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Unrequitedly, Bryce

Trois

Anonymous asked: If you know Harry, why would you have this blog exposing him and his secrets? Don’t you think that’s a little fucked up?

I don’t care what anyone says, you can’t pick your friends: if you could, I would not have picked Harry. If my 16-year-old self had known that Harry was “destined for greatness” or whatever, I would have friend broken up with him long ago.

Harry brought me a glass of orange juice and a tray of food that I didn’t order. Of course I couldn’t have possibly known that it was him because I was in a deep sleep, but he was the only one with my spare room key, so call it a hunch. “Good morning, sunshine,” the intruder said. Yep, I was right. He placed the tray on my bed and I could suddenly smell heaven.

The curtains were ripped open and I nearly fell out of bed in the attempt to shield my eyes. I hadn’t had enough to drink to be hungover, but really, who likes sunlight first thing in the morning? No one, that’s who. “Do you get up this early every morning?” I asked, sitting up and still holding my hand up against the bright rays. If that was the case, I was out of here.

He walked back around the bed, getting underneath the covers on the empty side and pulling the tray up so it rested on both of our laps. “Only when we travel,” he said, “But since the next city isn’t that far, we have a few hours off.” He lifted the lid and my stomach grumbled, “How’s your head?”

“It’s good,” I said, “Unlike Prairie, I didn’t get drunk off my arse.”

He handed me a fork and we both picked at the continental breakfast on the plate. “Who’s Prairie?” he asked.

“Zayn’s girl,” I said, knitting my eyebrows together because I figured that he should have known if I did.

“Wait, do you mean Perrie?” he wondered.

I looked at him, confused, “Who’s Perrie?”

“Zayn’s girl,” he said. He laughed, “What kind of name is Prairie?”

“The fuck kind of name is Perrie?” I retorted. I reached over him and to the nightstand on his side, grabbing the orange juice. I only swallowed a little bit, but I almost spat it out. I stuck my tongue out, trying to get rid of the awful taste, “What did you put in here?” I demanded.

“It’s vodka,” he said, shrugging. He took a swig himself, “I thought you’d be hungover so I figured I’d help. You know, you kind of hold your liquor like a girl.”

“No shit?” I asked trying to sound genuinely curious.

He smiled, “Shit.”

The alcohol must have triggered a sensory memory of some sort, because suddenly everything came back. Having Harry in bed with me felt wrong—I was exposed and used, nothing more than a cheap thrill. I suddenly became emotionally drained and dropped my fork in disdain. “Where’s Meg?” I asked coldly. The jig was up—if Harry was going to whore around like this, I had the right to know. After all, he was the one who invited me on tour.

He set his fork down gently and sighed, “Brycey, I’m sorry. I’ll admit that I used you and that was wrong of me, but you did go along with it.”

I glared out the window even though the sunlight hurt my eyes, “If you’re gonna use me like that the least you could do is warn me,” I spat.

“I know,” he said, “And I’m sorry. I guess I just kind of figured that you would go along with it, and you did. To be honest I didn’t even know if it would work.”

I whipped my head around so fast that it made me dizzy. My eyes narrowed, “So now you want to sleep with me just because?”

I legitimately would never date Harry. Not only was he not my type, but I wasn’t his. Actually, who am I kidding? Girl is Harry’s type. But really, we would just make a terrible couple in general. We were too similar—there has to be a good balance of similarities and opposition in a relationship, and our scale would forever be unequal. As friends we were perfect because we both knew and understood this—it was a common discussion.

To put it in simpler terms, I shipped Harry with a lot of people, and I shipped myself with a lot of people too. But “Barry” (Bryce + Harry) was not a ship I would board.

Briall/Nyce (Niall + Bryce) on the other hand…

(Although, not gonna lie, Jiall [Justin Bieber + Niall]… I would sink with that ship.)

Harry wanted the whole package: a girlfriend to shower with affection, but a girl for the night would do. I was the opposite: being in love was useless—what happens when your partner betrays you or leaves or dies and you’re left to fend for yourself? Love only ends in heartbreak, and it was stupid to think otherwise. I didn’t need someone to support me—I could do it myself, and when I couldn’t I always had friends and family.

No,” he said quickly. He knew how opposed to our dating I was. “I was drunk and horny and I’m sorry.”

And, because I was stupid and I loved him, I smiled. “To be honest, I probably would have done the same thing in your place.”

Of course he wasn’t to be forgiven for a few more days, but in all fairness I was expected to perform as a wingman. My duties went astray for a period, but everything eventually fell into place. And I really was telling the truth: if there was a hot guy I wanted to shag, I would probably go to similar lengths as Harry to make it happen.

“Can we at least agree on something?” he asked. “Let’s not sleep together anymore—I don’t know how to one-night stand you.”

Leave it to Harry to use “one-night stand” as a verb. “Yeah, this is getting weird,” I agreed.

We pinky swore on it as my phone vibrated from my nightstand. Because I knew Harry was a peeping tom, I was half afraid to check it—it could have been about my blog. I wasn’t ashamed of it, but it was something I would prefer to keep to myself. If Harry (or any of One Direction/their team for that matter) knew about the blog, they would probably be half angry (because I was exposing some of their secrets) and half thankful (because I was clearing up rumors); it was all very bittersweet.

I decided to take the chance and check my phone. Luckily, Harry was too preoccupied with eating (because he was a guy and didn’t have to worry about his figure like I did). It was a long text from Connor, my sort of boyfriend, reading, Hey, I wish I could say this to you in person, but I’ve just found out that you’re w/ Harry on tour. But I just wanted to talk about what happened the other night. I understand if you need space, but I miss you. I’ve checked 1D’s tour dates and you’re still in the area. I’ll be at Mr. Chow’s tonight at 9 if you’re interested. If you aren’t, I completely understand. –C

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, stuffing his face and looking over at the fact that I was staring blankly at my phone.

“Connor,” I said slowly, still trying to process the message. I had been with Connor for about eighteen months and in that time I had dipped my toes into the love pool. He wasn’t a bad guy; he just had a bad habit of being too ignorant when it came to other people’s emotions. He and Harry never really liked each other so Harry never understood my attraction to him, but they tolerated each other for my sake. “He wants me to meet him tonight for dinner.”

“You shouldn’t do it.” He had swallowed his food—how chivalrous. “I thought you two broke up.”

I shrugged, “I don’t even know. We just kind of… got into a fight and never made up.”

“That doesn’t even make sense. You know what I think?” I knew this was rhetorical because if I knew one thing about Harry it was that he was going to give me his opinion no matter what. “He’s a dick. You deserve so much more than a guy who you don’t even know if you’ve broken up with or not yet. No offense, but you have really shitty taste in guys.”

My mouth fell open angrily, “Wait, what? I have shitty taste in guys? Have you seen some of the things you go for?”

“This isn’t about me,” he protested.

“Oh, fuck you,” I said sardonically. I meant it, too. “I must have shitty taste in friends too.”

He sighed, “Come on, Brycey—”

“Don’t you Brycey me, Harry. You’re my best friend; you’re supposed to be supportive of me whether or not you like my decisions. I do it for you all the time, the least you could do is throw me a bone every once in a while.”

By that point I was out of bed and pacing around the room, with Harry following my every move. He knew well enough to stay back because I really wasn’t afraid to hit him—I had done it before, I could do it again. “What are you saying?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“What I’m saying is that I want you to be supportive of my relationship with Connor like I was with you and Caroline—and let’s face it, that was one fucked up relationship,” and a story for another time.

He stopped pacing and stood erectly at the corner of the bed. “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I just have a bad feeling about him, you know that.”

I scoffed, “I’m done here.”

“Bryce, come on,” he said, almost panicking. “You don’t even believe in relationships, why does my opinion matter so much? Bryce—”

Even though it was my room, I stormed out. An argument between Harry and I wasn’t uncommon, but it still sucked. Every now and then we would have a disagreement and it would span over a few days through various arguments. I should have seen this one coming—we had just had this argument in his apartment.

I went to the hotel lounge and planted myself in a corner, pulling out my phone and rereading Connor’s message. Harry was right, I didn’t believe in relationships, but for Connor I was almost willing to try. I didn’t reply to the message because I still didn’t know if I wanted to meet him, but I was honestly considering it.

I opened my Tumblr app and it nearly crashed with everything it had to load. Under any other circumstance I could handle the hate, the doubt, the insolence, but at that time I wanted nothing more than to get myself out of it. The blog wasn’t even 24 hours old yet and already it was causing me problems. All I wanted was to get into fashion, why did life have to be so hard? To set the record straight, I decided to answer what appeared to be the most common question.

Anonymous asked: If you know Harry, why would you have this blog exposing him and his secrets? Don’t you think that’s a little fucked up?

My answer was simple. I was mad at Harry, yes, but I wouldn’t let my feelings towards him get in the way of why I made the blog in the first place—I had to be diplomatic. I replied: believe me, if you were in my situation, you would need to blog too. all of the things i publish are things that i would say/have said to their faces. this blog was protected to protect harry and the boys. i hope this sets the record straight.

Because I couldn’t help the fact that I was addicted to media, I decided to scroll through more of the questions, even though I would wait to answer them until I got ahold of my computer again. Naturally I wasn’t pleased with what I was reading (the comments were mostly hate because I hadn’t posted enough for my followers to get an idea of who I was) and I was already emotionally stimulated from my fight with Harry. My eyes began to water as my mind wandered, and I seriously considered going back to London and deleting the blog to save the trouble.

“Hey,” someone from behind me said cautiously, as if they were unsure if I was the person they wanted.

I wiped my eyes quickly before turning around. My insides crumbled when I saw Niall (who looked sexy ask fuck in his snapback, jeans, and T-shirt) because I realized that I probably couldn’t have looked worse. “Hey,” I said, smiling. There I was, sitting in my pajamas with no makeup, no idea of what my hair looked like, crying, and 10000% done.

I had met One Direction shortly after they finished the Xtra Factor, during their less-than-attractive days. I never grew close to any of them, but we were all on a familiar, friendly basis. In my opinion, Niall had grown into the most handsome (with Zayn in a close second…unf) and I did nothing short of internal fangirling every time I saw him.

He walked closer, leaning against the arm rest of the chair next to mine, “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m just…” I fiddled with my phone, figuring that that would speak for itself. “Harry and I got into a bit of a quarrel. What’re you doing here?”

“I was just going to grab a bite to eat before we left,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the café. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally,” I said quickly, wiping my eyes again. I’ll bet that’s the fastest he’d ever heard someone from Cheshire speak.

He shrugged and straightened up, “Okay,” he said, unconvinced. I wasn’t expecting Niall to ask me to eat with him or anything (we literally only ever talked to each other when other people were around), but I prayed that he wasn’t suddenly feeling bold because I couldn’t take being photographed with him for the sole purpose of what would come of it. “Well, I’ll see you later, then,” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

Not a second after he began to walk away, he turned around. I held my breath—if Niall asked me to eat with him I couldn’t have said no, but I really did not want to deal with anyone. “Hey, whatever Harry said, I’m sure he’s wrong.”

I smiled, “Thanks.”

He smiled too, “Don’t mention it.”

If Harry and I weren’t fighting, I could have been calling and/or texting him as soon as Niall was out of earshot so I could fangirl with him. This whole fight was starting to make me feel like maybe tour wasn’t worthwhile in the first place.

---

I was young and stupid, which meant I made decisions that went against what I believed in.

So, yeah. I decided to go out with Connor.

While One Direction was doing their show, I called a cab to take me to Mr. Chow’s from the venue—no one would miss me anyway. Dressed to impress with my heart on my sleeve, I mentally prepared what I wanted to say to Connor: if he was ready to get back together like his text said, than damn it, so was I. In the end, he made me happy and nothing could take that away from me.

I arrived to the restaurant with confidence, feeling like hot shit. I waltzed right in and gave the hostess a dazzling smile, “Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Kelly’s table… Ah, there he is, thank you.”

“Bryce,” Connor said, standing up when he saw me. He held me at arm’s length as we exchanged kisses on both cheeks. “You look lovely.”

“I know,” I said jokingly. He pulled the chair out for me. “It’s good to see you,” I said.

“It’s great to see you too,” he said happily. This was already going really well—I could feel a successful dinner coming up.

We made small talk while we waited for our food—how he was, how I was, how Harry was, how work was, etc. We hadn’t seen each other in two days and it felt like a lifetime had passed.

After we had a few drinks in us, we finally got down to the punch line. “So, about the other night…” I said, changing the subject.

“Yes,” he said, setting his glass of wine down.

“I feel like all we’ve been doing is fighting, and instead of making up we just sleep together,” I said. It was annoying—that was always a bad part of a relationship, but getting over it was the greatest part.

“I agree,” he said. That’s why—”

At the same time, he and I said, “I think we should breakup / I think we should get back together,” Respectively.

And then, we both said, “What?”

“You go first,” he said.

“You want to break up?” I asked angrily, “What about the text? You said you wanted to get back together!”

He shook his head, “I said I wanted to talk and that I missed you,” he said quietly. I guess I had been raising my voice because he motioned for me to take it down a notch.

What?” I asked again, louder than he wanted me to. “You should have been clearer then!”

“I’ve been thinking about it and it seems like the right thing to do,” he said sadly. “Bryce, I’m sorry.”

If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. “Save it,” I seethed, standing up. I threw my napkin on the table, infuriated.

And that, kids, is why love is unnecessary.

If I had just followed me own rules and avoided the relationship in the first place, I wouldn’t have been balling my eyes out and interrupting everyone’s dinner. I wouldn’t have to deal with this heartbreak and the fact that it felt like nobody in the entire world wanted anything to do with me. I didn’t have Connor, I didn’t have Harry, and I didn’t even have Tumblr.

I marched out of the restaurant as fast as my heels would take me and then ran down the block. When I couldn’t go any further, I hailed a cab to take me back to the hotel. The cab driver didn’t ask any questions, which I appreciated. My entire body hurt and my trembles didn’t help much. I guess it’s true—you never realize what something means to you until it’s gone.

As if my night couldn’t get any worse, it appeared that One Direction was back at the hotel. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of girls standing outside the hotel, singing their songs. “Fuck!” I said angrily. I paid the cab driver, who wasn’t up for getting himself killed like I was, and got out. I fixed my dress, held tightly onto my clutch, and marched forward. There were security guards as well as several doormen/managers/hotel staff outside barking orders rudely at the girls, saying things that I happened to know were untrue like how the boys were staying in for the night.

The fact that I as dressed up and crying made it seem like I was just another fan. I sighed and headed over to the doormen/managers/hotel staff and prepared to plead my case. “Hi,” I said, trying to get someone’s attention.

“Sorry, Miss, but you’re not getting in there unless you’re a guest.”

“I’m with One Direction,” I said, swallowing my disdain.

“Right,” he replied sarcastically, “You and everyone else. Look, they’re done for the night; maybe you can catch them in the morning.”

“I am!” I said. Gettin real tired of your bullshit, guard. “Isn’t there a list you could look at? My name is Bryce Baron, and I’m a guest at this hotel.”

The crowd screamed, and the guard and I looked towards the front doors. Paul, bless him, was trying to make his way outside.

“That’s Paul Higgins,” I said, “He knows me. Paul!” Let me tell you something: it is not easy to get someone’s attention when there are hundreds of other people doing the exact same thing as you. I estimated Paul’s direction, and it seemed that he was going to walk straight by me and the guard, “Watch this,” I said.

When Paul walked by, I loudly shouted, “Paul, it’s Bryce!” My voice didn’t sound like it belonged to me because it was still raspy from crying (and I would probably burst into tears again if this fucking guard didn’t let me inside), but Paul looked at me.

Paul, as well as the rest of One Direction’s management team, didn’t particularly like me; they thought I knew too much. Those who were important tolerated me, but all in all I got cold shoulders and dirty looks.

He looked at the guard, “She’s good,” Paul said simply before continuing off to do whatever it was he needed.

I was in a bad mood and not in the mood for civil conversation, I turned to the guard who looked annoyed that he was wrong. “How you like me now?” I mocked.

He escorted me into the hotel, where people took pictures of me even though I wasn’t widely known as Harry’s friend, and I made it to the elevator without another hitch. As soon as I was alone behind the closed doors, everything hit me again: Connor and I broke up, Harry wanted nothing to do with me, and the pressure of being a famous person’s best friend was starting to feel stronger than ever. The fact that I was slightly drunk and my emotions were magnified made it even worse.

I took my shoes off and held then by the heels so I could relax from the second I stepped into the safety of my hotel room. The hall was empty, thank God.

I couldn’t even make it past the threshold—I sank to the ground, leaning against the door for support and pulling my knees to my chest. When Harry brought up tour, I imagined it to be an experience in which I would learn my trade (fashion) and how it applied in real life. All I wanted was to bond with my best friend and see the way he lived first hand. (I had always been a secret admirer of the famous lifestyle, but once it happened to Harry my admiration turned completely around—before I knew it, Harry was admiring me for going to school and getting homework and having a stupid job and arguing with my parents, although I didn’t know why.)

When someone knocked at my door, I jumped. “Yeah?” I asked to whoever it was.

I wiped my eyes, almost forgetting that I was wearing eye makeup so it would do no good to hide the fact that I was crying. But I pulled myself together because I was going to be strong.

“Brycey?” It was Harry.

Even though we were fighting, I needed him. I stood up and opened the door, letting my appearance speak for itself. When I saw him, though, my plan to be strong faltered. “He broke up with me,” I choked out.

He engulfed me in a tight hug, melding his body with mine and pressing my head to his chest. My body shook, “You were right,” I said, “I shouldn’t have gone. I’m sorry.”

He pulled away and led me over to the bed, where he managed to get my weak body under the covers. I was too drained to turn over, but I felt him get in the other side. I soon felt his body tight against mine, and he turned me over, spooning me. And there was no more fighting, no more lying, just camaraderie. “Shh,” he said, “It’s okay. Just get it out. I’m here now, Brycey, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Comments

When will you update next?
Omg update really good! Hopefully they are more than friends with benefits well just sex......! Update!!! Lol if she wants Liam who has the biggest, why does she also want Niall, who has the smallest... Lol but update update update!!!
This is one of my fav stories! I just keeps gettibg better and better :)
I love this.... This is going to sound weird but when ever I read the summary -which I love btw!!!- I always said it in like a poshy accent haha lol
Yay can't wait for more i love this story!