Harry

I’m elated for Marley.

Really.

I’m so proud of the fact that she’s managed to bounce back so quickly. She’s managed to begin taking the steps to help build herself up again, and even when she called, her voice sounded nearly chipper.

The only issue for me is that I can’t say the same for myself.

Maybe it’s just me being selfish, but I feel like since I had my major epiphany first, I should be on this so-called “road to recovery” first, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’t that only be logical?

I want to be able to say that I’ve begun the same process, but it just can’t be so. Not when I don’t even know where to begin.

I’ve already made up with the boys, for the most part, gotten them to see my side of the story, my perspective. Louis has my back pretty much one hundred percent now, which is really nice, but it hasn’t done anything for me, not really.

To be honest, I’m just so tired.

It’s that kind of tired that’s not just in your body, but also in your mind. Not necessarily being tired of life or living, but tired of what happens within your life. I don’t even know if that makes sense, but I still feel like I’m carrying this invisible weight around on my shoulders.

I just want to know, why aren’t I getting better too?

Before I can continue sulking in my thoughts, a loud ding echoes around my flat, leaving me looking towards the door, knowing that someone’s obviously come knocking.

“Come in,” I raise my voice, not bothering to move myself from my lazy position on the couch.

The door opens and Zayn pops his head in, smiling that crooked half-smile of his. “Hey mate,” he greets cheerfully. “Ready to go?”

I frown, wondering where it is we’re going exactly. “Uh, where?” I question, cocking an eyebrow and sitting up a bit.

Zayn only rolls his eyes at that. “The radio interview for Capital FM?” He sighs dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

His ending statement comes out more like a dry statement, and I have to admit that either I was uninformed or let it slip my mind completely (most likely the latter).

Raising an eyebrow, Zayn looks over my attire consisting of a plain while t-shirt and simple jeans. “It is a radio interview, so it doesn’t matter much what you wear,” he muses aloud before shrugging. “Come on, let’s go now or we’re going to be late. The others are waiting in the car.”

With that, he walks out, leaving me to scramble to quickly grab my necessities before following him as well.

While I do try to involve myself in the car chatter on the way, I still can’t help wondering what I’m going to do to help myself a little more, get on the same path as Marley. All the things I think of are too outlandish. Marley went outside to feels the glares and snide comments, so she turned that around and faced them all, holding her head high.

The equivalent of that for me would be telling off haters online, like on Twitter. The only thing is that I know I can’t, not because I don’t want to, but because I actually can’t.

The second that something even mildly offensive comes up from any of us is taken down, including a majority of Louis’ vulgar remarks in response to hate.

He got a serious talking to from management on top of that, which is never a pleasant experience. So what can I do?

“Harry, we’re here,” Liam bumps my arm as he crawls out of the open, right door, allowing all the screams and jumbled shouts of fans to pierce my ears.

Well, here it goes.

Following him, ducking a bit lower at our bodyguards’ orders, I’m led through the marked trail in the sea of fans towards the massive radio building. Every scream is comforting and sickening at the same time, in a way I can’t explain.

I love the fans, I really do. The only thing is that right now, they remind me of everything I’m struggling with, everything that I’m desperately failing at accomplishing, as opposed to Marley.

By the time that we make it inside, are introduced to the two hosts, and are set up in front of individual microphones, ears still ringing, I find that tired feeling washing over me again.

Admittedly, there’s a tad bit of dread mixed in there as well. I can’t help but wonder if this is going to be like any old interview, same questions, same jokes, and same jabs at my “flirtatious” stereotype and me.

Trying not to get my head back in the interviewing state, I smile as the hosts announce us while Selena Gomez’s Come and Get It fades out.

“It’s… One Direction!” “Hello!” We chorus, cheering as we listen to the whole thing echoing in our headsets.

“So boys,” the female interviewer- whose name slips my mind- begins, grinning at us over all the technology of the studio. “Enjoying your stay in London while you start recording for the next album?”

We all nod in agreement while Niall answers. “Yeah, I think that we’re all enjoying not having to move around a whole lot after the big tour,” he looks around for confirmation. “And we’re really pumped that we’re starting the process again, so it’s fantastic.”

For the next good fifteen minutes, I slip into a type of mental autopilot, nodding and laughing when appropriate, and answering standard based questions without really putting any proper thought into it.

During that time is when a thought occurs to me, a thought that could possibly be part of the solution I’ve been looking for.

“Is this live?” I blurt without really thinking first, causing everyone else to stop mid-chatter and just look at me.

The interviewers exchange an unknown glance, as the other boys do as well, before the taller, male answers uncertainly. “It is,” he says. “Everything here is live, all the time.”

So that means that this would work perfectly. I try not to look too uncomfortable with everyone staring at me, mentally trying to force myself to just make up my mind. I either need to blow it off
as plain curiosity or stick with the plan.

“What’s up mate?” Louis asks casually, from his seat beside me, though when I look at his eyes I can see his concern.

“Uh, do you all mind if I say something?”

I clear my throat nervously as the two hosts exchange another glance before shrugging and gesturing a yes. “Go ahead,” the woman says, folding her arms across the table as she waits with a curious expression.

“So speaking to all the fans and other people listening,” I begin, huffiing a breath, feeling as nervous as if I’m sixteen and it’s my first performance again.

“I know that I haven’t really… been myself lately. And I know that many of you have noticed.” I catch Louis’ eye again, and he doesn’t really look confused or worried or anything of the sort. He almost looks like he’s smiling a bit, and that’s enough to keep me going on.

“I’ve just been tired, I suppose,” I say, knowing that by the way I stress ‘tired’ that some will understand what I mean. “And to all those who are listening to the rumors from the press, don’t. Honestly, those saying those things don’t know me. Not how I feel, how I think, or what I would or wouldn’t do.

“Yes, I do know Marley Sorin, and no, I’m not trying to take advantage of her. I never would, not her or anyone else in that way. Marley and I both have our own struggles and are in very different positions, but we do have connections very similar to each other as well.

“And neither of us are going to just stand and let people tear us down. I know she’s not, and I definitely won’t anymore either. We are actual people too, with actual feelings… as cliché as that sounds.”

When I finish, trying to throw in a touch of humor to lessen the blow, I feel as if that weight on my shoulders really has been lessened. My chest feels lighter, and before I know it, a grin is overtaking my face, despite the fact that hardly anyone else is smiling.

I can actually see that path now.

---

Later that evening, the good, light feeling is still there, but there’s something else too.

It’s not exactly dread, but more like nerves, I suppose. I’m really nervous all of a sudden, anxious even.

Since the radio interview, the boys haven’t really mentioned my little speech or confession, whatever you want to call it.

Louis gave me a little pat on the shoulder and a smile when we reached the car while Niall gave me a very discreet thumbs up on the way out. Somehow, I knew exactly what he was referring to at the time.

Meanwhile, Liam and Zayn both seemed rather uncertain. Though this may not be the reason, I’m assuming their reactions were because of the own experiences. Sure, we’ve all gotten hate before, but they were two that had actually stood up for themselves and gotten whiplash for it.

Liam had posted a (rather vulgar) tweet expressing his annoyance for paparazzi and the media in general on Twitter, which only resulted in it all being removed by management, and a private follow up conversation with the head of the whole company himself.

Zayn had actually deleted his Twitter entirely, refusing to subject himself to it all, only for management to give him the same “talk” that Liam apparently got. I don’t know what it is that went on for either of them, but within a few hours, Zayn’s Twitter was up and running again like nothing had happened.

To be honest, I’ve been expecting a call all night, yet there’s been nothing whatsoever. The reason goes completely unknown.

Knowing that I can’t resist this anymore, despite everything Marley and I talked about, I grab my laptop and settle down on the couch, flexing my fingers nervously as I wait for the machine to turn on.

I promised I wouldn't, but after doing this, how can I not? I have to see the result of doing this, seeing whether it was the right move or not. I’m going to have to look again eventually.

“Does no one else think it’s kind of sad that Harry just exploded on the radio like that?”

The first comment leaves me a bit unnerved, seeing as I can’t figure out how the person means it exactly. Sad that I can’t control myself, or sad that I finally resorted to it?

“Wow Styles, talk about a tantrum.”

“I really don’t know how to feel about Harry’s little outburst… #StylesStandsUp”

Though at this point I’m beginning to feel discouraged and as uncertain as the person who wrote the tweet, the hashtag makes me curious.

Slowly, I hover the mouse of the computer over it before clicking on it and being brought to a massive feed of the other people tweeting the trend.

“Finally! Someone in 1D is freely speaking again! #StylesStandsUp”

“Hopefully management doesn’t freak too badly, but go Harry! #StylesStandsUp”

“Today’s a great day in 1D history, couldn’t be prouder of our boys! :’] #StylesStandsUp”

Something closely resembling that lightweight feeling swells in my chest with each Tweet I read, leaving me grinning at my computer like a fool. No one else is around, but I almost wish they would be so I can show them this.

Sure, there are still those who have all the nasty remarks, but looking at this, there are so many more now that are showing even more support.

And that’s the moment that I see that Marley isn’t the only one on the road to recovery.

Now, I’ve finally found my way there too, and we’re both on the right track again.

Notes

Wow a MONTH with no update... I'm sorry, I need twice a week blood transfusions, I know those don't stop me from putting up chapters of the story, but it just hasn't been a priority, and then final exams are coming up soon. If you ever wanna talk my message box is always open :)