BROKEN

CHAPTER 1: DONE

HARRYS POV:

The clouds sifted through the sky as I stared out the window of this small building I was trapped in. I see girls crowding outside. The sound of the screams was almost as if there was a war happening out there. It got old after a while. I understood, or at least I thought I did. The girls liked our music. And yeah, they thought we we were cute. But what I didn't understand is why they cared so much. Why did they always have to be there? I never got a moment to myself.

"You should probably get away from there." I turn around to see another security guard. I step away from the window, and take a seat on a caramel‐ colored stool.

It's been three years now. Sure, at first it was fun. I got to perform in front of thousands, I got to meet some great people, and I've made some great friends. But at this point, I was tired of it. I was tired of the constant hysteria. I was tired of the people I love feeling worthless because of these girls. I was tired of every little move I make being analyzed. I was done.

Sure, I loved them. The support they gave us was immense. But I didn't understand why it was so important that they needed to be around us at all times. I didn't understand why it was so important that they make my friends and family feel so unloved. I didn't understand it. I didn't understand them.

I stepped outside into the frozen, white air. The leaves turned colors of almond brown. The sound of leaves rustling reminds me of the days before all of this existed. Before I knew who I was. When everything was as simple as my innocence. I remember those days clearly like the moon in a starlit sky. Those days when nothing mattered but a kiss before bedtime.

I pushed my way through the girls. The tears flooded through their eyes as they tried to get a glimpse. I didn't know the story behind those tears. Their bruised fingers trying to touch my

skin have an icy feel. I didn't know the story behind those bruises. The red burns on their arms, as they begin to wrap them around my waist are made out to be harsh. I didn't know the story behind those burns. I didn't know them. I didn't know their story. I didn't know the truth.

The shrieks and screams of these girls resemble the sound of calls for help in the middle of nowhere. At the time, I didn't realize just how accurate that was. I didn't realize just how much they needed my help. Their arms are tangled around me like the laces of a girl learning to tie her shoes. The feet of these girls stepping on my toes reminds me of my sister and I racing down the stairs on Christmas morning. How is it that I'm surrounded by so much, yet I feel so alone?