June 26th, 2012
11:58 A.M.
3
The water was scolding hot, my skin was rubbed raw and my whole body throbbed with both physical pain and sorrow. I was completely numb to everything. Nothing seemed to affect me anymore, which could’ve been a good thing if the circumstances were different. But I was without emotion, I genuinely felt nothing. There was also the infuriating scent of the three greatly used Irish Spring soap bars, now lying at the bottom of the tub.
I reached out to the faucet and turned the water off. The sound of rushing water reduced to meaningless drips, as what was left of my skin flowed into the drain. I felt alone, completely and utterly alone. It seemed like the soap bars were my only companions right now, I almost started to have a conversation with them until reality snapped in and that terrible feeling ran through my veins.
I got off the floor of the bath and wiped myself in the dry towel which in a matter of thirty seconds of wiping was soaked. In the corner of my eye, was the blurry, foggy image of a girl in my mirror. Her wet long hair fell down to her back, and her skin was sun-burnt rouge. She looked cowardly, her shoulders caved into her neck and she shook from the sudden exposure of air.
Hesitantly, I moved in front of the mirror. I couldn’t really see what I looked like due to the fog, only the outline of my body was visible. I took the damp towel off my waist and placed it on the mirror, about to wipe all the steam off. But I didn’t want to see myself as what I looked like. Subconsciously though, I began to wipe. The more I wiped, the more visible I became and pretty soon my whole naked body was in the mirror’s view. I gasped loudly.
For the first time since it happened two hours ago, I saw everything. I saw several cuts on my bottom lip, each one horizontally matching the cuts on my upper lip. I saw the black and purple bruises sprouting up all over my body; my face, my chest, my stomach, my thighs. I saw the messy black circle surrounding my left eye, my blue iris greatly contrasting it. I saw hickeys on my neck, which we’re a disgusting wooden color. I touched myself on all the bruises, testing which one hurt the most. I couldn’t decide; they all hurt just as much as the next one.
The cowering naked girl was me.
And for the first time since it happened, I cried.
I felt disgusting, ugly and degraded. To put it simply I felt like I had hit the shittiest point in my life. I felt like an object, like an overused rag doll. The more I looked at myself, the harder and longer I cried. This cycle seemed to spin wildly till I was to the point of wailing. I slide down the door of my bathroom, pounding it with my fists, a silent cry to god, asking him what I did to deserve this. I put my face in my hands and bawled, in both disbelief and shame.
Twenty minutes passed by and my hardcore cries had become rough and detached sobs. I looked at my phone on the counter. I needed to hear his voice, telling me everything was okay, even though I and god himself both knew it wasn’t. I grabbed it, looking at the screen. He left me twenty-one missed calls and twelve voicemails. How could I tell him something like this? I hesitated calling him. I didn’t want to hear his reaction.
But I needed him. I needed him terribly.
I tapped on his name and the calling screen lite up my phone. I pressed the phone to my ear, each ring making me more scared. He answered on the first ring.
“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve tried calling you for four hours now! Do you know it’s almost fucking midnight?” He yelled, pure rage and spite vibrating within his voice.
My eyes shot up wide at his tone, like a shot of unfamiliar poison ran through my veins. Never in my life have I heard him so angry. It made me feel terribly disappointed in myself.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking at sorry.
I couldn’t believe how defeated I sounded; I’ve never heard myself so deteriorated, so broken. I suddenly felt bile running up my throat into my mouth; I was so sickened with myself.
“I’m so sorry, Harry.”
“Sydney?” His tone automatically changed, complete and utter worry plaguing his tone.
“What’s going on? Where are you?”
I bit my lip, fighting back tears. I hated making him so worried. I could just imagine his turquoise eyes drowning in genuine sorrow and his limbs stiffening with evident anxiety. I took a sharp inhale of breath. I needed him, more than ever before; and that’s exactly what I told him.
“I need you Harry. I need you so badly right now.”
8 hours before
“For Christ’s sake Harry, stop licking the spoon!” I shrieked, reaching up on the top of my toes in an attempt to grab it.
“Nuh-uh-uh…” Harry teased while holding my arm with his free hand, using his lanky height as an advantage.
Brownie batter was all over his mouth and a few drops managed to stain his white t-shirt.
“I think we should just eat it like this. It’s so much better when it’s raw."
With that, I groaned while he smirked like the cheeky devil he was.
“Well, I spent an hour and a half making them to be baked and I can’t have your cooties colonizing all over the damn thing I'm mixing them with.”
"Cooties? What are we, in primary school? And Jesus Sydney, what’s got your thong in a knot?”
“Shut it Harry, I’m completely overwhelmed right now and you’re not making it any-“ I froze, fully contemplating his last sentence.
"How did you know I’m wearing a thong?” I asked suspiciously.
“Lucky guess,” He spoke with a wink, his Cheshire accent dripping off the end of his tongue. I swatted him across the arm as he let his eyes playfully wander towards my backside.
Unbelievable.
“You’re absolutely infuriating sometimes," I remarked, turning my back away from him.
But even as those words slipped past my lips, I couldn’t disguise the small smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth.
Harry and I have been best friends for ten years. We first met when we we’re eight years old. Before then, I was living in America with my mother and father; the only child. I lived the "American Dream" of a childhood, but then my dad was offered an incredible job in Cheshire, England that he couldn’t pass up. So we picked up everything we had in Detroit, Michigan and moved across the Atlantic to the quaint town of Holmes Chapel. I had tons of friends at my suburban American school, so understand my fear when no one at my posh British academy wanted anything to do with the "weird American."
I sat all alone at lunch, eating my turkey and cheese sandwich in friendless silence. Then out of the blue, a boy slid in the seat next to me. Surprised, I looked at him. He had brown curly hair which wisped around his ears and chubby cheekbones. He wasn’t looking at me one bit, sipping on the straw of his chocolate milk. After looking at him for a while, I decided to say something.
“Can I help you?”
He put his chocolate milk down and turned to me. That’s when I first saw his smile, even at eight years of age he still managed to dazzle me with one simple gesture.
“Hello, I’m Harry; and you are?” He said, wiping off his brown milk mustache.
I stared at him in complete confusion, but decided to answer him anyways.
“I’m Sydney.”
He nodded and turned back to his chocolate milk, chugging it. What a strange boy.
“What are you doing here?”
He blinked one piercing green eye at me, showing off his long eye lashes. Slamming the bottle down on the table, he turned to me again obviously confused.
“Well, my mum says I have to go to school-“
“No, I didn’t mean it like that.” I giggled at the boys’ adorable confusion. “I meant, why are you sitting here with me?”
He sat in thought for a few seconds, and then looked at me straight in the eyes. I could see spots of gray floating in his green irises and if that didn’t give me his attention enough, he flirtatiously smiled at me again, now showing me his slight dimples.
"Cause’ no one else was, and I think you’re pretty.”
“Yeah, and you’re cute when you get mad, sometimes.” He said, trying to make me smile.
It somewhat and somehow worked, but I couldn’t stop thinking at a rate of twenty thoughts per second. He could see behind my façade though. Despite being insufferably irritating at times, Harry had never and was not ignorant by any means.
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
I pushed the brown strands falling out of my sloppy bun back and placed my hands on either side of the counter, sighing. I closed my eyes for a few seconds then looked into Harry’s eyes, the concern striking me immediately. One of his best qualities was his genuine nature. You never got any sort of bs from Harry. Even though he became a literal overnight sensation with One Direction, he never let the fame get to him. Famous or not, Harry Styles, internationally famous boybander and heartthrob will always be Harry Styles, small town boy who worked at the local bakery to earn his wages.
“It’s John,” I rushed out, the sudden rush of breath that exited beating against my cheeks.
This time, he groaned. I was well aware of Harry's dislike of my boyfriend. The first time they met, John made a snarky comment towards Harry, I believe it was something along the lines of:
“So how many Backstreet Boys are you trying to impersonate at once?”
Being his proud and defiant self, Harry answered with:
“Not as many assholes as you actually are.”
Without surprise, they both managed to be complete douches for the rest of the evening.
So to put it simply- John hated Harry, Harry hated John. Even though I always had this fantasy of Harry actually liking my boyfriend, I accepted it. I always did, so this situation was no different.
“Oh shut up, just listen to me.”
Suddenly alarmed at my sharp tone, He lurched forward in his chair, propping his elbows up on the table. His hazel eyes beamed with attention as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip before speaking.
“I’m all ears.”
“Well, um-" I started, but hesitated as I wasn't really sure how to tell him this.
I tell Harry everything and anything, but to talk to him about such an intimate subject seemed so unnatural and awkward. But I couldn’t keep him waiting forever, so I continued.
“-The other night on our six month anniversary, he had a bit too much to drink at the restaurant...”
I looked over at him to see if was still listening. He was, intently.
“So I drove him home, and the whole time he kept kissing my neck and saying some really inappropriate things to me. I stopped in front of his house and he just kept doing it, even more than before. So we kind of, almost, you know-“
“Fucked?” He spat it out, with such venom in his tone I thought I would collapse just from the sound of it.
I ignored it the best as I could anx continued.
“Sorta,” I let out breathlessly. “He kept saying how much he wanted me, and I don’t know Harry.”
I rushed out, running my hands in my hair.
“I just felt so uncomfortable! So I pushed him off and told him I wasn’t ready and then he called me a 'fucking prude' and left.”
The anger was now getting a hold of me, taking me by the reins and controlling my words.
“Is it so wrong for me to want to save myself for someone who actually gives a damn about me?” My voice was suddenly breaking, as the feelings of the whole situation resurfaced.
I felt a pair of strong hands on my shoulders, rubbing circles on them in unison.
“Breathe, Sydney. Breathe.”
My shoulders relaxed and lowered down to their normal level, somewhat tension free, as a sharp exhale of breath escaped my lips. Still rubbing my shoulders, I leaned my back against his chest. My shoulders and the contours of his chest fit into each other as his deep voice softened.
“First off, no, you’re not wrong whatsoever. He’s just a douche who doesn’t appreciate what he has. You should just break up with the twat. He doesn’t deserve you, emotionally or physically.”
“Yeah, I know. But-“
“But nothing, you have to break up with him Sydney. Pretty soon it’s going to escalate to something far worse. There is no ifs or buts about that," he held firmly, turning me around in my chair so I was facing him.
His face was wild with feral and mixed emotions of anger and worry portrayed on his face. I’ve seen this face before, many times. See, Harry was quite protective over girls, literally every single girl; the fans, Anne, Gemma and evidently, me. It was actually one of his most admirable qualities, so I didn’t interrupt.
I sighed, looking into his eyes. The teal of them twinkled in the little sunlight shining through the curtains. I realized then how eerily similar our eyes were compared to each other as they bored into each other. I then looked at his nose, where a few faint freckles grazed the bridge. I looked at his lips which were natural pink and full, but still masculine and jaunt.
He really was handsome, of course that was the sole reason why he’s the heartthrob of the band. Not that Liam, Louis, Zayn and Niall aren’t handsome either, but Harry just has something about him. Boyish but masculine, mature yet youthful; the list could go on. But Harry is like my brother, there is no way we could ever date. There was also no way I could argue with him. As always, he was right; I had to break up with John.
“Alright,” I sighed, giving in. “I’ll break up with him tonight.”
And with that said, every footprint of anger and anxiety flushed out of his face. He smiled, satisfied. The chorus of "Sweet Disposition" blared suddenly; undoubtedly it was Harry’s ringtone. He turned to look at me, silently asking it was alright if he could answer it. I nodded, answering yes. He removed his hand off my left shoulder to answer his phone, but kept massaging my right shoulder with his free hand.
“Louis?”
“Harry? Where the hell are you man?” Louis’s slightly angry voice whispered.
“At Sydney’s, why? What’s going on?”
Louis’s voice changed drastically. “You’re at Sydney’s? Oh, tell her I say hello and that I love her!”
I laughed at how easily Louis got off track. I really loved that boy to pieces.
“Hi, Louis!” I exclaimed as brightly as I could.
Harry smiled lightly at me and pretty soon the conversation turned back to its previous.
“Management’s here at the recording studio and they’re beyond pissed that you’re not here. And you know damn well you’re their favorite!”
He stopped rubbing my shoulder but kept it on, sighing sadly.
"Alright, I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“You better! I’m not quite in the mood to get slaughtered today,” Louis said with a hint of fear layered in his voice.
I chuckled a little more. It’s always been absolutely hilarious to me how scared Louis was of management and how Harry could care less about strolling in two hours late to the studio.
“Alright mate, see you soon."
“Good, and oh! Tell Sydney I said-“ Harry clicked the end button, cutting off Louis’s sentence.
Slipping his phone in the back pocket of his pants, he looked at me for an approval to leave.
"Go,” I laughed, pushing him a little towards the door.
But in my voice, it was obvious I didn’t want him to leave. He noticed it also.
‘I’m sorry,” He said, sounding sad himself.
He then moved in front of me, putting his body in between my legs. Holding both of my hands, I felt a long, tender kiss on my forehead before he patted my thighs and walked towards the front door. Putting on his jacket from the coat hanger, he opened the door where a loud creak erupted.
“Love you to the moon and back!” I shouted after him, smiling at the endurance of our old child hood phrase.
“Love you to the stars and above! Oh, and let me know how it goes,” He shouted, before another loud creak signaled that he had left.