Cliché || H.S.

Chapter 43

When I was younger I never fully understood all of the effort and logistical factors that went into making a film. All I saw was an escape from my reality, beautifully orchestrated and fitted into two hours. These days I have a deeper appreciation for the work, understanding the months of preparation, the importance of lighting and soundtracks, the symbolism in the minute details such as makeup. It's a masterpiece, truly.

I especially have an appreciation for scenes which take place at sunrise, because I swear, there is quite literally nothing worse. While Harry is fast asleep in my bed, I had to sneak out of the house at two in the morning in order to get to set on time to get my hair and makeup done before being ushered on site to film a scene which will maybe take five minutes. But it's fine, I didn't want to sleep anyways.

After filming a few scenes I'm finally able to go home in the late morning, already picturing my bed waiting for me. The sun is shining brightly, warming me as I walk to my car. Spring is in full swing by now and Los Angeles is finally heating up, making it feel like a day that should be spent at the beach instead of in bed. I briefly think about driving towards the coast but my eyes are so tired that I head straight home reluctantly.

The house is empty when I finally walk in and head straight to my room. I smile to myself when I see that Harry made the bed just how I usually do before he left, a note sitting on my bedside table.

Had to run into the studio for a meeting. Be back before dinner :) I love you -H.

Like every note he gives me, I tuck it away in a shoe box in my closet for safe keeping. The box is half full of notes, polaroids of us on set, as well as some other memontoes like the backstage pass to his concert and my aura reading. Once I slide the box back into its rightful place I strip from my clothes and step into a pair of pajama shorts and a hoodie.

As I walk to my laundry hamper my phone begins buzzing from where I left it on my vanity. After I dump my dirty clothes I pick it up, surprised to see it's my dad who's calling me. We don't talk too frequently, but I guess we're probably due to catch up.

"Hey Dad! What's up?"

"He bug," his familiar voice comes through the speaker, "Did I get you at a bad time?"

"Not at all. I just got home from work," I tell him as I walk into my bathroom. I dig out my makeup remover and get to work on getting the caked on stage makeup off.

"Just got home? Short day today?"

"Hardly," I chuckle, "It was a night shoot. What's up? Shouldn't you be working?"

My dad is silent on the other end for a moment before he clears his throat, "Um, yeah. I should be. I'm actually calling with some news." My heart immediately sinks at the tone of his voice, my hand pulling away from my face while I stay frozen. If it was that bad he would have led with it, right? But I can't help but feel that something is actually wrong.

"Harper was feeling a bit under the weather early this morning and about an hour later she started seizing. She had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital where she is right now. She's uh- well she's stable and she's okay for the time being."

"For the time being? What does that mean? Do they know what happened?" I can feel panic rising in my chest. She has to be okay. Is epilepsy hereditary? I have a cousin with epilepsy and they found out around this age and it's manageable with medication. Obviously it's not the ideal situation, but manageable is good.

"I don't know how to tell you this bug," my dad exhales, "Harper has leukemia."

For just a moment I think the world stops. It's impossible. She's so young, she's so healthy. "I don't- that can't be true... Dad I have to go I have to call my assistant. I'm getting on the next flight there and I'll be there in a few hours. Um I just need to pack some clothes-"