bar at four in the afternoon wasn't exactly an uncommon place for me to end up. The uncommon part was that Soph wasn't with me.

I smiled softly, taking another sip of my beer, "Well it's actually ten in Manchester."

She returned my small smile, "You're one of those."

I looked up at her in alarm, "What do you mean?"

She laughed quietly, waving dismissively, "Deflector. You get asked a question you don't like and you use some sort of mechanism to deflect from it, in hopes the person will stop asking."

I laughed a little, realizing that I had just gotten caught in my own subconscious shit.

"I'm kind of running away from my problems," I stated simply.

She got up and grabbed a rag off of the counter, beginning to wipe down the aluminum surface. I thought maybe she had decided against continuing our conversation. But, I was incorrect.

"Well darling, that part is obvious," she took my empty glass and walked over to the beer tap, "so this ex fiancées got you pretty shaken up?"

I thought before speaking again. I knew if I started talking I probably wouldn't be able to stop. Weighing out my pros and cons, I realized I may never have this opportunity again. A non involved woman who has no idea who I am, seemly interested in my problems. She wasn't a therapist, so she didn't have a rule book to follow. She could give me legitimate, unbiased advice.

"She's got everyone a bit shaken up," I mumbled. "She's also the one who's got my friend heartbroken."

She didn't look shocked at my revelation. She didn't even flinch.

"Start from the beginning," she said.

And I did. I told her everything. Every last bit. Not even bothering to work my way around the whole One Direction thing. Worst of all, the woman knew who we were once I told her. She seemed unimpressed, at best. She nodded along, refilling my drink each time. And each time, I got a little more hysterical and a little less coherent.

"No more," she said, taking the glass from me after my sixth.

I nodded like a scolded child, not even bothering to argue the fact that I could handle another.

"You love this girl," she stated, almost surprised.

I laughed, "I mean obviously. I PROPOSED!"

She shook her head dismissively, "Lots of people propose. Lots of people get married. Lots of people stay married for fifty years. Doesn't mean they really, truly, love each other."

I hung my head in shame. I did love her.

"I liked to feel needed," I defended, hoping she'd see our relationship as the sinking ship that it was and give me the advice I wanted… to move on.

She sighed, sitting back against the counter, "Everyone feels needed by someone at some point. It's feeling needed by the people that matter that makes your heart sing."

Sophia had turned me into a blubbering mess. I'd finally fucking realized it. She made me feel like her savior. I felt like I was her only constant. I was her safety net, her home. I liked that. I mean, I'd felt needed before, yeah. I was the only real, stable, male figure in my sisters lives. I was my moms financial support. I was the boys pick-me-up when they were feeling down. I was helpful to the fans, or so I'd like to have thought. I was important to people, I guess. I didn't deny myself that obvious fact, really. But to her… to her I felt like so much more.

I had always thought that music was my calling. Singing was what God put me on this green earth to do. Fucking sing. Sing to anyone who would listen. I liked the attention. MILLIONS of people had heard my voice, even if they didn't realize it was me. That was huge, at first. But then, I realized just how sad that is.

Millions of people have heard me sing. They've probably hummed along to my voice on the radio. They've probably scrolled past a picture of me on the internet, maybe even seen my face on TV. But none of them know me. None of them would say, 'Wow, Louis Tomlinson, he's such a cool guy' or 'Louis' so funny you have GOT to meet him!' Because they can't. Because to everyone else, I'm just a pretty face plastered all around the world with a half decent voice and a fan base full of teenage girls who would follow me into the gates of hell.

And yeah, it was not just me. It was my band mates too. They all dealt with the same exact thing. But we all handled it differently. Liam was the most level headed about it. He knew that this is just business and has no trouble separating the two. Niall had fully submerged himself into the limelight and didn't mind it at all. His only complaint was that there weren't enough hours in the day to talk to everyone and their mother about the weather and our new album. He enjoyed it. He could handle it. Zayn probably hated it the most. But Perrie was always his liferaft when things got to be too much. She could put things into perspective for him, reminding him that even if he wanted to quit he wouldn't be out of the spotlight. She wouldn't stop for him, so he wouldn't stop for himself.

Harry… Harry was indifferent. He was the one who always said he hated the term 'famous'. Which, he did. But he fit in SO well. The majority of his friends were famous. But he had no issue being just as good of friends with someone who wasn't. He did, however, like to separate the two. He liked almost having a double life. His 'normal' life, and his 'one direction based' life. And most of the time, it worked.

But I could never do that. I just chose to ignore real life and pretend that this fairytale full of bullshit was reality. The nice cars, the award shows, the concerts, the crazy parties, they weren't real life. But I didn't understand that.

Sophia's POV:

There's a certain type of euphoria people experience when their entire world stops moving. Where your vision tunnels on something or sometimes it tunnels on nothing at all. But your mind, that tunnel vision is even more intense. Your body goes numb, your thoughts completely stop. It's as if your brain just gives up. It can't process what's happening and for a few brief moments, it's as if you're floating and nothing exists at all. I'd experienced it three times in my life.

The first was when my father left. I remember watching him stumble out of the door for a late 'flight' that came out of no where. I knew he was leaving for good because he kissed me on the forehead and I could feel the sticky alcohol residue where his lips had rested. I watched his back as he went out of the door and everything went fuzzy. I was ten. I didn't 'know' he wasn't coming back. There was nothing that could've told me that this time was different. There was nothing that discriminated this from the twenty or so other times he had an impromptu meeting to attend to. But I knew. My intuition told me that was going to be the last time I saw my father. And in that moment, I was floating. That was the last thing I remember from that night. My vision tunneling.

The second time was when I saw Max perform with the boys at the O2 arena. There wasn't any rhyme or reason why THAT performance did it for me. Maybe it was the energy of the fans, maybe it was the new lighting, maybe it was Nathan kissing me that day. But it felt as if the world around me was gone and so was I. The only thing I could see was my brother grinning to me off stage, leaving nothing but pride building in my chest. It was one of the best moments of my life, and I couldn't tell you why.

The third was the most painful. It was when I found Perrie. It was the kind of euphoria that makes you feel like you're in a dream. Everything is cloudy and fuzzy, you know that you're walking or yelling but you can't feel or hear anything. Your body goes into autopilot but your head and heart just stop.

All of these instances brought on different emotions. Confusion, happiness, heartache. But this day was different. This state of euphoria was one I hadn't felt yet. This was pure rage.

I had just woken up from a nap. I was tired and sad and not quite sure of what to do with myself. It had taken all I had in me to walk away from these people the first time. My heart told me that my job was to bring Zayn back here. I did that. Now I felt like I had no place being here, yet I didn't want to leave just yet.

So instead, I pranced to Niall's room to check on him. He may not have been happy with me, but he was my friend. Always had been. I knocked on the door and waited for a response, when I heard none, I knocked again.

I heard some ruffling and then a squeaky voice I hadn't heard in a while come through the door, "Who is it?!"

Serena.

"It's um… Soph," I stated blandly. Even saying my name out loud to her felt so wrong. It all felt foreign, like I wasn't supposed to say anything. Like I should have ran away right then and there. But I didn't.

I was furious at her. So furious. But I couldn't form coherent emotions in that moment. It was like every ounce of real, human emotion had been used up for the day and all I was left with was numbness.

That was, until she opened the door and I saw her face.

"You cunt," I whispered through squinted eyes.

Her already hardened face fell and she sent daggers right back at me.

"You shouldn't be here, Niall's sleeping and not in the mood for company," she said in a low voice.

"I need to talk to him," I retorted.

She walked through the door, keeping it propped open with her foot and crossed her lanky arms.

"No honey, you shouldn't be here at all. Like in this hotel. Or this country even. You're not welcome here, you just tear everyone apart."

I let out a low laugh, "If anyone is responsible for tearing people apart, it's you. Don't tell me where I do and don't belong."

She shot me a fake smile, "I'm here to take care of my boyfriend. He needs ME right now. What he doesn't need is you coming in here to feed him lies and worry him even more."

This girl was fucking unbelievable.

"You're not really going to tell me about worrying him with bullshit, are you?!" My voice was raising and I couldn't stop it, "Because last time I checked, you're the REASON HE HASN'T SLEPT IN A MONTH!"

She shushed me almost immediately, "Keep your voice down you psycho! Niall's asleep!"

I laughed, "Why?! You don't want him to know your dirty little secret?!"

She narrowed her eyes at me, "Who's he going to believe, you or me?"

"Yet you haven't denied my claims. Say it. Say it right now, to my face."

She rolled her eyes, "This is ridiculous."

I could feel the anger boiling inside of me. I felt so close to the truth. So close to cracking her. I was mere inches away from clearing my bestfriends name. I was almost there, and I couldn't fucking take it.

"Say it," I gritted.

"Nathan Sykes raped me, happy?" She said, smiling genuinely.

I could feel angry tears welling up in my eyes, the kind I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop.

"No he didn't," I croaked.

She scoffed, "Oh here come the waterworks. Fine whatever, you know he didn't. But everyone else thinks he did. And that's all I really need."

That was the moment. That was the moment everything stopped. For a brief second, everything was in slow motion. The world stopped turning and my life was on pause. I wasn't breathing, and neither was she.

But it wasn't her confession that caused this euphoria. It was what happened next.

The door she had cracked was now completely open, and a wide eyed, half asleep, stunned, Niall Horan was standing in the doorway. And he looked to be out for blood.

Notes

GUYS I FINISHED IT. I FINALLY BROKE MY WRITERS BLOCK. THIS IS A HAPPY DAY AND I LOVE YOU ALL SOOSOSOSOSOSOOSOS FUCKING MUCH. THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME.

please please please comment and tell me your thoughts!!

yours,
Elle x