Human [Harry Styles]

Chapter Twenty.

Dedication: I'm officially starting dedications to readers for comments/reading dedication, etc. because you all deserve it, and I don't recognize that enough. So this one goes to @TianaSaunders for being amazing! She caught up to this story a few chapters again insanely fast, and also really helped me with her comment on the last chapter. She is increadibly motivating as a reader and I think I owe a lot to her for helping inspire me on, so thank you Tiana!

Marley

            I guess that everything is back to normal now, or as normal as anything can be anymore. The last person that cared is gone now, so what more can I do but go back to reality and pretend it never happened?

            I’ve still had to consistently keep up work in the bakery, to support myself, but you know, so it goes, right? I’m pretty sure a lot has changed all over again, and probably for the worse. Maybe I’m getting used to it by now though.

            “Have a nice day,” I quietly offer to an elderly woman with two toddlers, who must be her grandchildren. In a place like this, people don’t seem to mind the muted behavior towards strangers, which I guess I’m thankful for. No need to pretend then.

            The woman gives me a faint smile with a thank you before shuffling the two children out the door, pastries in hand.

            I sigh, unsurprised. She probably doesn’t look at the media, hell, if she’s anything like my grandmother, she barely even knows how to properly use a mobile, let alone the Internet.

            Still though, to people her age and a bit younger, I’m old news. They know what happened, and some approve, some don’t, and some just couldn’t care less. I guess that’s how things always go when they get old though.

            To teenagers and young adults… I’m all the rage – and by rage, I mean that literally. Especially with the girls, considering I’m in all the magazines as destroying the beloved boy band that means everything to them.

            So with every person twenty-five and under that comes in here (usually female) there’s no point. Being torn down all over again is just how it is now. Hell, maybe I’m getting used to it, numb.

            That’s probably not a healthy thing, but I can’t help but not care.

            “Are you alright, love?” I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn a bit to see Clarissa smiling down at me, flowery apron around her torso, as usual. “You’re not looking well.”

            I purse my lips for a moment, trying to come up with a good excuse as to why I’m suddenly relapsing into self-loathing and depression again. So far, nothing excusable comes to mind.

            “Hand just aches a bit,” I lamely say instead, holding up my right hand and waving it around a bit. On doctor’s orders, it’s still wrapped thickly in ace bandages from its contact with the mirror the other day in my rage.

            Clarissa frowns a bit, shaking her head. “How did you say you did that again?”

            Tantrum, I think, but instead, I just say, “Accident. Slammed it in my car door.”

            I’m not sure if it’s the lighting or my lack of sleep or what, but Clarissa has an expression that seems to whisper that she doesn’t believe me. “Shame. Your shift is over in thirty though Marley, go home and relax early,” she only says, patting my arms once before turning to help out another customer.