Marley

“Did you find everything alright?”

“Er, yes,” I say hesitantly, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Just fine, thanks.”

The lady at the checkout counter only nods as she rings up my groceries, barely even taking the time to properly look up at me. The question that would usually appear as being thoughtful seems more automatic than anything, but it’s probably better than her recognizing me.

Ever since the incident with those teenagers in the park… I just feel more hesitant about going out in public. Before, I always went out because I figured, what the hell? All they can do is stare and whisper, nothing else.

But now they can. They almost did.

The little threat of an angry teenage boy is enough to make me hide out in my flat for the rest of the day. Just imagine grown adults.

“Paper or plastic?” The man at the end of the conveyor belt asks then, the question seeming just as automatic as the other.

“Plastic, please,” I say in response, my mind wandering elsewhere, to Harry more in specific.

When we texted some more yesterday, we decided on having dinner at my flat, my specialty. He told me that he didn’t have a concert, interview, or anything else to do, one of his rare evenings off.

And I did mean it when I said I thought Harry was beyond ordinary. He seems to be able to understand, to relate, and to look at people without judgment at least me. And that’s something that’s hard to find ever since the incident.

So this is one of my ways of attempting to repay him for that. Give him a purely home cooked meal; just be there for him like he seems to insist on being there for me.

Speaking of that, I remember that I still haven’t texted Harry my address, and he is supposed to come around in a little over an hour or so.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” the cashier says in a bored fashion, and with a start, I realize that they’ve finished checking me out and my bags of groceries are waiting at the end.

Walking out to my waiting car in the parking lot, I still can’t help but keep my head down, pulling the hood of my jacket up over my head.

If I want to survive having Harry over without breaking down or wallowing in self-pity, I need to keep myself unseen.

---

“Travis, hush boy! Travis! Travis, please!”

At the last command, my furry friend sits down and tips his head to the side slightly, almost giving me a questioning glance, as if to say, Well why?

“Because I believe that’s Harry at the door,” I laugh and shake my head, padding over and pulling the mentioned object open to reveal a head of curly hair and a bright smile.

“Hello Harry,” I can’t help but smile in return, stepping back to let him inside.

Harry gives me a nod and scrapes his feet kindly against the porch mat before stepping inside.

“Hi Marley,” he says brightly. “Who’s your friend?”

I turn to see he’s looking at Travis, who is sitting tensed, eyeing Harry with a cautious gaze.

“That would be Travis,” I chuckle, closing the door and twisting the lock. “Don’t worry about him, I’m sure he’ll warm up to you by the end of the night or sooner. He’s a big softie really, he just doesn’t like to admit it.”

Harry chuckles as well, before crouching down so he’s at a lower level. “Is that right Travis?” He teases. “Are you really a softie? I’m sure you’re the best guard for Marley there is.”

Almost instantly at the end of his words, Travis bounds up and runs to Harry, almost knocking him down as he rubs up against his chest. His tongue is already lolling out, a sure sign he’s being friendly, and his dark eyes sparkling almost.

“That’s got to be a record, he usually takes a lot longer to admit his liking for someone.”

“I’m just an amazing guy,” Harry teases, scratching behind Travis’ ear for a bit before straightening up again. “So what is it you’re planning on feeding me tonight? You seemed to be awfully mysterious about it.”

In reality, the meal is only meatloaf with some cheesy, store bought potatoes, and vegetables. But the meal is special, and different, just because of the spices. It’s something my Mum used to always do, and most everybody loves it.

My family has never had a “secret family recipe”, so we just use Mum’s meatloaf and call it that.

“Tell me, do you like spices? Spicy food?” I question, leading him over into the dining room where two place settings are already laid out.

“Yeah, I’d say I do,” he answers, sitting down after hanging his jacket over the back of the chair. “I’m guessing that has something to do with the meal?”

“I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Harry only raises his eyebrows at that before peering around for a moment.
Again, looking around myself, I feel bad that I didn’t make a better effort to make my flat a bit more presentable.

There are various gaps of missing furniture because of Mona moving out, a couple boxes still stacked of things she left behind. It doesn’t have a homely or unhomely feel really, but it doesn’t exactly feel like something you’d want to present to a new friend, let alone a new friend who’s a celebrity.

“Are you going somewhere?”

“No,” I say quickly, sitting down across from him. “It’s… my old flat mate. She moved out a few weeks ago, and I guess I just haven’t found the time to rearrange things again.”

In reality, I’ve had all the time in the world to rearrange the place. I just haven’t had the motivation, the ability to just say goodbye and get past it. Mona was my flat mate, my friend, and having her just up and leave because of the incident hurt almost as much as losing Amy.

I can tell, glancing at Harry, that he’s wondering what I’m thinking. He’s read the papers, he knows exactly when the event took place. I can tell he’s just unsure of whether to say anything or not.

“Sorry it’s not nicer,” I add, thinking that it would probably be best to apologize for it. “It’s probably not what you’re accustomed to and all-“

“That doesn’t matter,” he quickly cuts me off, wrinkles forming in his forehead as he frowns. “It’s fine, really. I’m not one of those snobbish people, I used to live in a little flat like this, I understand.”

He seems to always get touchy when I relate things to his fame. I can guess that it’s because people treat him different because of that, or at least they try to. He just wants to be like everyone else.

“Sorry,” I say. “I know you probably don’t want to be treated like a famous person would be. You just want to be normal and I’m not helping that… sorry.”

His frown relaxes as his lips turn up in a smile again. Not soon after he does, a series of beeps sound from the kitchen, signaling the meatloaf is done, and dinner is therefore ready.

“I’m assuming dinner is served?”

“You’d be assuming right,” I jump up and remove the meatloaf from the over, smiling slightly at the familiarity of it.

I turn and place the dish on the counter, sliding off the oven mitts and grabbing a couple of plates from the pantry.

When I turn around the serve portions of food onto each, I run straight into a firm chest, stumbling back slightly and feeling a hand reach out and catch my elbow.

“What are you doing out here?” I smile slightly, looking up and seeing Harry. “Go sit back down, I’m supposed to be serving you.”

Harry rolls his eyes and chuckles lowly as he takes a plate from me. “Don’t worry about it, I’m capable of serving myself,” he says. “Besides, I’m still intrigued about this mystery dinner.”

“Fine,” I huff in fake annoyance, gesturing to the food spread across the kitchen. “Go on then.”
Harry scoops a slice of the meatloaf onto his plate, as well as a hearty helping of potatoes and vegetables. I find myself smiling in amusement as he takes a bite then and there, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and mockingly smacking his lips.

“Well then food critic, let’s have it,” I prompt.

He chuckles before grinning devilishly. “Well… excellent job. I see why you asked me about the spices now. You know, I’m not really used to good cooking, being around the boys all the time. None of them seem to be able to cook for shit, myself included.”

I only find myself smiling wider, trying to imagine Harry and the rest of One Direction panicking as they attempt to cook.

“Come on,” I roll my eyes, leading him back out to the table after serving myself.

When we sit down, the casual conversation continues, leaving me with a warm feeling inside my chest. Honestly, it’s nice to be able to just casually sit down and have dinner with someone. Mona’s gone, Ben and Clarissa have tried before, but it’s not naturally, they always try to hard to be nice. My parents came here after the incident but had to go home soon afterwards, due to my sick grandmother.

None of them have really been able to help me or make me feel at home again, normal, but now there’s Harry.

Harry suddenly clears his throat, seeming a bit awkward and nervous all of a sudden. “Can I ask you something Marley?” He says, watching me carefully as he sets his fork down.

I have a feeling in my gut that this is heading straight back to the topic of the incident. I don’t know if I want to talk about that, I never have before anyways, but somehow, “Sure, what?” pops out of my mouth.

Harry takes a deep breath as if he’s readying himself for something huge, something that could potentially wreck our friendship… or whatever it is that we have. I’d like to consider it a friendship at least.

“Are you willing to tell me what really happened?” He says. “On New Year’s Eve?”

Even with my suspicions being confirmed, I find myself only able to blink for a moment. “What?”

“You don’t have to,” he says quickly, trying to backtrack. “I know that it must be hard, but I was just wondering what with all the rumors going around in papers and media and whatnot. I know better than to believe any of that, but I wanted to hear your side of the story and all. God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“Harry,”

He stops, looking at me with an expression that’s a mix between concerned, nervous, and almost pained. Though I feel that on anyone else it would just be strange, on him I find it somehow endearing.

“It’s fine,” I sigh, rolling a few peas around on my plate with the edge of my fork. “Really, I’ll tell you.”

Harry bites his lip and remains silent. I can tell he’s trying not to push me too far, still giving me the chance to backtrack if I want.

“You have to the count of three, and then I will let the bullet fly. It’s up to you who it hits.”

I blink a couple more times before speaking. “What happened is exactly what the articles say,”
Harry looks startled at this before a slight frown creases his forehead. He doesn’t say anything though, just sits and waits for me to continue.

“One,”

“I killed my best friend, Harry. The man gave me two options that night, to step aside and live, or to stay where I was and die with her,” a lump forms in my throat that I do my best to swallow, but I feel as if it’s only choking me further, making speaking even more difficult.

“Two,”

“And I chose to step aside, and I watched him shoot her and leave… And I didn’t do anything.”

“Marley…” Harry says, his voice barely above a whisper. A type of understanding seems to light in his eyes, and maybe something else too… pity? Either way, he looks pained, unsure of himself.

“Three.”

Bang.

I feel tears pricking at my eyes now, threatening to tear them apart from the inside. “They say I’m a coward and they’re right. I am, because I let her die without even fighting, without even trying.”

The gunshot still rings in my ears, even now, startlingly loud and threatening. I can still practically see down the barrel of the gun, see the bullet lying anxiously in wait.

“It’s not your fault,” Harry’s voice can barely carry past the ringing, but I only stare down at my lap, somehow knowing that if I look up at him that the tears will spill over before I can do anything else, and that would just be plain sad.

Then again, I’m a bit of a sad person now, aren’t I?

“Don’t,” I manage to choke out, shaking my head. I don’t want pity. These days, it’s either hate or pity for me, and they might just be on an equal scale of hurt. Pity just proves I’m weak, that people see me as cowardly, and I guess I am.

Harry sighs and doesn’t say anything else before getting up, sliding his chair backwards with a quiet creak. I don’t look up, but I hear his muffled footsteps move in my direction until they stop to my left.

“At least let me hug you,” he says, lifting his hand, palm up, in offering. “I know you could use it now.”

Not trusting myself to say anything else, I shakily reach up and place my own small hand in his larger one, allowing him to pull me out of my chair and against his chest. His arms envelope me in a gentle, yet firm way, confirming that he’s there, for me.

It’s so nice to have someone just be there that when I finally break down and let the tears flow, half of them are glad ones, for him, mixing with the miserable ones of self pity.

I find myself wondering how I got to this point, this low in life. But I also find myself wondering how I got to be so lucky, to have Harry step in and try to save me.

Notes

Sad af, but cute af at the same time *crying emoji*

What do you think about Marley and Harry?

Do you see a romance or a friendship or even both? Do you think they're going to be able to last in any type of relationship at all? How do you think they view themselves and each other? Do you think this story is going to have a happy ending or a sad one? (For all these questions I know and am firm on the answers, but I want to know what you guys think!)

Let me know in the comments! :) Thank you all so much! <3