|| Love to Hate Me ||

{Thirty-Nine}

"Special guest; Harlan Hayworth interview, musical guest; Ke$ha"

Her heart seemed to stop for a moment—there on her television screen was indeed, Harlan Hayworth.

He was smiling—he was healthy. She swallowed hard at the sight, taking in his distinct differences from the last time she had seen him in person.

His hair seemed lighter, no longer were his dingy locks charcoal black, but instead dark brown. The whites of his eyes were clear and his usually pale skin seemed slightly darker. He had replaced his leather jacket for a navy long sleeve button up shirt with a collar and a simple white T-shirt underneath.

Harlan Hayworth was damn near unrecognizable. If she didn't know him and passed him on the street, there wasn't a doubt in her mind she would walk on by without a second thought.

The only feature that gave him away were those eyes—those damn chocolate eyes that had stared into her soul night after night. Not to mention those lips—that damn plump bottom lip that hid a smile so wide...

Liana watched his mouth move, realizing that no words were coming out. She quickly pressed the button controlling the volume—the sound nearly all the way down.

"Thanks for havin' me." Harlan said. The first words she had heard him speak in five months. She found herself sitting on the arm of the couch, her feet moving against her will. She was sucked into his every word, eager for his next.

"I was a little apprehensive about interviewing you today. You have quite the reputation for these things." The woman smiled wide, flipping through her index cards, clicking the end of her pen.

Harlan smirked, shaking his head. "It's been a long time since I've done one of these things. I can assure you I'm not gonna act like an imbecile." Harlan chuckled. "I've also been sworn not to cuss... I can say ass though, right?"

"Well, you just did." The interviewer laughed. "You have some really exciting news to share with us this morning, but I want to talk a little bit about what brought you to this point."

Harlan nodded, chewing on his bottom lip as he stared across the small table at the questioning host. His eyes were wide and focused.

"Some news broke in June about an incident in Houston. You, um, want to tell us a little bit about that?"

Harlan cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. Liana was worried—she could see the anxiousness in his eyes; she feared he was about to fly off the handle. But before she could brace herself for the impending "tantrum" that Harlan had been notorious for, even while on tour, something else happened—he answered.

"Yeah, Houston. Um... well, I overdosed in a bathroom... at a rave." Harlan laughed—he fucking laughed. "It was heroin. Despite what people think of me, that was only the second time I'd ever done it."

"Most people would swear they don't need rehab if they're not a regular user."

Harlan nodded with a half frown. "Well, I'm an alcoholic. I needed rehab for other problems. The therapy's great, I probably needed the therapy more than anything. I had a lot of unresolved issues I needed to work through, and rehab helped me do that."

"Do you attend AA, or any other type of outpatient programs?" The interviewer asked, flipping to the next index card.

"Um, not really," Harlan chuckled, "I have a sponsor, I call him up if I ever  feel like I need a drink. I haven't called him yet, if that's you're next question." Harlan's smoldering eyes narrowed with a grin.