[HarryStyles] Pop Meets Hardcore

One.

“Your music sucks,” he hisses. I look up from my latte, not really interested; I never really am anymore, because it’s nothing I haven’t heard. His blonde hair is cut short and his green eyes are looking down at me. “I don’t know why anyone would want to listen to someone scream, let alone a girl.”

Forcing a smile, I nod. Turning back to my latte, I take a sip. It’s normal, somewhat, for someone to tell me that I’m terrible. There will always be people who don’t like what I do, and there will always be people who like what I do; that’s life, lovers and haters.

He taps my shoulder and I glance at him before turning my body to face him, letting out a soft groan. “You should stop trying. Your band plays noise, not music.”

“That’s what we were going for. The more you hate me the better I feel.” I lift my cup, hoping he would get the hint and leave me alone. There are two lyric sheets in front of me that need attention, and soon, because we have to get into the studio and get this done so I can move on with my life.

He notices the sheets in front of me, grabbing them off the table. “You’re going to cover One Direction? What did those poor guys ever do to your band?” His eyebrows furrow and his nose crinkles in disgust, but not at One Direction, at the fact that we’re covering one of their songs, like I had a choice in the matter.

I look down at my hands that are holding onto the cup. Little things like this don’t make me want to quit, not anymore anyway. It’s hurtful to hear people talk like this about me, but everyone has his or her own opinions and everyone is entitled to have opinions.

When I don’t respond, he scoffs quietly. Ripping the sheets in half, he tosses the sheets back on the table, walking away and kicking the leg of the table on his way. The cup begins to shake and I grab it off the table, holding it in my hands, not wanting it to spill.

Combing my fingers through my hair, I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling it fight to stay there. If I let it bother me, I’ll never get anywhere. People are so cruel; differences are what make the world go round, it’s why people are still around, because if everyone was the same then it would be so boring.

On one hand, it’s fun to hear what they have to say, all of the haters, assholes, whatever you want to call them, they always have something to say. Most of the time it makes no sense, because there are a lot of guys who come to my concerts, and a lot of guys are the ones buying the VIP tickets to meet us.

There’s always someone who feels the need to comment, to insult really, but there are always two more people who come up to me and ask for a picture or an autograph and tell me their stories. That’s why I do this, to share stories, to help others, to do what I love.

Really, I should have known that someone was going to come over here. There are holes in my earlobes and my hair isn't a single color; in front of me are two music sheets – one blank and one with the lyrics and such of One Direction’s song.

It’s not shocking that someone saw it and decided to say something to me. But, I figured it would be a girl. Girls are vicious, horrible, just disgusting.

Even though I don’t want to admit it, it really hurts.

Someone walks past me, her eyes lingering a little too long on me, it’s uncomfortable. I don’t like when people stare, it’s an invasion of personal space and privacy, simply because I'm not on stage, and that’s not okay, I don’t like being uncomfortable.

A piece of paper falls down onto the top of the table, and I knit my eyebrows together, she tossed it here, I saw the flick of her wrist, and I glance down at it, “Tell Craig to tell you who has been calling for you.”

&&/

That’s how I ended up here, face to face with Simon Cowell, with Brad by my side, his eyebrows drawn together. I don’t really, I don’t get it, how that conversation ended me up here, I guess someone overheard it and told the press that my band is covering One Direction.

It’s not an easy feat, there’s one of me and five of them; I can’t just suddenly have the effect that five singers do in one. We only said yes because we love the idea of Punk Goes Pop and it’s fun, it’s always fun to make someone else’s song out own, but at this point I would be better off singing a Nicki Minaj song.

“I really don’t see how having Harry Styles is going to make this better.” Knitting his eyebrows together, Brad tilts his head to the side, I don’t really know why he’s here. I meant, I wanted him here, when I got the phone call, well, when Craig got the call. If he had called me, I would have thought it was Keith pranking me or something insane like that, but apparently he’s called about this before, before Craig even agreed to let him meet with me.

People are really nasty to anyone who is even seen with those guys, all of them, not just Harry, whatever, Niall, Zayn, and whoever the other two are, I can’t do that, I can barely deal with my own hate. Having that added on to my plate, I don’t know, it’s been hard, I try really hard to change my way of thinking, to one that seems so philosophical, but it still hurts.

I don’t think that I'm ready for death threats, for hate, for glares, for attacks. I've seen it before, and it was only Oliver Sykes and his girlfriend, he’s nowhere near as famous as Harry Styles is, and his girlfriend got punched in the face by a fan.

That scares me. I'm not, I don’t think that I even know how to throw a legitimate punch. Hell, I don’t think that I know how to protect myself.

Harry is attractive. I read magazines. I have a Tumblr. I'm not completely ignorant to pop culture simply because I live in a world of rock and roll. His arms are really nice. He has tattoos, oddly placed tattoos, but tattoos that make him look tougher than he probably is. From what I can tell from pictures, he has eyes that you can just get lost in.

I'm a girl, too. I think like other girls do.

I find guys who aren’t covered in tattoos and piercings attractive.

And I have no problem admitting that I find Harry Styles attractive.