Fearless
Simon Says
September 1st, 2012
Louis sat on his childhood bed processing what had happened. His room was exactly how he left it. His sheets were his favourite navy blue and the pictures of his past friends stuck to the walls of his window in a crooked manner. Pictures of his old band and family lined the wall, but they paled in comparison to the contrast of the blonde hair, freckles and big blue eyes that stared back at him.
He walked up to the photos, those chubby cheeks and pink noses seemed so far away from the present. They were young and didn't have a care in the world. There was no strain and no pressure to be the ideal person. It was just them two. It was simple back then. They had each other for comfort, to hold and to laugh. They took care of each other and families. Louis didn't understand the value of their friendship back then, and as he reminisced, he wished he still had that, something with no complications, no heartache.
He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Rosie was still physically there. She still had the same curly, frizzy blonde hair, freckles that covered her face and blue eyes that could stun a country. She was still shorter than him and even smelled the same. She was right there - still pulling him out of trouble like she once did, even after he treated her so poorly.
Then again, it was her fault for getting him worked up, even if it was indirectly. Maybe if she wasn't so calm in a situation with rude customers, he wouldn't had to had stepped in. It was an old habit to save Rosie from situations like that -- and even though it's been years and he had no idea why they were harassing her, the impulse took over. That impulse boiled in his stomach, filling it's brim until the words escaped his throat She had stuck up for him, even in a small, minuscule way. He couldn't help himself. He didn't understand why the habit was still so prominent or why he was beating himself over what he did. He thought for a split second that he actually wanted to fight, but he knew that weed wasn't something that made him like that -- whiskey? Yes. A joint? Not so much. Regardless of who Rosie once was, he had stuck up for someone who was being harassed, he should be proud of that.
He stared at a different picture, still finding her face beside his. Her smile was always infectious - it was something that always brightened his darkest days. It wasn't until he looked at other pictures did he realize that her smile was foreign to him now - she hadn't smiled at him once since he's been here, not that she's had a reason too.
Louis sighed, running this hand through his hair, turning away from the collage of memories for his bed. It felt odd that things were different, but he was getting used to his life now. Maybe he doesn't need his old network anymore - they were fine by themselves. He was building his own life again, new people, new opportunities, new problems. He could slow down on narcotics, but it was a perk - a perk of escapism. He has the opportunity of a lifetime and he gets to get free drugs for free, why wouldn't he used it?
He turned off his bedside lamp for bed; it was well into the night and the last thing he needed was his mum yelling at him for sleeping in all day. He took off his shirt and trousers, revealing his bare chest and legs. The strain of sobriety was pounding in his head and the second he sat on his bed, the ache of exhaustion draped over him. Louis tangled himself in his bed sheets, sighing at the softness of the duvet. He closed his heavy eyes, finding a small amount of peace in the smell of familiarity.
The peace was interrupted by a frantic knocking that echoed through the room. It didn't sound like it was on his wooded door but glass. He peeked through his sheets, seeing a silhouette of a girl hovering behind his window. He turned on his lamp once more, wincing at the light. Sliding out of his bed and moaning in the newly found cold air hitting his skin, he forcefully opened the window of his bedroom letting in the damp, nippy air in.
"Rosie?" he muttered in a yawn, staring at the disheveled girl holding on for dear life. Louis watched as she grabbed onto the inner ledge, using the leverage to pull herself up more. She levied her body forward, scraping her stomach in the process. Her face reminded him that she always hated that part.
He didn't know how to react to her sudden appearance, but he managed to clue in and help her through the window completely, pulling her by her arms to land on his empty desk.
"I don't remember this desk being here," she gravelled, kicking her cold legs inside. She took off her wet flats and placed it beside her, folding her legs and pulling the window down.
"What are you-" Louis was confused and cold as he stared at the small girl. She had a small smile on her face even though goosebumps from the wind flooded her legs and her mascara stained under her eyes.
"We're going to the river."
oOo
"It's all muddy," Louis uttered in disgust. It was the first break of silence said since they had left his mother's home. The awkward silence made his skin tingle and his stomach turn. He just wanted it to end. He pulled his jean jacket closer to him, ignoring the fog that escaped from his mouth with every breath. "Why did I even bother coming?"
"I told you where we were going. It was your decision to wear your slippers." She shrugged.
"They're not slippers, they're Toms and they're comfortable," he rebutted, finally looking at her.
He hadn't realized the large space in between them until he glanced up. They were both walking in two separate rundown tire tracks, side by side. Mud constantly splashed onto his new shoes and when he looked at her, he couldn't imagine how cold she was, still in her work outfit. Her hands were in her jacket pockets and her head was down, watching for any puddle or dip in the earth she treaded in. The moonlight was behind them, shadowing all her frizzy, unkempt hair sticking out from her bun. She was just as short as he last left her, but her stature was tall. Rosie looked older than the last time he truly saw her, and it made him even more uncomfortable.
He took a small breath in, looking ahead of them, recognizing the familiar rushing of water and swaying of the leaves. He knew where they were for the first time in ten minutes. "I remember this. We found this place when we were young."
She stopped by the tree, glancing up at the sky before digging through her large bag. "Yeah, it's quiet and nice. I thought that, um, it'd be a good place to talk - if you wanted to talk."
Louis nodded, wondering why he was given the opportunity. As uncomfortable as he was with her, there was something about the idea of them sneaking out like old times that made him forget about they're problems with one another. However, the overwhelming sensation of tiredness and self hatred was returning. The serenity of the river made him want to smoke a spliff and relax, but he wasn't with his smoking buddies. He had to remind himself that he didn't have that luxury right now. He was with Rosie. He can't do that with Rosie.
He watched as she flared out two beach towels on the muddy ground with no regard of rocks or wet leaves that started dying from the cold air rushing in. Her pouted lips were pursed in concentration, but when she sat down and looked up at him, they softened into a small forced smile.
He looked at the towel then at the mud that it covered. He didn't want to sit in that and get muddy. Louis looked at Rosie who sat patiently on her towel, probably freezing in her outfit. She was no longer looking at him, probably annoyed that he had been complaining the whole time. So he put aside his pride and headed over. He sat next to her on his towel, sinking into the ground slightly, overlooking a small river stream and the city of Doncaster's smog and lights. He forgot how nice this place was - how calm and quiet it was. They had found it several years ago after Rosie's parents' divorce. They're little minds back then asked for an escape from what was happening, but they found paradise instead.
Perhaps it was the silence despite the hustle and bustle of the city or it was simply the feeling of déjà vu he felt with Rosie that made his nerves calm. The idea of a spliff ruined the natural relaxation so he was grateful for Rosie's indirected warning of sobriety.
"Simon was at the bar well after you left," Rosie spoke first, refusing to look at him. She leaned backwards on her forearms, looking out into the open fields. "He's a very desperate man."
Louis mimicked her action and rolled his eyes. "Simon says I should talk to you and tell you about my problems." He chuckled. "He says you'd say what I need to hear."
She looked at him, making eye contact for the first time. "He told me that too." She scrunched her face, shook her head, then looked back at the landscape. "You don't have to, we can just be here."
"Really?" He surprisingly uttered, sitting back up and crossing his legs. He picked at the dying piece of grass beside him and twisted it around his fingers. It was strange that he was given a choice. Usually, Simon or his staff would sit him down and bore him to death about how his actions need to change, but here: here he was given the opportunity to talk to an obvious impartial person who knew his life dreams or to sit silently and take in his hometown. He didn't feel that pressure of having to tell someone what they wanted to hear and it was nice.
He wasn't sure if she was in it for him or for how ever much Simon paid her out, but as they sat longer in the deafening silence, he was debating on genuinely telling her. His anxiety was getting the better of him. The crickets were loud and the stream was louder, but he never really had time to sit and think about his actions soberly. He never wanted to. His heartbeat began to quicken slightly, just overpowering his thoughts that grew louder.
"I don't know," Louis spoke, breaking the silence. "I just don't like being back here," He paused, waiting for her to respond, "the people are lame, not like any other place isn't lame, I mean people are shit everywhere." He rambled on, hoping to be interrupted.
But as he looked over to Rosie, she was intently staring at a white flower in the midst of a dead bush. His anxiety was slowly building up and he felt like he was going to explode, he felt obligated to tell her now, and she was too busy looking at a stupid flower.
"They found out where I came from," he stumbled out, looking at his hands. His eyes closed tightly, ready for any ridicule. "when I was on the show, they looked through my records."
"What's wrong with that?" Rosie asked calmly, lying on her back slowly.
Louis opened his eyes again, he half expected her to freak out about the reason - telling him that it was a stupid excuse. He ran his fingers through his hair and laid down parallel to her. "Some high end producer was on the phone. I was eavesdropping, I mean she was talking loudly - almost yelling so I don't know if you can call it eavesdropping. Anyway, all I heard was her repeatedly calling me poor. The broke one. The Northern one. Like that was an insult. It was just insult after insult with her. She made words that weren't negative insults. After I talked her about it, she wouldn't take me seriously; she would laugh and joke about what I stood for and who I am."
"Doncaster is definitely not the poorest city, though. How do you know she was talking about you?" She asked quietly.
"I know she was. I don't know... they know we're from Auckley. They know about everything. I always felt paranoid when I was around producers and staff after that. After awhile, I took matters into my own hands. I dealt with it my way, the rich way.
"I suppose with mum's divorce and everything... I decided that I should cut everyone off and start fresh." He sighed. He never had the time to word how he was feeling so when he felt small weights lifting from his chest, he knew what he was doing was right.
His breath of relief was halted with Rosie uttering a simple,"I know."
He looked up at the stars for a moment, remembering why he chugged the last bit of alcohol from the hotel's mini bar before he stepped foot on the plane to take him to his hometown. He was scared of his repercussions. He genuinely didn't recognize Rosie when he first saw her again -- but even if he did, he would've been too embarrassed to show his face. He can't imagine how she felt knowing that she was forgotten. He thought of the comment of her wealth that he said to her and it hurt him. He shouldn't have said that. He didn't want her to feel like he did with that producer.
"I'm sorry," He honestly said, peaking over at Rosie who's eyes were closed softly. "I didn't know what else to do. I feel like I don't have anything anymore so I find things to distract myself."
"Where you come from doesn't reflect who you are, Louis, it's who you become." An almost inaudible annoyed sigh escaped from her teeth.
"Rosie, it does matter where you come from. I think that's my problem." He sat up annoyed at her easy response. "It started here. It started where our school was crumbling and we bought secondhand. It started where the beggars on the street would learn people's names to guilt them into sparing a quid. It started here, but I'm not like this anymore. I started here but when I left, I realize that didn't know anything else. I had no other choice. I had to change. When I'm back here, I don't feel like I belong anywhere anymore. I feel so wrong being here now. The place where you come from shows how you lived, what lessons you learned, who you grew up with, and I don't like that.
"Everyone knows me just like before, but I feel uncomfortable now I guess. I've outgrown this place. But when I'm in the city, in fancy parties - where there's champagne and expensive food and huge celebrities - I feel like I'm too dirty, that everyone is looking at me like I'm some poor bloke who can't afford the clothes on my back. People look at me and expect me to be the poor Northern kid."
"That's just how you hold yourself, Louis, your composure means everything," Rosie concluded simply. Louis looked over her and waited. "I understand you, though. I understand your inflated ego and where it comes from."
Louis shook his head. Even with his easiness around her, he still thought this would be a bad idea; everyone claimed they understood but they didn't, especially her. She was fortunate enough to go back home and sleep in her own bed every day. She was fortunate enough to have a stable network of people and have a normal routine. Rosie is proclaiming that she understands his actions, but have never experienced it. "You don't, actually."
"I do, actually," she rebutted. She rested her weight on her forearms again, looking at the flower.
"You going to all these parties and drinking and do all of these damaging things are because you're insecure. It's that obvious: you're insecure about what you had and losing what you have." She raised an eyebrow, challenging Louis' stare. "The massive ego hides that the whole 'Don't question where I come from, look I'm rich now' facade which isn't exclusively yours or new for that matter."
She made his life crisis seem so trivial, like something that can fix with school glue and some tape, but it was something that meant a lot to him. "You say this like I can just stop what I started."
"You can," she expressed. "Your behaviour, your decision."
He thought about it for a moment. He could just stop cold turkey, but what he does is an escape to the knowledge of what's out there. He can stop his bad habits, but it won't stop him from his insecurities. His behaviour is the thing keeping him sane, keeping him safe. He doesn't want to stop. She didn't understand that. There was nothing else to run to. She was supposed to listen to him vent, not belittle him.
The anger boiled up his throat as he spoke. He thought of the constant pressure and anxiety he had gone through for the past two years that she obviously watched from bias headlines and became annoyed. "I'm sorry but what the fuck? What the fuck else am I supposed to do then. I can't change where I come from. I can't change the fact that people know where I come from." He paused for a minute realizing that his anger was out of frustration of her ignorance on the matter. He laid down in protest. "Besides, you don't know what it's like to be in the industry."
She laughed, repositioning herself. "All right, so let me get this straight," she paused, looking at him, "you won't accept that you come from a poor town nor accept the fact that you're rich now so you meet in the middle, yeah?"
He nodded to himself and looked back up at the stars. "Yeah, I guess."
"A happy, middle class bachelor, yeah?"
He nodded to himself again, a bachelor, he liked that. "Yeah."
A small chuckle escaped from her lips as she spoke, "I don't understand what's wrong with this place, though. I mean it's not the best ever, but it's what you make of it. You're so quick to call all these things you grew up with poor and make them seem like they're wrong. Do you understand that you got the opportunity to learn the value of money, learn relationships, communication skills and learn boundaries and privacy? Some celebrities never experienced that before: privacy."
She paused for a moment and sat up, facing the boy on his back. She waited for him to look at her before continuing, "You're smart Louis. You're forgetting that in this facade. You can persuade like nobody's business. You know language, you know music and you know people. You got to learn all of this because of where you come from. You're looking at all of the negatives of it, but have you really thought about it? Have you really thought about how lucky you are to have experienced actual hard work? Manual labour, stress, debt.
"You know, you can leave this town and never look back and no one would resent you -- like no one has, because like you said before, it's a shit place. No one is mad at you for wanting to leave but how you've treated us since you've left. The fact of the matter is, you can't be ashamed of where you come from. You will always leave with the lessons you've learned regardless if you hide it or not and you've forgotten that. You have lost your identity. You can't blame it on what you have now because it's what you lost in the process.
"Have you ever asked yourself in the midst of drinking your liver away, creating an even worse public persona that coming from a poor mining town is just as bad as you say it is? Have you actually asked yourself: are you happy now? With your life, are you actually happy?"
There was a long silence as he gathered up what to say. She had valid points he never really thought of. Her question was hard. He couldn't define happiness anymore. There was no face, no colour, no object - nothing. He felt like he was just... there. "Happy?" Louis repeated, tasting the word on his tongue. "I don't really know what that means if I'm being honest. I mean, yeah, simply -- I have friends, I guess, I laugh at and tell jokes, I have fun when I go out and I like the opportunities I'm getting. I know it's sheerly for the fact of my composure. I've distracted everyone from my issues. I feel like I have control over what people say about me. My life isn't as bad as it could be and I don't have terrible problems. I've made the most out of what I have. It could be worse." He paused, try to return to the initial question, "but actually happy? I'm just okay. I'm okay with that."
Rosie groaned in protest, "You dumbass." She grumbled, rubbing her face. "You've become so obsessed with where you come from that you neglect who you have become. You're allowed to be upset with what they're saying about you. You're allowed to be pissed off and find a way to deal with those problems, but alcohol and drug abuse is a form of self harm. You're hurting yourself for control and that's not okay. You're too dependent on it to be happy. That's your problem now, not where you come from. You need to find another outlet. You need to be who you want to be."
He closed his eyes and his face with his hands. Perhaps it was because a figure from his past said it or maybe it was the way she worded it, but slowly but surely, he felt a sense of guilt set in. "What else can I do?"
"That's for you to decide. I can help, but it's ultimately on you." She waited for him to remove his hands from his face but he refused to. "Louis look at me," she softly said, leaning over and guiding his hands away from his face. "We all want you to do this. I genuinely believe you can do this."
"I can't." He sat up, feeling his stomach turn with regret. He had said things to her seem to weigh on him more as he realized her intentions. She looked at him so gently, almost like a child. For some reason, it made him feel better.
She let go of his hands. "You'll never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have."
He laid there silently, knowing that she was right, knowing his options but not what to do. Every fibre of his being wanted to be the same as before he left, but he knew that he could never be the same. He depended on the stillness of a high and the lightness of intoxication. He needed it.
"I can't be fixed, Rosie."
"See, you're wrong there," She looked at him with a small encouraging smile, "You were never broken to begin with."
Louis sat on his childhood bed processing what had happened. His room was exactly how he left it. His sheets were his favourite navy blue and the pictures of his past friends stuck to the walls of his window in a crooked manner. Pictures of his old band and family lined the wall, but they paled in comparison to the contrast of the blonde hair, freckles and big blue eyes that stared back at him.
He walked up to the photos, those chubby cheeks and pink noses seemed so far away from the present. They were young and didn't have a care in the world. There was no strain and no pressure to be the ideal person. It was just them two. It was simple back then. They had each other for comfort, to hold and to laugh. They took care of each other and families. Louis didn't understand the value of their friendship back then, and as he reminisced, he wished he still had that, something with no complications, no heartache.
He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Rosie was still physically there. She still had the same curly, frizzy blonde hair, freckles that covered her face and blue eyes that could stun a country. She was still shorter than him and even smelled the same. She was right there - still pulling him out of trouble like she once did, even after he treated her so poorly.
Then again, it was her fault for getting him worked up, even if it was indirectly. Maybe if she wasn't so calm in a situation with rude customers, he wouldn't had to had stepped in. It was an old habit to save Rosie from situations like that -- and even though it's been years and he had no idea why they were harassing her, the impulse took over. That impulse boiled in his stomach, filling it's brim until the words escaped his throat She had stuck up for him, even in a small, minuscule way. He couldn't help himself. He didn't understand why the habit was still so prominent or why he was beating himself over what he did. He thought for a split second that he actually wanted to fight, but he knew that weed wasn't something that made him like that -- whiskey? Yes. A joint? Not so much. Regardless of who Rosie once was, he had stuck up for someone who was being harassed, he should be proud of that.
He stared at a different picture, still finding her face beside his. Her smile was always infectious - it was something that always brightened his darkest days. It wasn't until he looked at other pictures did he realize that her smile was foreign to him now - she hadn't smiled at him once since he's been here, not that she's had a reason too.
Louis sighed, running this hand through his hair, turning away from the collage of memories for his bed. It felt odd that things were different, but he was getting used to his life now. Maybe he doesn't need his old network anymore - they were fine by themselves. He was building his own life again, new people, new opportunities, new problems. He could slow down on narcotics, but it was a perk - a perk of escapism. He has the opportunity of a lifetime and he gets to get free drugs for free, why wouldn't he used it?
He turned off his bedside lamp for bed; it was well into the night and the last thing he needed was his mum yelling at him for sleeping in all day. He took off his shirt and trousers, revealing his bare chest and legs. The strain of sobriety was pounding in his head and the second he sat on his bed, the ache of exhaustion draped over him. Louis tangled himself in his bed sheets, sighing at the softness of the duvet. He closed his heavy eyes, finding a small amount of peace in the smell of familiarity.
The peace was interrupted by a frantic knocking that echoed through the room. It didn't sound like it was on his wooded door but glass. He peeked through his sheets, seeing a silhouette of a girl hovering behind his window. He turned on his lamp once more, wincing at the light. Sliding out of his bed and moaning in the newly found cold air hitting his skin, he forcefully opened the window of his bedroom letting in the damp, nippy air in.
"Rosie?" he muttered in a yawn, staring at the disheveled girl holding on for dear life. Louis watched as she grabbed onto the inner ledge, using the leverage to pull herself up more. She levied her body forward, scraping her stomach in the process. Her face reminded him that she always hated that part.
He didn't know how to react to her sudden appearance, but he managed to clue in and help her through the window completely, pulling her by her arms to land on his empty desk.
"I don't remember this desk being here," she gravelled, kicking her cold legs inside. She took off her wet flats and placed it beside her, folding her legs and pulling the window down.
"What are you-" Louis was confused and cold as he stared at the small girl. She had a small smile on her face even though goosebumps from the wind flooded her legs and her mascara stained under her eyes.
"We're going to the river."
oOo
"It's all muddy," Louis uttered in disgust. It was the first break of silence said since they had left his mother's home. The awkward silence made his skin tingle and his stomach turn. He just wanted it to end. He pulled his jean jacket closer to him, ignoring the fog that escaped from his mouth with every breath. "Why did I even bother coming?"
"I told you where we were going. It was your decision to wear your slippers." She shrugged.
"They're not slippers, they're Toms and they're comfortable," he rebutted, finally looking at her.
He hadn't realized the large space in between them until he glanced up. They were both walking in two separate rundown tire tracks, side by side. Mud constantly splashed onto his new shoes and when he looked at her, he couldn't imagine how cold she was, still in her work outfit. Her hands were in her jacket pockets and her head was down, watching for any puddle or dip in the earth she treaded in. The moonlight was behind them, shadowing all her frizzy, unkempt hair sticking out from her bun. She was just as short as he last left her, but her stature was tall. Rosie looked older than the last time he truly saw her, and it made him even more uncomfortable.
He took a small breath in, looking ahead of them, recognizing the familiar rushing of water and swaying of the leaves. He knew where they were for the first time in ten minutes. "I remember this. We found this place when we were young."
She stopped by the tree, glancing up at the sky before digging through her large bag. "Yeah, it's quiet and nice. I thought that, um, it'd be a good place to talk - if you wanted to talk."
Louis nodded, wondering why he was given the opportunity. As uncomfortable as he was with her, there was something about the idea of them sneaking out like old times that made him forget about they're problems with one another. However, the overwhelming sensation of tiredness and self hatred was returning. The serenity of the river made him want to smoke a spliff and relax, but he wasn't with his smoking buddies. He had to remind himself that he didn't have that luxury right now. He was with Rosie. He can't do that with Rosie.
He watched as she flared out two beach towels on the muddy ground with no regard of rocks or wet leaves that started dying from the cold air rushing in. Her pouted lips were pursed in concentration, but when she sat down and looked up at him, they softened into a small forced smile.
He looked at the towel then at the mud that it covered. He didn't want to sit in that and get muddy. Louis looked at Rosie who sat patiently on her towel, probably freezing in her outfit. She was no longer looking at him, probably annoyed that he had been complaining the whole time. So he put aside his pride and headed over. He sat next to her on his towel, sinking into the ground slightly, overlooking a small river stream and the city of Doncaster's smog and lights. He forgot how nice this place was - how calm and quiet it was. They had found it several years ago after Rosie's parents' divorce. They're little minds back then asked for an escape from what was happening, but they found paradise instead.
Perhaps it was the silence despite the hustle and bustle of the city or it was simply the feeling of déjà vu he felt with Rosie that made his nerves calm. The idea of a spliff ruined the natural relaxation so he was grateful for Rosie's indirected warning of sobriety.
"Simon was at the bar well after you left," Rosie spoke first, refusing to look at him. She leaned backwards on her forearms, looking out into the open fields. "He's a very desperate man."
Louis mimicked her action and rolled his eyes. "Simon says I should talk to you and tell you about my problems." He chuckled. "He says you'd say what I need to hear."
She looked at him, making eye contact for the first time. "He told me that too." She scrunched her face, shook her head, then looked back at the landscape. "You don't have to, we can just be here."
"Really?" He surprisingly uttered, sitting back up and crossing his legs. He picked at the dying piece of grass beside him and twisted it around his fingers. It was strange that he was given a choice. Usually, Simon or his staff would sit him down and bore him to death about how his actions need to change, but here: here he was given the opportunity to talk to an obvious impartial person who knew his life dreams or to sit silently and take in his hometown. He didn't feel that pressure of having to tell someone what they wanted to hear and it was nice.
He wasn't sure if she was in it for him or for how ever much Simon paid her out, but as they sat longer in the deafening silence, he was debating on genuinely telling her. His anxiety was getting the better of him. The crickets were loud and the stream was louder, but he never really had time to sit and think about his actions soberly. He never wanted to. His heartbeat began to quicken slightly, just overpowering his thoughts that grew louder.
"I don't know," Louis spoke, breaking the silence. "I just don't like being back here," He paused, waiting for her to respond, "the people are lame, not like any other place isn't lame, I mean people are shit everywhere." He rambled on, hoping to be interrupted.
But as he looked over to Rosie, she was intently staring at a white flower in the midst of a dead bush. His anxiety was slowly building up and he felt like he was going to explode, he felt obligated to tell her now, and she was too busy looking at a stupid flower.
"They found out where I came from," he stumbled out, looking at his hands. His eyes closed tightly, ready for any ridicule. "when I was on the show, they looked through my records."
"What's wrong with that?" Rosie asked calmly, lying on her back slowly.
Louis opened his eyes again, he half expected her to freak out about the reason - telling him that it was a stupid excuse. He ran his fingers through his hair and laid down parallel to her. "Some high end producer was on the phone. I was eavesdropping, I mean she was talking loudly - almost yelling so I don't know if you can call it eavesdropping. Anyway, all I heard was her repeatedly calling me poor. The broke one. The Northern one. Like that was an insult. It was just insult after insult with her. She made words that weren't negative insults. After I talked her about it, she wouldn't take me seriously; she would laugh and joke about what I stood for and who I am."
"Doncaster is definitely not the poorest city, though. How do you know she was talking about you?" She asked quietly.
"I know she was. I don't know... they know we're from Auckley. They know about everything. I always felt paranoid when I was around producers and staff after that. After awhile, I took matters into my own hands. I dealt with it my way, the rich way.
"I suppose with mum's divorce and everything... I decided that I should cut everyone off and start fresh." He sighed. He never had the time to word how he was feeling so when he felt small weights lifting from his chest, he knew what he was doing was right.
His breath of relief was halted with Rosie uttering a simple,"I know."
He looked up at the stars for a moment, remembering why he chugged the last bit of alcohol from the hotel's mini bar before he stepped foot on the plane to take him to his hometown. He was scared of his repercussions. He genuinely didn't recognize Rosie when he first saw her again -- but even if he did, he would've been too embarrassed to show his face. He can't imagine how she felt knowing that she was forgotten. He thought of the comment of her wealth that he said to her and it hurt him. He shouldn't have said that. He didn't want her to feel like he did with that producer.
"I'm sorry," He honestly said, peaking over at Rosie who's eyes were closed softly. "I didn't know what else to do. I feel like I don't have anything anymore so I find things to distract myself."
"Where you come from doesn't reflect who you are, Louis, it's who you become." An almost inaudible annoyed sigh escaped from her teeth.
"Rosie, it does matter where you come from. I think that's my problem." He sat up annoyed at her easy response. "It started here. It started where our school was crumbling and we bought secondhand. It started where the beggars on the street would learn people's names to guilt them into sparing a quid. It started here, but I'm not like this anymore. I started here but when I left, I realize that didn't know anything else. I had no other choice. I had to change. When I'm back here, I don't feel like I belong anywhere anymore. I feel so wrong being here now. The place where you come from shows how you lived, what lessons you learned, who you grew up with, and I don't like that.
"Everyone knows me just like before, but I feel uncomfortable now I guess. I've outgrown this place. But when I'm in the city, in fancy parties - where there's champagne and expensive food and huge celebrities - I feel like I'm too dirty, that everyone is looking at me like I'm some poor bloke who can't afford the clothes on my back. People look at me and expect me to be the poor Northern kid."
"That's just how you hold yourself, Louis, your composure means everything," Rosie concluded simply. Louis looked over her and waited. "I understand you, though. I understand your inflated ego and where it comes from."
Louis shook his head. Even with his easiness around her, he still thought this would be a bad idea; everyone claimed they understood but they didn't, especially her. She was fortunate enough to go back home and sleep in her own bed every day. She was fortunate enough to have a stable network of people and have a normal routine. Rosie is proclaiming that she understands his actions, but have never experienced it. "You don't, actually."
"I do, actually," she rebutted. She rested her weight on her forearms again, looking at the flower.
"You going to all these parties and drinking and do all of these damaging things are because you're insecure. It's that obvious: you're insecure about what you had and losing what you have." She raised an eyebrow, challenging Louis' stare. "The massive ego hides that the whole 'Don't question where I come from, look I'm rich now' facade which isn't exclusively yours or new for that matter."
She made his life crisis seem so trivial, like something that can fix with school glue and some tape, but it was something that meant a lot to him. "You say this like I can just stop what I started."
"You can," she expressed. "Your behaviour, your decision."
He thought about it for a moment. He could just stop cold turkey, but what he does is an escape to the knowledge of what's out there. He can stop his bad habits, but it won't stop him from his insecurities. His behaviour is the thing keeping him sane, keeping him safe. He doesn't want to stop. She didn't understand that. There was nothing else to run to. She was supposed to listen to him vent, not belittle him.
The anger boiled up his throat as he spoke. He thought of the constant pressure and anxiety he had gone through for the past two years that she obviously watched from bias headlines and became annoyed. "I'm sorry but what the fuck? What the fuck else am I supposed to do then. I can't change where I come from. I can't change the fact that people know where I come from." He paused for a minute realizing that his anger was out of frustration of her ignorance on the matter. He laid down in protest. "Besides, you don't know what it's like to be in the industry."
She laughed, repositioning herself. "All right, so let me get this straight," she paused, looking at him, "you won't accept that you come from a poor town nor accept the fact that you're rich now so you meet in the middle, yeah?"
He nodded to himself and looked back up at the stars. "Yeah, I guess."
"A happy, middle class bachelor, yeah?"
He nodded to himself again, a bachelor, he liked that. "Yeah."
A small chuckle escaped from her lips as she spoke, "I don't understand what's wrong with this place, though. I mean it's not the best ever, but it's what you make of it. You're so quick to call all these things you grew up with poor and make them seem like they're wrong. Do you understand that you got the opportunity to learn the value of money, learn relationships, communication skills and learn boundaries and privacy? Some celebrities never experienced that before: privacy."
She paused for a moment and sat up, facing the boy on his back. She waited for him to look at her before continuing, "You're smart Louis. You're forgetting that in this facade. You can persuade like nobody's business. You know language, you know music and you know people. You got to learn all of this because of where you come from. You're looking at all of the negatives of it, but have you really thought about it? Have you really thought about how lucky you are to have experienced actual hard work? Manual labour, stress, debt.
"You know, you can leave this town and never look back and no one would resent you -- like no one has, because like you said before, it's a shit place. No one is mad at you for wanting to leave but how you've treated us since you've left. The fact of the matter is, you can't be ashamed of where you come from. You will always leave with the lessons you've learned regardless if you hide it or not and you've forgotten that. You have lost your identity. You can't blame it on what you have now because it's what you lost in the process.
"Have you ever asked yourself in the midst of drinking your liver away, creating an even worse public persona that coming from a poor mining town is just as bad as you say it is? Have you actually asked yourself: are you happy now? With your life, are you actually happy?"
There was a long silence as he gathered up what to say. She had valid points he never really thought of. Her question was hard. He couldn't define happiness anymore. There was no face, no colour, no object - nothing. He felt like he was just... there. "Happy?" Louis repeated, tasting the word on his tongue. "I don't really know what that means if I'm being honest. I mean, yeah, simply -- I have friends, I guess, I laugh at and tell jokes, I have fun when I go out and I like the opportunities I'm getting. I know it's sheerly for the fact of my composure. I've distracted everyone from my issues. I feel like I have control over what people say about me. My life isn't as bad as it could be and I don't have terrible problems. I've made the most out of what I have. It could be worse." He paused, try to return to the initial question, "but actually happy? I'm just okay. I'm okay with that."
Rosie groaned in protest, "You dumbass." She grumbled, rubbing her face. "You've become so obsessed with where you come from that you neglect who you have become. You're allowed to be upset with what they're saying about you. You're allowed to be pissed off and find a way to deal with those problems, but alcohol and drug abuse is a form of self harm. You're hurting yourself for control and that's not okay. You're too dependent on it to be happy. That's your problem now, not where you come from. You need to find another outlet. You need to be who you want to be."
He closed his eyes and his face with his hands. Perhaps it was because a figure from his past said it or maybe it was the way she worded it, but slowly but surely, he felt a sense of guilt set in. "What else can I do?"
"That's for you to decide. I can help, but it's ultimately on you." She waited for him to remove his hands from his face but he refused to. "Louis look at me," she softly said, leaning over and guiding his hands away from his face. "We all want you to do this. I genuinely believe you can do this."
"I can't." He sat up, feeling his stomach turn with regret. He had said things to her seem to weigh on him more as he realized her intentions. She looked at him so gently, almost like a child. For some reason, it made him feel better.
She let go of his hands. "You'll never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have."
He laid there silently, knowing that she was right, knowing his options but not what to do. Every fibre of his being wanted to be the same as before he left, but he knew that he could never be the same. He depended on the stillness of a high and the lightness of intoxication. He needed it.
"I can't be fixed, Rosie."
"See, you're wrong there," She looked at him with a small encouraging smile, "You were never broken to begin with."
Get ready, Louis! ;) I have hope. Lol.
6/29/17