The Lost Member (Sequel to The New Member)

Chapter 2

A/N:  I know it's been so long, and I deeply apologize, but with school having started and a lot of work piling up, along with having to deal with a lot of other things it is hard to write. I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing though, and hopefully can have a chapter up every other Saturday.

 Please forgive me for the lack of posting, and I hope you enjoy this.

It's unedited so watch out for that too.

Chapter 2

*Liam’s P.O.V.*

  I stood in the middle of the lobby, dead-center.

  I could not find it in me to move, or even wave.

 A crowd of my fans stood outside the hotel, an expensive one in Italy, and thanks to the large, romantic windows, they could see me standing there like an idiot. I had come waltzing down here to get my mail from the concierge, not thinking about the fact that I was famous and fans, or more likely reporters, were waiting outside the building for me. It was too late for me to realize my mistake when they began calling out my name, and so I froze up. If I could, maybe I would go and talk to them. If they were my fans I would greet them pleasantly and give out hugs by the thousands, and if they were reporters, I would…. I do not even know. Perhaps, try to clear things up? I would answer questions, at least the ones I knew, and then… then they would start yelling at me, calling me a fake and a liar, and so I would flip them off, walk back into the lobby, and spend twenty or so minutes curled up on my bathroom floor.

 I could do neither, though. Management had told a couple of months ago, after we had landed in Europe and gotten to our hotel, that we were no longer allowed to enter any crowds or mobs unless completely necessary. And if it became dire to do so, we were to be accompanied by security. Our security had doubled since then. I guess I really had no problems with the new rule, since our fans had all but left us, being manipulated and all, and all reporters and paparazzi wanted was to get more bad press on us. People by the dozens would call us names as we passed, and even miles away those words still seemed to sting in my ears. We had done something horribly wrong, so we were just receiving our punishment.

  Eventually, I moved.

 “Could I have my mail?” I asked the male concierge, his eyes glued to a computer screen.

 “Last name?”

 “Payne.” I answered dryly.

 The corner of his mouth twitched before he turned into the room behind him, and exited a few minutes later with three letters. “Are you sure that’s all?” I questioned him politely, but he only huffed and threw the envelopes down on the counter. Glaring at him, I picked them up and walked to the elevator. Thankfully, I got one to myself so I could look through my mail. The first one was from my family, and since I knew my mum all too well it was bound to be lengthy and hold nothing significant, so I decided to save that one for later.

  The second was from Lake, and upon reading it, I was gladly relieved to know that he was doing well. He and Harry’s sister seemed to have it off. Gemma promised only to go out with him once he had gotten out of rehab and was stable. That had been more than enough of an initiative to get clean, and it appeared that, though he was struggling getting over the addiction, it was a lot easier having a beautiful woman by your side to keep you strong. Lake and Gemma had moved into an apartment together, and my friend had gotten a job at the ASDA down the street. He went into great detail about how Gemma hums when she makes him tea, and how his dog, Skippy, liked to chew at his slippers during breakfast, and that there had been a homeless man at his bus stop every afternoon when he got off work. He said that one day, while waiting for the bus to come, he had thought of me, and what I had done for him, and decided to invite the man for dinner. Lake said he was a wonderful singer and he had dinner with him every night after that one.