WARNING: This chapter contains depicted scenes and concepts that may serve as a TRIGGER to people. If you are easily triggered then I advise you not to read this chapter. (If you don't know what a trigger is, then ignore this. It's likely to only be an issue for those who know and have experienced one.)

Harry
‘Harry Styles joining band mate, Zayn Malik, in smoking?’

My brows furrow as I read the headline, before scanning the article underneath. Most of it is repetitive nonsense, but keywords pop up at me like drugs, addict, and what’s next?

So now they’re going to start rumors that I’m smoking and doing drugs? How ridiculous is this going to get?

I scroll down to see a rather sketchy picture of a figure leaning up against the grimy wall of a brick building. When I squint and stare at it for a bit more I see that the figure has big, curly hair like myself and is rather lean, but that’s where the similarities end. The figure that’s supposed to be me has its arm raised with something sticking from its mouth, supposedly a cigarette.

I’ve never even touched a cigarette. God, I hate Photoshop more than anything.

I look at the caption to read, ‘Photo above of Harry caught smoking after a rehearsal. Is this Zayn’s influence or is the star beginning to get into drugs on his own?’

Running a hand through my hair with a sigh, I click the button to go back to the search ‘Harry Styles News’. I scroll through the articles again, trying to search for other stories and rumors that I haven’t seen before.

I don’t know why I do this sometimes, search for the horrible rumors and things that people say about me. Maybe it’s because I just want to keep up with the news, maybe it’s just because I want justification.

I know the difference between what’s real and what isn’t. I know that I don’t sleep around as much as people say I do and I definitely don’t do drugs.

The thing is though… maybe I’m just not confident enough to not believe some of the things people say. Not the obvious things of course, but the things like that I’m not good enough for the band, not appealing enough, not interesting enough.

‘Harry Styles moving on from the fans… to their parents!?’

Well this is definitely a new one.

I click on the link to have an article come up with a picture attached of me with my arms around a fan and her mother, all smiling happily.

The caption underneath says, ‘Harry Styles gets up close to a fan and her attractive mother.’

I groan in exasperation and am suddenly tempted to throw my laptop out the window. Just because I once made the mistake of getting a bit involved with Caroline Flack, everyone has to connect that to each one of my relationships.

I clench my jaw as the frustration in my system builds before scrolling down to the user comments at the bottom of the article.

‘Why is Harry such a perv?’

“Lol, maybe he just takes them both home. ;)

‘Why did they even let him in the band? This is exactly why he’s the walking STD… Wow.”

Before I know it, I feel my eyes water and the back of my nose burn, causing the vision of the screen to blur slightly.

This is exactly it. It’s never the articles themselves that really get to me, but more the fact that people believe them.

Sure, some of them just joke, but some many of them genuinely believe everything they read, everything that involves drama and entertainment.

My mind is fogging now and red is glazing over my vision, causing me to slam my laptop shut and rise from my bed, heading straight for the bathroom. I feel absolutely sick to my stomach, my head is pounding, I just… can’t handle this.

I look around the bathroom breathing heavily, despite the fact that I haven’t been moving much at all. There’s the toilet, the shower, the sink, the cupboard of medicine, hair products, and shaving tools…

My gaze stops on the cupboard and before I can stop myself and become rational again, I open the door and take in the glory of the bottles and razors. I don’t want to kill myself, nothing as drastic as that, but I just need something to take my mind off the other pain creeping through my system.

People say this helps. People say that this will distract you from what really hurts, from everything you want to get away from.

And I need a distraction.

I blink and the blade of the razor is suddenly in my hand, gleaming under the unnatural light of the room. I blink again and it’s hovering over my arm with a deadly sharp edge, mocking me and daring me to just do it.

Just cut.

My hand is becoming increasingly violent with its shaking and next I’m on the floor, backed up against the wall with the razor staring me down from where it’s fallen on the floor not two feet from me. Its edge remains clean, but I can sense its want for a red tint of blood, my blood.

It’s in that moment that I just break down, burying my head in my arms and just letting the tears finally run, overpowering the red. No one’s here anyways, the other boys are in their own flats, happy, unaware, as they should be. No one will ever know.

I’m such an idiot. Such a scared, desperate, idiot.

I was so close to doing it too, so close to just pressing that blade into my skin and carving lines until red was all I saw. I would never purposely hurt myself more, what was I thinking? God, something’s seriously wrong, I’m so close to going over the edge. The worst part was how close I was, how desperately close, and I’m sure if I just made one cut I would’ve never stopped.

The floor is cold and harsh and uncomfortable, but I can’t bring myself to move from it. It’s almost as if I’m afraid the temptation of the razor will get me again, that even attempting to move will trigger that feeling inside me.

It’s not until I feel a buzz from my pocket that I finally move, pulling my cell phone out to see a text from Liam.

‘Don’t forget, we’re going to the interview in 30! :)’

I sigh and just stare at the message for a moment, trying to mentally gather myself enough to get ready in time.

No one will know, I mentally say, reminding myself of the fact to give me the strength to act as normal as possible. Act like nothing’s wrong and no one will even suspect.

After dressing, blindly messing with my hair (in fear of going into the bathroom again), and grabbing all my necessities, I exit my flat to see the other boys already climbing into the black van taking us to the interview.

“Hey Haz,” Louis says when I climb in, throwing his arm casually around my shoulders. “Feels like you haven’t been around much lately. And that’s saying something, considering that we all work together.”

I shrug off the observation with an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” I say. “Just really been enjoying a bit of the off time I guess.”

“Aren’t we all,” Zayn laughs from behind me, sitting next to Niall with a small smirk. “But he’s right, I saw you a few days ago I think, sneaking out of your flat early in the morning. Where’d you go anyways?”

My mind flickers to Leatherbound, and in turn, Marley. I see Louis give me an almost knowing look from the corner of my eye, but he remains silent.

“Just went for a drive,” I finally answer. “Wanted to just think and all.”

Zayn seems satisfied with the answer and begins talking to Niall as Louis begins to talk to Liam in the front seat.

Thinking of Marley reminds me of how, ever since a few days ago when we met, we’ve been texting constantly, talking about everything and nothing at the same time and still not getting bored.

I pull out my phone and smile to see another message from her.

‘So handsome lad from the bookstore, how goes life today?’

I can’t help but chuckle at the words. Ever since I texted her the first night calling myself ‘the handsome lad from the bookstore’ she’s taken a liking to teasing me by calling me that as well.

‘Alright,’ I reply easily. ‘On my way to an interview now. They never seem to get enough of us, do they?’

‘Apparently not,’ she answers soon after. ‘But you know, you’re an adorable British-Irish boy band, so why not?’

We continue texting until we reach the interview, where I tell her quickly that I’ll text her back afterwards.

“Who’re you so focused on?” Liam questions, gesturing to my phone as we walk inside.

I try to just wave it off, shrugging. “Just a friend,” I say.

I can tell the boys are suspicious, seeing as they all frown slightly and exchange glances that are definitely questioning. And I would tell them about Marley, but I kind of like the fact that we know each other in complete secrecy.

It’s nice, having at least one thing that people don’t know about you. One thing that can remain a secret.

---

“Hello boys! How’re you all today?”

We create a chorus of “great”, “good” and “fantastic”, smiling and waving at the cheering audience pleasantly.

“So I know you have some off time, but-“

I stop truly listening about there. My mind can’t see to help wandering to Marley, no matter how hard I try to focus.

The world is so wrong about her. I mean, everybody thinks that she’s a selfish murderer because her friend died, because she stepped aside when the trigger was pulled.

But in reality, how many of us wouldn’t?

Marley is actually so… different. She’s a bit bitter towards the world, but she still tries to move on with her life, to act normal. She’s also broken and hurt as hell, but even now she remains strong… stronger than me.

My mind flickers back to an hour ago in the bathroom, the feeling of the blade in my hand, the desire to just see red down my arm in an effort to escape my problems for just a moment.

“Harry?”

My head snaps up and I see the boys all looking at me with concerned expressions, covered up by amusement. Meanwhile, the interviewer himself is just plain amused in general, watching me with a small smile.

“Are you alright Harry?” He asks, chuckling slightly. “Not daydreaming about some girl, are you?” I smile and laugh at that, but on the inside I can’t help but scream and tug violently at my hair.

Why do they always have to do that? Why do they always have to make me out as the player, ladies’ man type?

“No, sorry, I just drifted off a bit,” I say casually, waving my hand around as if that proves something. I really just want to stand up and scream that I’m not always thinking about ways to get into a girl’s pants, but I know it wouldn’t make management happy, or viewers, or anyone really. It would just be a pointless waste of effort.

The interview continues on with me mentally cursing the interviewer and everyone that honestly believes everything they read, but still remaining cheery and bright on the outside. And everyone seems to buy it without a second thought. Maybe I’m not as bad of an actor as I thought.

“Are you sure you’re alright Harry?” Niall asks as we clamber back into the car. “You seem really out of it today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine!” I say, maybe a bit too brightly. “Like I said, just keep getting lost in my thoughts and all, you know how it is.”

I can tell from his expression along with the others that no, they don’t know how it is. But I’m not about to try to explain it to them, so I pull out my phone instead to see that I have two new messages, both from Marley.

The first one reads: ‘Alright, talk later then! :)’ In response to my last message before the interview.

The second one reads: ‘Hey, so I know you’re probably still in your interview, but would you like to get together again sometime soon? Just to talk face to face for a bit instead of over a computer screen? :)’

I have to say, I’m thrilled by the idea, and had been thinking something along the same lines for the past day.

‘Would love to!’ I text back, my fingers flying on the screen a bit too eagerly. I can tell some of the boys notice it, but they don’t say anything else. ‘When and where?’

‘Tomorrow night at my flat all right for you? You’re the one with the busy schedule after all.’

‘Great!’ I reply, finding myself willing to just talk to her again any time. ‘Text me the address later and I’ll be there!’

She replies with an okay and I lean back in my seat, feeling eager and for once, content. I can see the questioning looks the boys are giving me, probably still concerned, but I’m even able to ignore those for now, the prospect of seeing Marley tomorrow still fresh in my mind.

Notes

This story makes me so emotional brb