Turquoise

The movie remained paused for the rest of the evening. Though Abby had seen it before, she was looking forward to watching it a second time. Knowing the ending made the movie less stressful and more enjoyable – at least, it would have been if Harry hadn’t shown up and began regaling the group with tales of life on the road, stories Abby was convinced were entirely exaggerated. Surely no fans actually physically fought over a water bottle he tossed into the crowd, to the point of the police being called. Harry was such a pompous ass.

“So now, the Direction is… One?” Mike offered, trying to make a pun out of the newsworthy fact that one of the biggest boybands in history was taking a break – the nail in the coffin for the group, as far as Abby was concerned.

Harry laughed. “Well… I mean… I don’t know,” he said, shifting uncomfortably as he cast a furtive glance in Abby’s direction. He would have easily confessed his next steps to Mike and Jenna, but with a stranger in the mix – a rude stranger at that – he felt awkward stating the truth about the future of the band. “I guess we’re all going to try and forge our own path, so… we’ll see,” he said diplomatically.

Mike saw right through Harry’s attempt at diplomacy. “Oh, come off it,” he chuckled. “Your crazy fans might not want to believe it, but it’s done, isn’t it?”

Harry pursed his lips together before shrugging slowly. “Well… probably,” he confessed with a sheepish chuckle. While they had insisted to the media that no, they weren’t breaking up – and some of the boys still chose to believe that – Harry knew he’d toured his last tour with One Direction. They had a handful of performances taking them to the end of the year to promote the last album, and Harry was well aware that he would still have to placate the fans and the media. It was exhausting, but apparently necessary. He still wasn’t sure why.

“I mean… I have been doing some writing and stuff, so… once this year is over, I’ll really be able to focus on myself and my own career,” Harry confessed, his excitement evident in his slow grin. “It’s really just what I’ve always wanted to do, so I can’t wait to just… finally say and do and write exactly what I want to do, you know?”

Abby’s ears perked at his comment. “That’s… awfully selfish,” she commented after a moment, her voice quiet but audible. She’d kept silent during the Hour of Harry, her snide remarks fighting to come out but she repressed them, only allowing herself to roll her eyes.

Harry turned to Abby, taken aback by her comment. She hadn’t spoken a word to him since he’d arrived, and he liked it that way. Abby was rude and standoffish, the type of person Harry refrained from being friends with. He knew she’d been rolling her eyes at him with every sentence he spoke, but he ignored it. He couldn’t ignore her comment.

“How?” he questioned defiantly. “I’ve done this for five years. Every decision I’ve ever made was made in a democracy. I think it’s only fair that I take some time to do what I want to do.”

“Fair to who?”

“To me.”

Abby snickered. “Exactly,” she pointed out. “You’re only thinking about yourself. That’s the definition of selfish, you know,” she added haughtily.

Harry offered Abby an eye roll that rivaled her own. “Thank you for the vocabulary lesson,” he said sarcastically. “But you really have no idea what you’re on about, so…” He shrugged dismissively. He really was not fond of this girl.

Abby shrugged. “Do your own thing, Harry,” she told him, her voice surprisingly neutral. “Write more songs about girls not knowing they’re pretty, or dancing to Katy Perry. But be honest about it. I know your fans are all about twelve years old, but they’ve given you a lot. You should show them some respect.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “And yours are all, what, collecting their pensions at the ripe old age of thirteen?” he shot back, refusing to admit her comment was exactly what was on the forefront of his mind. If he had his way, One Direction would have announced the end of their career, not weakly call it a hiatus and give their fans false hopes about another tour, more albums and more Direction. But that was the problem – nothing was his way.

“You guys…” Jenna piped up hesitantly, attempting to stop the banter.

Abby held her hand up, silencing her friend. “It’s okay,” she told her. “He can say what he wants about my fans. At least I don’t find it pleasurable to blatantly lie to them.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry sighed impatiently. He hated how he’d just met this girl and she already found a way to aggravatingly get under his skin. “It’s not a fucking lie,” he snapped back, even though it was. “It’s… a way to keep them happy until we all have our own albums out. Once that happens, they’ll know. They aren’t stupid.” That might have also been a lie.

“Okay,” Abby said simply, crossing her arms across her chest. “If it makes you feel good about yourself to lie about lying to your fans, that’s your deal.”

“I’m not lying!” Harry yelped, surprised by his sudden outburst. He prided himself on being able to maintain control in situations where he wanted to snap, but Abby didn’t make it easy. Every eye roll, every snicker, every time she tightly pursed her lips and disagreed with him without uttering a word irritated him to his core. If she were a man, he’d be tempted to punch her.

“I said, okay!” Abby shot back, undeterred by Harry’s loud tone. Not only was he a spoiled brat, but he was a temper-tantruming baby. “God, your arrogance is astounding.”

“My arrogance?” Harry repeated scornfully. “Least I’m going to be putting myself out there, trying something different. How many fucking shoot-em-up movies can one person do, yeah?”

Abby breathed out a sigh, reminding herself to remain calm and not let Harry’s pathetic attempt at an insult get to her. It was true; she was quickly becoming typecast, but she didn’t need Harry to know he’d pinpointed her fear. “How do you expect to do something different?” she shot back. “You’ve been fucking manufactured for five years, in this boy band factory. You’ve done all the same songs, you’ll keep doing all the same songs. You don’t know how to do anything different!”

She was doing a fine job of hitting all of his fears. “Fuck, you’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he asked, blowing out an exasperated breath. “Why does it fucking matter to you, anyway? You don’t even know me,” he reminded her.

“All I did was make a comment. I’m allowed to have an opinion, you know,” she pointed out, unaware that the comment she made was entirely inappropriate to make to someone she’d just met. She didn’t normally butt into conversations – she would rather sit back and listen than contribute – but Harry’s pretentious attitude was too much for her to remain silent.

“Oh, is that right?” Harry mused. “Then so am I. I think you’re fucking rude as hell and a miserable brat. I think your last movie was an utter flop because you were riding high from the fucking Nova Terra series and didn’t think you had to put out effort, and it showed. But hey,” he lamented with a shrug. “Just my opinion. No harm, no foul, right?”

Unwillingly, Abby’s mouth dropped open at Harry’s slew of insults. She hadn’t wanted to allow him to get under her skin or have an effect on her in any way, but it was now written all over her face. She knew her last movie flopped because of her – a fact she hated to admit, but was widely apparent. The reviews were mortifying, to say the least, and it was part of what set Abby’s plan to start fresh into motion. She also knew she came across as rude and miserable – she tried to be neither, but it was easy to misconstrue shy and private. It was something Jenna had worked tirelessly to help Abby overcome, to no avail. Harry had found Abby’s doubts and fears and effortlessly blew them wide open.

Harry knew he should feel remorse as soon as he saw the stunned look on Abby’s face, but he didn’t. He realised he felt almost smug as he succeeded in knocking her down a peg. She couldn’t possibly think she could justify her insults as opinions and not have him do the same, and if she did, she was more arrogant than she believed him to be.

“Harry…” Jenna gasped out, puncturing the tense air with her dismay.

Abby stood up abruptly, the lap blanket that had been tucked around her legs falling to the floor, tangling against her feet. “Well… goodnight, then,” she stated simply, afraid if she said any more, she would lose what little control she had over her emotions. She stepped over the blanket, avoiding everyone’s eyes as she stalked out of the living room.

The room remained silent, save for the echoing steps of Abby’s feet on the staircase. Moments later, they heard the bedroom door slam with fury, rattling the hanging pots in the kitchen below.

Jenna sighed. “What’d you go and do that for, Harry?” she asked, shaking her head at him.

Harry’s eyes widened and he gestured manically. “She started it!” he protested, pleased that the fact was true. “She said I was selfish! And manufactured! And!”

“Yeah, but you hit really below the belt there,” Jenna told him, obviously feeling an alliance to her friend and boss. “Call her a miserable brat all you want, if you have to, but… I mean, don’t knock her career.”

“She knocked mine!” Harry sputtered out, looking to Mike for support. Smartly, the man kept his eyes down, focused only on his phone and clearly not about to take sides between his wife and his friend. Harry sighed; he knew Mike would have to take Jenna’s side.

Jenna lowered her voice. “Abby is a lot more sensitive than you are,” she confessed to Harry. “She’s been through a lot, and…”

“She’s brought most of that on herself,” Mike pointed out, piquing Harry’s interest. What had happened to the girl to make her such a wretched person? He didn’t dare ask – he didn’t want to show any interest in Abby’s life, and he was certain Jenna wouldn’t divulge anything to him.

Jenna flicked her wrist in Mike’s direction. “Regardless,” she argued. “Just… try to play nice,” she said pleadingly. “She’s a good person… once you get to know her.”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Fuck… guess I’ll have to apologise tomorrow, then,” he grumbled dutifully. If he could lie to his fans, he could easily lie to Abby Hajjar.

~*~*~*~

Abby woke up the next morning, well before the Lord, as irritated as she’d been when she first laid her head down the night before. She rolled over, staring at the ceiling as the events from the night before replayed in her mind. Maybe she didn’t have to voice her opinion on Harry’s selfishness and mediocracy – he was right; she didn’t know him – but if his head got any bigger, he wouldn’t fit through the front door. Taking a swipe at Harry should have made her feel good, but his comebacks made her feel meek and insignificant.

She exhaled; pushing the blankets to the foot of the bed. Though she’d only fallen asleep five hours earlier, Abby had never been a person to rely on hours of sleep. Five hours was a full night’s sleep, in her opinion. She knew she would remain tense and on edge all day if she didn’t get a run in – and maybe she would even then – so she quickly changed her clothes, ran a brush through her hair and her teeth before silently creeping down the stairs and out into the crisp November morning.

She ran hard, desperately trying to push the annoyance out of her. Every time her foot slammed against the pavement, she tried to imagine she was stomping on Harry’s smug face. Her mind raced as fast as her legs as she tried to think of snappy comebacks to throw in his face. She was coming up blank, however, and hoped she would be sharper with some caffeine in her system.

She rounded the corner back onto Mike and Jenna’s street, slowing her pace as she cooled down. Her heartrate was settling back to normal as she quietly pushed open the front door, careful to not wake anyone in the house. She wouldn’t mind waking Harry and disrupting his beauty sleep, but not if it meant he would be in her company sooner than necessary.

She crept into the kitchen, relieved it was still vacant at this early hour. She stood in front of the sink, gulping down a cup and a half of water before focusing her attention on the space-age coffee maker sitting proudly next to the sink. Jenna adored having the latest gadgets. The last coffee pot Abby bought was from a second hand store.

Harry rubbed his eyes as he shuffled down the stairs, blinking against the bright light from the kitchen. He was surprised to see someone else in the house was awake, and he prayed it wasn’t Abby. It was too early, he was too decaffeinated and despite his promise to Jenna, he wasn’t certain he would be apologising to the girl.

He stepped into the kitchen, abruptly stopping when he saw Abby standing with her back to the doorway. She hadn’t seen him. He could just take a few backwards steps and disappear upstairs. She’d never know.

Bam!

Abby whirled around, startled by the sudden crash in the silent house. Her hand instinctively pressed to her chest, though she frowned deeply when she saw the culprit, bent over on the floor in a clandestine attempt to straighten the picture frames on the hall table he’d crashed into.

“What in the world are you doing?” Abby snapped, her voice a low hiss. Why was he always everywhere she wanted to be?

Harry grumbled to himself as he haphazardly fixed the photos. “Trying to be quiet!” he hissed back. It was barely five in the morning and he was already in an irritable mood. If his home renovations took much longer than about an hour, Harry was certain he would be starring on the next season of Intervention.

Abby rolled her eyes at him before turning back to the coffee pot from Mars. “Well, try harder,” she advised through gritted teeth. She flipped open the lid on the side of the machine, wishing she’d already figured out the coffee and didn’t have to look like an inept idiot in front of Harry.

He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her. It was obvious Abby had no idea how to work the new-fangled appliance, and while it would be amusing to watch her struggle – Harry was almost positive she could throw a hilarious tantrum – he really needed a cup of coffee.

“Y’know… I have the same machine at home…” he told her, not moving from his perch against the door. If she wanted coffee, she would have to ask.

Abby rolled her eyes again, catching his reflection in the darkened window. He even stood like an arrogant ass. “Might I suggest going home and using it, then?” she stated, pulling the machine further from the wall to examine the back. Oh, how she loathed this coffee maker and Harry Styles.

He let out a humourless snicker. “You’re getting colder,” he offered flippantly. He could see her shoulders tense and he knew his taunts were getting to her. Good.

Abby pushed the coffee maker to the side, keeping her back to Harry as she gestured to the machine. “Be my guest, then,” she muttered, making a mental note to buy instant coffee. It was disgusting, but at least she knew how to prepare it without looking like an incompetent twit.

“Suppose if that’s the only way you know how to ask nicely…” he jeered, striding across the room and grabbing the hose from the sink. It pleased him to no end that Abby didn’t know how to make coffee in a simple – once you got the hang of it – coffee maker.

“Fuck off, Harry,” Abby sighed, crossing her arms in a huff as she watched Harry grandiosely prepare the coffee, a smug smirk across his face. If she slapped that grin off his face, she wondered if he would slap her back. She was fairly tough, but if nothing else, she could yank on his stupid man bun. “Put in one more,” she directed as Harry dropped the scoop back into the grounds, content with four scoops.

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t really want to chew my coffee this morning, thanks,” he said, closing the coffee tin and pushing it aside. “Besides, I think the words you’re searching for are thank and you,” he added with a frown.

“How about fuck and you instead,” Abby shot back, darting behind Harry and snatching the coffee tin before he could react. “It’s going to be practically see-through with that pathetic amount of grounds. Don’t you know anything?” she asked, scooping out another spoonful of grounds and opening the percolating machine.

“Says the one who couldn’t even work an automatic machine,” Harry reminded her, scowling as she attempted to ruin his perfect pot of coffee. “Abby, fuck off. You’re going to wreck it,” he told her, closing the lid before she could drop the grounds in.

This kid was infuriating. Abby glared at him, flicking the lid open again. “Piss off,” she ordered, about to drop the last scoop in when Harry pushed her hand away, the scoop of grounds spilling over the otherwise pristine countertop.

“You are such a child,” Abby told him crossly; not missing a beat at she threw the dishcloth at his face. “Clean it up.”

Gross, Harry thought, pulling the cloth from his neck. He scowled at Abby, throwing the cloth back at her. “You fucking do it,” he demanded. She was the reason it spilled; he wasn’t going to take orders from a bossy cow like Abby.

Abby dropped the cloth on the counter, crossing her arms defiantly. “Are you such a spoiled diva that you don’t even know how to wipe a counter?” she asked him with a sneer.

He scoffed, though he knew he had to wipe the counters now. Maybe he’d even bake bread and change the oil in his car, just to show her that he wasn’t a spoiled brat and could easily perform menial domestic duties. Of course, he’d have to research how to do both of those jobs, but Abby didn’t need to know that.

He grabbed the cloth, glaring at Abby as he moistened it under the tap. She pursed her lips together, waiting until he was focused on the task at hand before she snatched the coffee tin again, quickly prying off the lid. She was determined to get her own way, even if the coffee was half brewed.

“Fucking don’t!” Harry exclaimed, dropping the cloth and reaching for the tin, attempting to wrestle it from Abby’s clutches. She tucked it under her arm, football style, in an effort to keep it from Harry. She forgot, however, that the lid was off. As Harry grasped the tin, Abby squeezed it to her side and both of them stopped as two pounds of coffee grounds spilled to the floor.

In unison, they both sighed as the gazed at the rich brown mountain protruding from the white tiled floor. Knowing she was somewhat to blame for the second spill, Abby sighed again, louder than before. “I’ll get the broom,” she grumbled. All she wanted was a cup of coffee.

Notes