Maybe Harry is right after all... Maybe the problem is mine since everyone seems to abandon me. I just want to be happy around the ones who are supposed to be with me and share lovely moments.

I wanted to wake up hearing Harry's husky voice, and today, after four years, I finally did. But it was not as pleasant as it used to be, I didn't smile when I heard him. Instead, I felt scared and terrified by what just happened.

When I heard the door open, I turned on the wooden floor, sighing. Why am I am laying in the floor and how did I fell asleep here? And why am I still wearing the green dress I used last night?

I wasn't fully awake, but I was slowly opening my eyes to adjust to the sun light. I must have forgotten to close the windows last night. Probably because I was too anxious with what happened relatively to Harry.

There were two things that made me want to hide and never show up again in the world, but they were directly related.

First, my bedroom was a mess, which is extremely unusual. I had drawings and paintings everywhere, all of them made last night in my moment of frustration. This has always been a habit of mine, when I get mad I usually dance uncontrollably, I paint furiously or I play an agitated music in the violin or in the piano. Last night, my instinct was to paint in random papers that I brought with me. There were at least fifteen drawings on the ground. But the quantity was not the problem, the real problem was the representation in them. They all had something in common: The Styles Family. Every single one of them had at least the face of one of them painted in dark colors and red. Those colors showed my sadness and my frustration. Those feelings were actually so overwhelming that I don't even remember drawing a big number of them.

The second and the most worryingly problem was a dream turned into a nightmare. Harry Styles. In my new bedroom. It's funny that I spent all these years picturing the day Harry would be the one waking me up. That  always made me overly happy, however, at the moment, I felt terrified watching him looking in horror to all of my drawings.

After a few seconds of analyzing what was going on and why my bedroom was a mess, Harry spoke, "What happened to you, Rose Elizabeth?" he shook his head in disbelief and I was sitting there on the ground looking at him with wide sad eyes.

I knew he was remembering all the times this happened in the past. I knew it. I knew it by the look on his face, I saw it too many times when he was nostalgic. It's hard not to recognize his face expression when I spent four years examining detailedly his features and reactions.

Harry was probably remembering the day when I couldn't do thirty pirouettes and so I ran to my studio to start painting restlessly. Or maybe the day when Georgina's first boyfriend broke up with her, making her and me devastated. So I decided to play the most rhythmically musics in the piano for hours, trying to forget about Georgina's tears.

That has always been my method until nowadays, concentrating my feelings in something else. I need to be useful and that I do by producing art. That's what art is, an escape from this corrupt and dangerous world. And it's also a very important way to show what we're truly feeling.

And by looking at my drawings and me, Harry was smart enough to figure out what was going on. He didn't say anything about it, but I realized he did.

Slowly, I got up from the ground and noticed that I was barefoot and my clothes were all dirty with paint, my lovely once green dress. I started cleaning up the mess in my bedroom, hiding the drawings under the bed. I was conscious about Harry's deep gaze on my movements, but I choose to ignore it. None of us said a word, while I continued organizing my bedroom and my thoughts, he was just looking at what I was doing.

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