Losing the Light [h.s.]

16

Harry hated the flight back to Vancouver. He'd gotten an ear infection the day before, and he felt like his eardrums were going to explode--which, the doctor told him, almost happened because he shouldn't have been on a plane anyway--from the pressure on the airplane. Harry's seemingly harmless ear infection turned into the flu, and he stayed home for nearly two weeks, sleeping during the day and staying up all night.

It was boring. He would send a text to Marlee at 3 in the morning, and she'd text back the next day with her reply. She refused to text him that early in the morning, and Harry refused to let Marlee come over when he was that sick.

The whole time he felt like he was going to die, so he'd come up with a handwritten letter for his mum to find and read to all his friends and family members. It was 14 pages long.

Thankfully, he'd finished all those interviews before his sickness, so he felt good about not having to do any more of them.

On the 11th day of his nocturnal lifestyle, his phone rings in the middle of the night--day, for some people; it's 11 o'clock in the morning.

It happens to be a call from a number he doesn't recognize, so he ignores it and goes back to sleep. Ten minutes after that, his phone buzzes to alert him of an email being received.

Harry groans, opening up his inbox and seeing the form:

subject: (No Subject)

from: (Unknown Address)

message content: JPEG Attachment (Click the Link to Open)

At first, Harry thinks nothing of it. It's probably just spam, like usual. But, he clicks the link anyway, opening up a magazine spread titled "Forget About Sight, Harry Styles has Secrets."

Harry furrows his brow. Secrets? What secrets? He's only told people the truth.

He looks deeper into the magazine spread, zooming in to read it.

'Harry Styles' story is a complete scam...'

'By the Olympic standards Harry will never be able to compete again...'

Yeah, right, Harry thinks. Where would someone come up with this garbage?

Under the attachment, there's a message:

Thank you, Harry, for telling us the 'truth.' You didn't answer our call, so we are kindly sending you an email with the same message.

We received an anonymous tip from a close friend of yours. They told us the real story: there is no story. Your 15 minutes of fame has ended.

Your friend told us that there was nearly no chance of you entering the Olympics again. That is very good for you, Styles. Because, if you do we will have you disqualified.

How, you ask? We have our ways.

It would be smart of you to watch the news this week, and look at the magazines and newspapers as you pass by the stands. Your face will be all over the covers.

Thanks much, for your participation in our little game.

Harry grinds his teeth together, putting his phone away.

Who would have done that? A "close friend?" No friend of Harry's would have done that knowing the truth.

What "truth" is there to find out, anyway? Harry wasn't a quitter! Now whoever had told the Press was somewhere with a smirk on their face, feeling good about what they'd done.

But who was it? Harry could only think of one person he knew who would've done something like this.

No, he tells himself. It couldn't of been Matthew, right? We pay him!

And now Matthew--who had helped Harry make his way to the top--was flushing Harry's career down the toilet. Harry probably will need his goodbye letter...

"I need an Aspirin," Harry groans.