TW-MILD DISCUSSION REGARDING ABUSE.
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(HARRY'S POV)
It's been six days after waking up with Sunny nowhere to be found for the third time now, and I haven't seen or spoken to her since. Granted, I got up half past noon with a raging hangover, and apparently so did Mitch, because she left him at our place too. I assume so he could sleep it off.
She left behind an informal note on her pillow, telling me she needed to drag Niall's ass to the studio for their 9:00 AM session to work on his last song, and then she had to finish her errands before she departed for Kauai.
I expected to hear from her after she finished packing or something, just to check in, or to let me know that we're okay after everything we discussed and how we ended the night. But she never did.
So, I sent her a text a couple hours before her flight on Tuesday, telling her to have a safe trip. And again - nothing.
Thus, resulting in me caving in today.
Pathetically, I searched for her on every social media database I could think of, only discovering one. I scrolled through her Instagram, hoping to obtain some answers regarding her whereabouts and if she made it there okay, but she hasn't posted anything since March when she was in Australia. Where she had her heart attack. If I was a betting man, I'd say she let this account die along with a piece of her that day.
I'll never admit how long I spent looking at all of her photos.
...But it was a while.
Bringing me to right now, going through her friends to find Spike, which was quite difficult, might I add. That's because she never tagged him in any of her photos, her personal tags are private, and HIS NAME IS NOT FUCKING SPIKE! Not to mention, she's following over 700 people.
After clicking on damn near every icon with a buff, tan male, I finally found him. And immediately, I see a thread of bloody breathtaking pictures of Sunny, along with one of them both arm wrestling on the beach. They were taken just a few days ago.
After going through his page, I gathered Spike is a photographer during the day and a DJ at night, who just so happens to have his feed filled top-to-bottom with Sunny. Which for the record, 85% of them, she's in little to no clothing. Regardless, they're stunning to say the least.
I'd be a dirty rotten liar if I said he wasn't talented as all hell, though.
But it's the comment he left under his most recent post that sparked a flare of jealousy within me, and I don't like it. I think I must've read it a hundred times, to the point I have it memorized by heart.
My gorgeous little minnow. My other half. My muse. Nothing brings me greater joy than having you back in my arms. The strength you hold inspires me more and more with each passing day, and no words will ever be good enough to express how much I love you. #soulmate
Yep. So needless to say, I've been possessed by a little green monster and had to force myself to put my phone down before I lost my mind.
Ha! Too late.
I knew they were close, but is there a history there I'm not aware of? Is this something new? I mean, he used the word 'soulmate.' So, what else could it entail, if not them being involved somehow? I'd call her up right now and ask if I didn't think it'd make me sound like an obsessive psychopath who just stalked her for a good half a day.
She's driving me crazy.
Every time Sunny gives me the green light like we're finally on the same page feelings-wise, she pumps the breaks immediately after. And I'm starting to get whiplash.
I've wanted Sunny for over a year, and when she told me in the studio why she did what she did that first night, it only cemented those feelings I have towards her.
No matter how small it may seem to some, she took me on an adventure and pushed me outside of my comfort zone to be free for one night, not giving a shit about who I was to the rest of the world. She just saw me. Harry. And oddly enough, as much as I hated that she never reached out afterward; it also showed she wasn't after something from me because of my fame. It was a breath of fresh air in the I-wanted-to-rip-my-hair-out kind of way.
I meant what I said. I am willing to wait for her until she's ready. But does she want me to? Will she ever be ready?
I thought after our talk; we had finally made some strides in the right direction. Now, I'm not so sure.
Jack broke her... in more ways than I could even fathom. I have a hunch that there's much more to their story, but I've been too afraid to ask. She made it clear that she wants me to stay out of it. So, I've been desperately grasping at the very short straws she's given to me while trying to be as supportive as I can, reassuring her of her worth and that I'm not going anywhere.
There's a nagging feeling in my gut that I shouldn't have been so open about my history with Louis. And his shameless flirting and goading probably didn't help matters much. Sunny may not know his true intentions or desires, but I sure as shit didn't miss the greedy touches or salacious glances he exchanged between her and me. His face said it all. I'm aware of what he wants, and he has clearly taken a keen interest in her. Who couldn't? Hell, even Niall is lovesick over her.
But I don't know if I want to walk that wire again with Lou. Not like this. And especially not with her. I don't want to chance ruining what we could potentially have in the future.
Yeah, she had an 'unconventional' relationship with Jack, but I'm scared I freaked her out more than it made her trust me. However - no matter what his objective is - Louis advised me to be patient with Sunny because Jack obviously hurt her and destroyed her confidence in people, and she's in the long-haul process of healing. He also said I can't expect Sunny to commit emotionally to anyone, let alone with me, while she's trying to fix herself and get her life back on track.
And he's right. But I can't help but let my mind wander back to what she said the other night. That I don't deserve to waste my time on someone like her. Someone who doesn't know how to give her heart to anyone else. So, does she mean that while she's putting her entire focus on fixing herself, she wants me to move forward with my life as well?
Could I? When all I can think about is her, I highly doubt that's even possible.
Maybe this is a sign. Maybe she only sees me as a friend, and her admitting that she's afraid of breaking my heart was her way of telling me so. And I've been too selfish and caught up with my own feelings to listen to her. If that's the truth, then I need her to be up front about it now than for me to get blindsided by the ugly reality later.
Before I'm in too deep - which realistically, I already am - I need to ask Sunny where her head is at. Because I don't want to end up pushing her further away by continuing to drag her closer if that's not what she wants.
I'd rather have Sunny in my life as a friend than nothing at all, and I still want her to work with me. Sunny's raw musical talent is beyond revolutionary and innovative. She could change the course of my career for the better and help me find my own sound. One that's just for me... makes me happy.
The vibration of my phone going off on the side table next to me breaks me away from my plaguing thoughts, and I snap back into reality.
Fuck, how long have I been out here?
The balcony of my bedroom is where I tend to do most of my thinking these days, but I realize I just pulled a Sunny and overthought myself into a downward spiral because I notice the sun is much lower than what it was when I came out here.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I pick up my phone and see Mitch is calling. I'm assuming he probably has questions about our meeting tomorrow and just wants to clarify a few things, so I think nothing of it as I answer.
"Hey, Mitch."
"Hey, man. Sorry to be calling you on your day off, but I didn't know who else could help." He sounds really flustered about something, making me bolt upright in my chair with concern.
"Are you alright?" I ask in haste.
"Yeah, I'm fine. It's - it's Rae."
That two-word sentence alone is enough to bring me to my feet, even though it still throws me off that he doesn't call her Sunny. It takes my brain a moment to process that both names belong to the same girl who has my heart in a bloody chokehold.
"What happened?" I ask. Well, it was more like a yell.
Mitch goes quiet for a second before huffing, "That's the thing. I'm not sure. She came back from her trip early and has locked herself in her apartment for a little over two days now. It threw me off because we never lock our doors, but I freaked out when I heard her screaming and stuff getting thrown around... I tried giving her a minute to let it out, so I went and made her a drink and cook her some dinner because I was concerned about her not eating. Cuz, you know that girl can't cook to save her life and relies on me or takeout to feed her-"
"Mitch..." I interrupt the tail end of his frantic rambling. Which is something he and Sunny have in common. She has a tendency of rubbing her idiosyncrasies off on the people who surround her.
But I don't have the patience for that right now. I just need to know what's going on.
"Sorry. Anyway, I let myself in with my key to bring her dinner the first night, only to come back to see it untouched on the counter the next day... yesterday. I tried multiple times to go in her room to check on her, but she locked me out of there as well. And she won't talk except to tell me to leave her alone." Mitch's voice trembles, telling me this is really out of character for her.
But before I can respond, he confirms that suspicion. "I don't know what to do. I'm really worried about her. She's never done this before, and I'm scared something is seriously wrong."
With that, I'm already sprinting from my room and down the stairs to get in my car, his words awakening a fire inside of me. Fear. The most dangerous thing for a human to possess, because all bets on rationalized thinking are off. Fear can make even the most levelheaded person capable of doing just about anything.
"Fuck," I pant out under my breath.
"I know she trusts you, and I thought maybe you could help. I just have to go to work soon, but I don't want to leave her here alone."
"Thank you for letting me know. I'm heading that way now. I'll call you as soon as I get there." I hang up before he has a chance to respond as I peel out of my driveway.
My only focus is getting to Sunny.
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Once I arrive, I haul my way past Tom - who I've met a couple of times in passing while coming here to visit - running up the stairs at lightning speed and nearly plowing right into Mitch at the top. I didn't even give him the chance to meet me downstairs like he usually does, but he doesn't hesitate before leading me toward her flat and unlocking the door for me.
"I have to go to work, but if you need anything at all, call me, and I'll come home. Okay?" Mitch says, anxiety very present in his eyes as they flick between Sunny's vacant living room and me.
I can tell he doesn't want to leave Sunny. He's used to being the only person she needs and confides in, and I can respect his protective instincts over her. But I'm here, and that's all I want as well. I want to be her person just as much as Mitch is.
"It's okay, Mitch. I know you're worried, but I'll take care of her. I promise. I appreciate you calling me, and I'll keep you updated," I assure him, patting him on the shoulder.
"Okay," he breathes, giving me a curt nod before heading downstairs, leaving me to defuse a ticking time bomb named Sunny, all by myself.
Her nickname was Fireball, after all.
I take a deep breath and step into her flat, making my way down the hallway slowly towards her bedroom door. The stench of cigarette smoke seeps out from the crack at the bottom of the door as I test the handle to make sure it's still locked. And it is. So, I resort to knocking softly, my nerves of what's waiting for me on the other side getting the best of me.
"Mitch, I told you I just want to be alone." Her soft voice sounds broken and hoarse, caused by what I'd assume is from nights of excessive crying or screaming, based on Mitch's testimony he explained to me earlier.
"It's Harry. Can you please let me in? I just want to make sure you're okay." I focus on keeping my voice calm because if I didn't, my panic would swallow the final ounce of poise I have left and have me shouting. And the last thing I want to do is scare her.
An extended duration of silence follows my request on her end, and it's excruciating, to say the least. My heart races, and my imagination runs rampant, taking a turn for the worse as I picture every gruesome scenario I could think of.
The anticipation is killing me, and I can't help but allow my fear to take control as I pound on Sunny's door again, much harder than I anticipated - begging and insisting for her to let me in... all to no avail.
Suddenly, getting too carried away, I yank my hand back and curse under my breath when a sharp pain jolts through my middle finger after hitting the knuckle right on the corner of the geometric design carved into the wood with a sickening crack.
"Shit," I mutter, shaking out my hand.
To my benefit, the adrenaline soon takes over, and the pain is quick to dissipate. If I were in a proper state of mind, I could've sworn I broke It, based on the instant bruise already forming underneath the flesh. But thankfully the noise must've stirred her.
"I'm fine. Please go away, Harry," she says, her tone low but stern. And I can't lie, it stung a bit, hearing Sunny ask me to leave.
"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but I'm not going anywhere. And I'm sorry, but you're scaring me... So, I've accepted the fact I'm gonna have to buy you a new door because I'll break it down if you don't let me in." Even though my words come out as a threat, they're also a promise.
The fucking suspense is eating me alive, down to my very core of existence. I give my best attempt to wait patiently as my chest heaves with unrelenting force. Dropping my head forward, I lean on both hands, placed on each side of the doorframe, and my emotions are rapidly unraveling.
"I can't," she responds a few seconds later, but the way she says it makes me lift my head to stare at the door in confusion.
I'm unable to decipher if she said that in defiance... or defeat. Either way you slice it, I'm getting in that damned room if it's the last thing I do.
"Sunny... Don't even try to call my bluff right now," I warn her, clutching onto my last strand of sanity as I glare at the ominous, chipped white paint of the barrier between us.
"Do what you gotta do, Harry! I told you I can't!" she screams back.
But it's the whimper that follows her outburst that does me in. And before I'm able to comprehend what my next moves will be, my body has taken on a mind of its own. I've already reared back as far as I can before I'm driving my foot into the door right above the handle. The flimsy wood splinters under the harsh blow, successfully ripping the latches apart, and I watch in awe as they go flying across the room.
I'm honestly proud of myself that I did it on the first try, considering I've never been in a position where I had to bust a door open before. Then again, that triumph is exterminated as I take in the war zone in front of me, and now it feels like I'm the one who just got kicked, knocking the air right out of me.
The thick, swirling smoke stings my eyes as I step forward, forcing me to take a moment to adjust. As I assess the destruction, I run my hands over my face and the back of my neck, taking note of the shattered lamps, picture frames, and other unidentifiable objects strewn about, like a raging tornado ripped through here without apology.
That tornado being Sunny.
What concerns me the most is seeing the room littered with the scrunched-up pages torn from her journal. The empty leather shell of it rests on top of Sunny's favorite guitar, Birdie - which the neck was broken clean off of - the pieces neatly placed in the wide-open case on display for me to mourn.
There's no way Sunny would've destroyed that guitar. It's practically her baby. So, if she didn't. Then who did?
My gaze drifts around the room, not spotting her initially. But then my eyes land on a pair of tiny feet sticking out of the narrow space between her bed and the ajar sliding glass door that leads to the small balcony which stretches the length of her room and the studio next door.
I jog the short distance, only to see her lying on her stomach with her arm hanging out the door to ash her cigarette, wearing grey leggings and a white, long-sleeved shirt. She has to be burning up with the summer air billowing inside as she lies in the glare of the setting sun, like an ant under a magnifying glass.
"Sunny," I start, kneeling down by her feet. "Why are you on the floor?"
I place my hand on her calf, but instantly jerk it away when she flinches. I can only see a portion of her face from my angle, but there's definitely something off. She has more makeup on than usual, but there are hints of darkness underneath, and it looks swollen.
If I wasn't terrified of Sunny retreating into that mental cave of hers, I'd bombard her with all the chaotic questions screaming at me in my head that I want so desperately to ask. But I know my limits. I have to take it one baby step at a time and hope she'll eventually open up and give me the answers on her own accord when she's comfortable.
The more I press her for information, the more she closes herself off from me.
"I needed to lie on a cool surface," she replies before releasing an uneven exhale of smoke through her nose, and I watch as it swirls above her body before fading into the fog of the room.
"How long have you been down here?" I ask, because judging by the slick hair sticking to her neck by a thin layer of sweat, I'm guessing it's been a while.
"I don't know... a day, maybe?" she whispers. "Just can't get enough of this view." She chuckles lightly from her joke, but immediately winces after, and then takes another shaky drag from her cigarette.
"A day?" I exclaim, crawling closer to her, making sure not to bump her by accident. "Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"
She doesn't have to say anything for me to know there's something seriously wrong with her.
"No," Sunny shakes her head, voice cracking like she's holding herself back from crying. "I - I just... I need your help. I can't get up."
The sadness in her tone digs its talons straight into my chest, and I can barely breathe.
What the fuck happened to her?
"Why can't you get up?" I question, needing to know what I'm dealing with before I try to move her. I don't want to hurt her.
She groans, tossing her cigarette in an old coffee container on the ledge before turning her neck so that her forehead is now pressed against the floor as she sniffles back her tears. "Harry... please help me up. I need to take my meds and use the bathroom before my bladder explodes. Which can actually happen with my disorder, by the way."
"Okay," I mumble, realizing how much pain that alone is causing her, not to mention everything else I've yet to see. Besides, from what I've learned, she cannot go without her heart medication, so who knows how her chest feels after skipping her morning dose, maybe more.
I stand and grab ahold of the corner of the metal bedframe, scooting it away from her body to make some room for me. When it's out of the way, I step forward and crouch down by her head, wishing I knew where I could touch her that won't cause her more pain.
"I'm going to help turn you so I can pick you up, okay. I'm just nervous about hurting you more. I don't know where I can and cannot touch," I tell her.
Sunny must sense the nervousness in my voice, because without responding, she whimpers as she stubbornly tries pushing herself over with her left arm, babying the right. It looks completely immobile. All because she doesn't want to divulge to me what's hiding beneath her clothes.
I jump in and take my chances on where I can place my hands, turning her with extreme caution before I slide my arms underneath her knees and back to lift her gently off the floor. She lets out a relieved sigh and rests her head on my shoulder, which is when I catch her busted lip out of the corner of my eye.
That son of a bitch!
With the understanding of what probably happened to her, I hold my breath before I lose my ever-loving shit and go off on a rage-fueled tangent. Now I understand why she kept telling Spike not to fight her battles. I just had no idea what she was talking about until I saw that. I'm tempted to call up dear ole Spike myself and send him on a mission.
I walk Sunny into the ensuite bathroom and lower her to stand, curling my arms loosely around her middle to ensure she's steady before releasing my hold.
"Erm... Do - Do you need me to..." I trail off, not really sure what I want to ask?
I've never helped someone use the toilet, but good god I'd do it if she asked me to right now.
Her eyebrows raise when she catches where I'm going with the question and shakes her head frantically. "Oh, no thanks. I'd like to keep a sliver of my dignity tonight if I can help it. And I need to shower too, so I might be a while."
I nod, "Well, I'll be out here tidying up if you need anything."
She gives me a sad, tight-lipped smile before I turn and exit, closing the door behind me. I suck in a long breath in an attempt to compose myself, and then make my way around the room to collect all the remnants from her journal, flattening out the sheets again. As I eye the scribbled lyrics and makeshift music staffs, it dawns on me that I'm holding Sunny's entire world in my hands.
From what I've gathered, she's the type to write from experience, and these battered pages hold all the secrets.
My nosiness wages a war with morality and conquers it in about two seconds flat. I flip through them, recognizing a few right off the bat that I've listened to on the radio or Spotify from some very well-known artists. This piques my interest even further, and I keep shuffling, seeing a few I've heard her sing, some half-written, or webs of lyrics with not enough space to fit them all in one song - like she was overflowing with ideas and just had to get them out for future use.
Every single piece is incredible, and gut-wrenching, and possesses the ability to move anyone with half a heart to tears.
They're primarily about heartbreak, lost dreams, and feeling stuck at an impasse with nowhere to turn. It was fairly easy to peg which ones were about the accident and Jack. Because it's pretty much all of them.
I roll my lips between my teeth and sigh, walking toward her bed to place the pages back in her journal, but I pause as soon as I open it and see one of the few remaining songs inside.
Medicine, the song she wrote for me, is sitting on top with random doodles, and at the bottom is a highlight reel of everything we did that night. I flip the loose pages in my hand over to see that no other song has their backstory, and I can't help the smile the creeps up my face from the thought of her feeling like our story was worth remembering, enough so for her to write it down.
As much as I long to, I don't read the details from her point of view. I want to remember it exactly as I do, and hopefully one day she'll tell me her perspective.
I flip to the next page and see 'Curly' written on top with a slew of verses or lines that she divided up, as if they all belong to different songs, but there's not enough of our storyline to finish them yet - and all I want is to give her that story.
At first I wasn't sure if she wrote them about me or if they were possible songs that she was secretly working on for my album. Having said that, when I read the one and only verse under the title 'Two Ghosts,' I got my answer. Everything from the eye color to my white shirt and tattoos described us. Though, it seems sadder than I expected, like she's fighting an internal battle, and I want so fucking much to ask her about it.
But as per usual, I can't.
I keep flipping and canvas over similar pieced-together verses and a few completed songs as well, with a warmth in my chest that won't let up.
Scanning over the dates in the top corner, I become aware of the fact that she wrote a couple of them the day we were on the yacht, and two the last night we were together, not including the one for Louis, which is also in here along with Niall's. These though, have a resemblance to the ones torn out. The only difference was she was with me when she wrote them, and I can't help but feel a spark of hope with that correlation.
I know I'm an arsehole for sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, invading the privacy of some of her most coveted experiences, but I got carried away.
They're so real, like she's torn her heart out and left the blood-soaked pieces of her soul on each page, and I couldn't look away, because I feel like this is the most unreserved insight that I'll ever get about her. Sunny has opened up about her past, yeah. But I always have the inclination that she's holding back how much pain she's truly in.
Sunny is an enigma. A mysterious force trapped inside a fortified iron box that's chained shut by fifty padlocks just for good measure. The only clincher, by her own volition, the keys to her freedom are locked inside the box with her.
Nevertheless, I want her and every demon she carries on her shoulders through the darkness. I want to take her hand and walk with her, and I want to be her light at the end of the tunnel.
So, I'm going to need some bloody bolt cutters.
When I hear the shower tap turn on in the other room, I shove the loose pages inside the journal and close it before slipping it into the front pouch of the guitar case, doing that up as well and moving it to the floor off to the side.
Getting myself on track again, I move her bed back in its rightful place before searching through her flat for a broom. I eventually locate one in the entryway closet and sweep of the shards of glass and clay scattered across the bedroom floor, tossing the loose bits in the rubbish bin in the kitchen once I've finished.
"Harry?" Sunny's soft voice calls for me, and I make my way back to her room, seeing she's still dressed, and turned the shower off.
I furrow my brows as I approach, stopping right in front of her. "Everything okay?"
"I uh..." she shuffles uncomfortably, "I can't move my shoulder very well after relocating it back into the socket."
"Wait. When did you relocate your shoulder? Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped, or at least tried. I might've thrown up after, but I would've been here for you." I admit with wide eyes, shocked that she did it by herself. I've never dislocated a joint before, but from what I've heard, it's incredibly painful, and the thought makes me a bit woozy.
"After I turned the shower on. Didn't want you to hear it. It's no big deal. I'm used to it. But it's inflamed right now. My fingers are still a little numb... and I'm too sore to, um... to get undressed.," she murmurs, looking to her feet in embarrassment.
Oh.
"I can help you, as long as you trust me enough to. If you're not, I can always call Mitch. I know he has more insight when it comes to your... 'issues' isn't really the word I want to use, but you know what I mean. I just don't wanna make you more uncomfortable," I ramble.
I'm unsure if she's only asking me because I'm the only one here, or if she actually trusts me to witness what's causing her so much pain underneath her clothing. But in the same breath, she called for my assistance. That must mean something, right?
In retrospect, I think I'm more frightened of myself than she is. Frightened of what I'll do once the truth is revealed. Will I be able to control myself or my actions? Whatever those may be. I'm not sure.
"No, don't call him. I just want you right now... I need you," she whispers, swallowing hard as her eyes meet mine, silently pleading for me to stay with her. To comfort her. To protect her.
The decision isn't a hard one to make.
I don't know how Sunny hasn't figured out yet that I'd move mountains for her. No matter the consequences. No matter the cost. Even if at the end of all this, it's my heart that she takes and runs off with. Because let's be completely candid here - I gave it to her a long time ago without realizing it. There's not a question in my mind that I'd hang it on the line and risk it all.
For her, and her alone.
So of course. The answer is as simple as breathing. It's automatic and sheer instinct. Sunny is woven within my body's chemical makeup. Like she's my very own vascular system. The blood that flows throughout my veins and keeps me alive. It's fucking terrifying to admit... but it's nothing short of the truth.
"You have me."
<<<>>>
FLIGHT - LIFEHOUSE
WHEW! Y'all alright? You got your wine? Is it gone? Cuz my bottle is empty lol. Please spam me in the comments with your emotions so I know I'm not the only one who's emotionally attached to these characters. XD And please, please VOTE!
Part 1 is a doozy...but Part 2 is bout to be a bitch! You should never trust me when it comes to happy stories. Because BELIEVE ME, THIS IS my happy story.
Which brings me to my announcement...
I'M GOING TO CONVERT MY DARK FIC FROM MY OTHER ACCT INTO A DARK (HARRY) FANFIC!!!!
It is absolutely going to take me a bit of time considering I have to change my characters into our beloved OT5 boys, but at least the story is already 42 chapters in, so updates HOPEFULLY won't take as long. This will be done between writing that book and this one, so bear with me, but I truly hope you guys love it as much as I do!
I love you awesome nerds, and I'm so happy to see all my new readers! Please let me know how you're liking it so far and share this story if you enjoy it... Ya girl gets insecure sometimes :')
Alright, I'm out! <3