|| Love to Hate Me ||

{Thirty-Eight}

"Before I let you go
Let me look at you
Don't you worry
You will help me."
-Killing Lies, The Strokes
__________

Harlan was released from hospital. He wished he could say he wasn't offended when the nursing staff treated him like a typical junkie, but he was.

For years, Harlan had lived in a bubble—a hallow shell made from a drunken haze. Something had cracked that shell; Liana Cox. Harlan had come out of that comfortable seal only to recoil back into it with fear. But now, it was completely gone.

Something about coming back from the dead to find someone waiting to care for him had shattered his exterior. There was no longer a doubt in his mind that Liana loved him. It wasn't just words anymore, she had proven it.

Harlan suddenly cared what others thought of him—he was ready to be someone Liana would be proud of.

The media had already labeled Harlan a junkie... again. He was beginning to realize that people only remembered the bad things—no one ever remembered the good things. But the more Harlan thought, the more he became aware that he had never done good things.

Every "good" thing Harlan had ever done, had stemmed from something bad. He had been good at blaming others for his problems. And although he had been done dirty, it was still no excuse. This was life—at some point in time, everyone had been done wrong.

Liana was the perfect example. Her father had abandoned her, her brother took on that role only to later take his own life. Liana didn't blame anyone; she took her troubles in stride and pushed through. Harlan was beginning to see that he was the problem. He had to fix himself—he had to be the man Liana needed him to be.

Liana had canceled the remainder of her tour. Once news broke that Harlan Hayworth had overdosed in a downtown rave in Houston, managers were going crazy with damage control. 

Harlan blew his shot, and he suddenly cared. He could not stand by Liana with the world viewing him as a disease; something that was going to taint her. He had to get better... for her.

Words were only spoken—words meant nothing. Harlan needed to take action, to prove that he was worth standing by her side.

The thought had been on his mind since before leaving the hospital; when he discovered that Liana had held his dying head in her lap—when she basically "mothered" him until help arrived. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

It wasn't on a whim, but he needed to play the field to his advantage. There wasn't a chance in hell Liana was letting him leave her side if she knew his plans. He had to spring it on her—he had to do it when she least expected it. Harlan may have been a deceiving piece of shit, but it was for a good cause—it was for her.

Standing in line at the terminal waiting to board their flight, Liana held Harlan's hand. Her manager had not been happy about the cancelation of the tour—begging her to just replace Harlan.

She couldn't do it.

Harlan was alive, but he wasn't well. She felt that her place was with him, not on the road or onstage or crammed in some hotel; Harlan needed her—or perhaps she needed Harlan. She was scared to take her eyes off him, afraid that in the blink of an eyes, he'd be gone.