Madness ➮ Harry Styles AU

C1

Ashley

It's been three weeks since I last saw Harry.

I know, because of the twenty-one tally marks inked onto my wall.

Twenty-one doesn't sound like much, until you condsider the fact that each tally consists of twenty-four other tallys, and sixty more embeded into those. The fact that each tally, each hour, and each minute contains a story.

Yet, all the stories, for the past twenty-one of them, were blank; dull as the drywall they were etched onto, and nothing other than white.

And that particular day, or at least it seemed to be, was just the twenty-second. Alike the first, alike the third, alike all the rest. A consecutive string of identically monotonous, and terrifyingly lonely tally marks.

But it turns out that the twenty-third was the bold stripe within those thin lines, and that I was right about the previous day. Because on the twenty-third, I was there, lying in my bed, thinking that today was to be just another day, another mark added upon my wall.

Yet, I knew better the moment he stepped into my room.

And somehow, almost immediately-maybe it was the fact that he showed up several hours after the lights had turned off-I knew that something was obviously wrong.

"Ashley?" He said, his voice both an acid and an antidote and I was still wondering how that could be.

I didn't respond.

Yet, I lied in bed, wide awake.

A small, vague light appeared in the middle of the room, floating in the vast darkness.

And it wasn't until later that I realized that the light was emanated from a small cell phone. A crappy, cheap flip phone at that and I immediately understood why the light had been so dull.

Although, even as the form of illumination wasn't quite decent, the face it gave light to was far more.

It was a bit eerie, I admit, the way the brightness shone only on the underside of his chiseled face. Like holding a flashlight in the way people do when they tell horror stories.

And what a beautiful and tragic horror story we were.

He pointed the cell phone screen directly at my face, my vision blinded momentarily. And he then let out a very girlish yelp before the device fell to the floor.

"Jeez..." he muttered, picking up his phone. "That was actually really scary."

Once again, I didn't respond.

"Ashley?" His stature leaned forward marginally as one of his fingers lightly tapped my shoulder. The sound of his voice was feeble, cute even, yet all the more hesitant. It sounded as if he didn't want to wake me, even as I laid there, eyes open drastically, and obviously awake.

"Ashley...." Harry trailed off, like he decided against speaking. "Hello."

Slowly the edges of his lips tugged upwards, scrunching the upper half of his face, and exposing a cheeky smile, a full set of teeth in view.

It was absolutely adorable, and yet, at the same time, I hated myself for thinking so.

"Harry..." The sound of my voice was surprisingly quiet, as if the darkness had consumed it. "Why have you been ignoring me?"

His carefree expression morphed instantly, as quick as a flashing light.

"I-I'm not... I just.." he sighed sadly."I'm not."

"Yes you are." The diction of my voice was sharp, assertive. "Harry, don't lie to someone who already knows the truth."

Within the evening my bedroom portrayed, Harry looked very obviously hurt by my words. Yet, he nodded, as if he understood.