I spent most of the following day on my own. It felt like the first time in a while that I got to sit alone, quietly; comfortably in my own head. I sat out on the balcony of my hotel room, my laptop resting on my knees as I clicked through my recent show photos, my eyes narrowed in concentration as I toyed with a couple of them, adjusting some settings on the shots. I felt so peaceful, even with the sound of the busy street below; just to sit here, editing photos that I'd loved taking, at my own pace, of somebody who I was sure I could never grow tired of photographing.
Just then, my phone rang from the table beside me, jolting me from the fixation I'd had on a particular photo of Harry prancing about on stage. I reached over, instantly warmed by the caller ID as I picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Hi, you. What are you doing?" Just the sound of his voice was enough to bring a smile onto my lips.
"Working, technically," I returned, mindlessly tapping my fingertips against the surface of my laptop. "What about you?"
He sounded like he was walking around. "I haven't been awake for very long," he confessed, and I raised my eyebrows, glancing at the corner of my computer screen to read the time - it was just after two in the afternoon. "I hate oversleeping," he added, then.
"You probably needed it," I told him. It was after midnight when we'd all arrived back at the hotel, and he'd barely even been able to keep his eyes open. Somehow, his room had ended up being on the opposite end of the building to the rest of us, sparing his security, but he'd seemed too tired to even dispute it. He'd simply dragged his bag into the elevator at the soonest opportunity, gently raising his hand to blow me a discreet kiss as the doors had drawn shut, leaving the rest of us in the lobby. My room had turned out to be right beside Elin's, and Pauli was just a little further down the hall, next door to Mitch and Sarah. I wasn't sure where Stella, or Ally, or the rest of the crew had ended up, for I'd admittedly been exhausted myself, falling asleep practically the second my head had hit the pillow. But I'd woken up at a decent hour, feeling better, and feeling rested. I felt good.
"Are you in your room?" I heard the ding of the elevator in the background as he asked his question. A knock suddenly sounded on my hotel room door, and I looked over my shoulder, back toward the inside of my room. I set down my computer, going to stand up.
"I am, where are you?"
"Waiting for you to answer your door."
I paused, feeling a grin overtake my face, just like that. I set my phone down on the couch I'd been sitting on, trying not to practically skip to my hotel room door to pull it open, and sure enough, there he was, pulling his phone away from his ear to set it in his pocket.
My eyes immediately landed on his face - of course they did - how could they not, when he looked the way he did? I could've stood there for ages, just taking in the bright grin upon his features; the way he towered above me from where we stood; but my eyes then fell to his hands, and what was grasped between his fingers.
"Stop it," I almost whined, a breathy laugh leaving his lips as he stepped into my room, my hands raising to capture his face in them. I pressed my lips to his, repeatedly, slowly moving backward to enable him to kick the door shut, his face remaining in my grip. "Those are for me?"
"Of course they are," he grinned, as if it were obvious, one of his hands shifting to rest upon my hip, as the other brought what he was holding between us - a bouquet of tulips, each appearing to be a different shade of pink. I almost pouted up at him, having not expected him to come bearing flowers, in the slightest.
"Harry," I pulled his face back to my own, unable to do anything but kiss him, again, and again. "Thank you," I breathed, standing on my tiptoes to hang my arms around his neck, almost speechless at how thoughtful he was.
"If I'd known this was the reaction, I'd have been buying you flowers weeks ago," he teased, as if it was such a simple gesture, but it felt anything but simple to me. I'd never been given flowers, before - not ever. When Grace and I had first moved into our flat, I'd bought a bouquet of sunflowers in hopes of brightening the place up, but they'd somehow been dead within a couple of days, with Grace and I both blaming each other. They'd always been one of my favourite things to photograph, but nobody had ever gotten me any. Until him.
"They're beautiful," I mused, taking the bouquet from his hands and turning to walk away with them, Harry pressing a gentle kiss to my temple before I could create too much distance, only building on the warmth my heart was already feeling. "I don't even have water for them," I said, suddenly, peering around as if a vase would somehow appear.
"That's okay," Harry said, gently, as if more occupied with watching me peer aimlessly around, than the actual subject at hand.
"I don't want them to die," I told him, frowning, as he moved back over to me and brought an arm around my waist to enable him to dip his head, and kiss me again. I caught his chin briefly in my hand, my thumb grazing lightly over the barely traceable stubble on his skin. I felt like I was floating.
He peered lazily down at me, reaching to tuck my hair behind my ear, "If they die, I'll get you some more. As many as you like. They're just flowers, Iz," he said, his voice still achingly gentle as I held the bouquet between us.
"They're amazing," I told him, shaking my head up at him. "I love them. Thank you, Harry.." I paused, trailing off, before I quickly turned my head. "Do you think if I filled the sink with water, I could try and balance them upright in there?"
Harry eyed me, amused. "I think that would kill them even faster, baby."
I pulled back from him, tilting my head toward the bathroom. "If I only do a little bit of water..."
"Mm, go on, then."
Before I could even draw fully away from him to head into the bathroom, another knock sounded on the door. I frowned, glancing over at Harry, who in turn, glanced at me with equal confusion.
"Someone else bringing you flowers?"
"Funny," I rolled my eyes, carefully setting the bouquet down on the bed. I moved over to the door, throwing Harry another glance over my shoulder as I pulled it open, only to find Elin standing on the other side.
She met my eye with an immediate grin, and it only took a mere second for her gaze to shift away from mine, over my shoulder, to land on the man standing a few feet away, behind me. And, there went the 'keeping things between us', of it all.
Her face lit up at recognising Harry standing there, back in my room, before her eyes shifted back to mine, and she dropped her jaw in a momentary mock surprise.
"God," she said, shaking her head, "I just love being right."
I sighed, leaning back against the door to make room for her to step inside. I met Harry's eye, to see him facing me with an expression somewhere between surprise, and amusement. There was no point denying anything, now - he was here, in my room, and she'd seen it with her own eyes. And though I couldn't help but worry a little, I was shocked to realise that I wasn't sure I really minded. I was sort of wrapped up in all the thrill and excitement of it all, that I couldn't bring myself to be bothered by it; because did it really matter? She'd had her suspicions far before I'd even accepted my own, and if Harry and I wanted to take things further, this was an inevitable thing. And it didn't have to be bad.
Harry spoke, then. Judging by the look in his eyes, I knew he wasn't at all bothered either; if he had been momentarily apprehensive, it had soon evaporated from his demeanour. The tiny smile I caught threatening to play on his lips even made it seem like he felt quite the opposite. "Being right about...?"
I clicked the door shut, leaning back against it as Elin now stood positioned between Harry and I. She laughed.
"Okay, look - let's skip the bit where we pretend we don't all know exactly what's going on here. I won't even say 'I told you so', like I'm dying to say to Izzy right now," she said, sending me a smug grin that I couldn't help but laugh at, as Harry appeared to just watch, amused. "This is pretty convenient, actually - I was going to invite you both individually, but since you're both here, it makes my life easier. Dinner tonight? With me and the others?"
I caught Harry's eye, again, sure that our amused expressions would've mirrored one another's. Elin turned to Harry, before turning back to me, looking between us both, repeatedly.
"Absolutely," I said.
"Sure," Harry said.
Elin's back was to me, now, as she eyed Harry. He pursed his lips as if stifling a laugh; as if he was a teenager who had been caught red-handed in some kind of mischief, and couldn't take the authority figure before him seriously. Elin took a step toward him, her eyes landing in line with the edge of the bed, where Harry stood, and I realised she must've been looking at the bouquet of tulips I'd been admiring only a couple of minutes before, Harry silently watching her.
Elin then looked between us both once more, before shaking her head, clearly amused, herself, as she sent me a final teasing grin, making her way back to where I stood against the door. I stepped forward so she could pull it open, and we locked eyes just once more, before she stepped through.
"Disgusting, the pair of you," she remarked sarcastically, sending me a playful narrow of her eyes, unable to mask the grin on her lips as she walked back out of my hotel room, leaving Harry and I alone again as quickly as she had arrived.
We stood in silence for a second, my back pressed against the door as we looked at each other. I tightly pressed my lips together, fighting back the massive grin aching to show itself on my face, as Harry appeared to do the exact same, before my hand clasped over my mouth, unable to stifle my laughter anymore. Somebody had found out about Harry and I - and as much as my mind would've fought to tell me otherwise; it was okay - the world hadn't ended, or gone up in flames; nobody had died, no catastrophe had taken place - it was fine.
"I told you she knew," Harry said, closing the distance between us with only a couple of strides of his long legs. I narrowed my eyes at him.
"I actually think I told you that, first," I pointed out, causing him to roll his eyes at me. "She's definitely telling Pauli already."
"Good," he returned, bluntly, causing my stomach to flip. He wanted them to know about us. The glint in his eyes as they met my own, just did something to me; it just made me feel absolutely everything at once - it sent me into complete overdrive. I was scarily obsessed with it; with how he made me feel.
"I have more photos for you," I said, suddenly, stepping past him to move across to the other side of the room. I stepped through the balcony door, where I'd left it open, grabbing my laptop and bringing it back inside. "I forgot, Ally needs you to post today. You've missed two posts."
"I've been preoccupied," he quipped, as I passed him again to sit down on the bed. I pulled my computer onto my knees, my chest fluttering at his deliberate comment.
"Just come and look."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do I get options?"
I scoffed, "Who do you take me for? Of course, I've given you options."
He smirked slightly at my sarcastic response, making his way over to the bed to take a seat beside me, propped up against the pillows. "Can't you just pick? I find it a little odd for me to be staring at photos of myself."
"My whole job revolves around staring at photos of you," I raised an eyebrow, able to send him a teasing expression for only a mere second before he hooked my knees with his hand, drawing them over his own legs so that mine overlapped, sending a shiver along the length of my spine.
Continuous physical touch had never been something I'd yearned for, nor had it ever been something that I'd even received; I noticed with Harry, that he seemed to initiate touch instinctively - his hand would dart out to graze over my back whilst we walked, or to grasp at my knee, as it did now, when we sat together. Or if we were speaking, his arm would snake around my waist, or his fingertips would trace my side, or shift to push my hair from my face - and I adored that about him. It was never something that I'd experienced - but I figured, now, that from anybody else, I wasn't sure I'd want to. I loved it from him; that he, specifically, wanted to touch me whenever he could - that he initiated physical contact at any given opportunity. He made me feel wanted - and to be wanted by him was a feeling I'd never have even dreamed of.
We spent most of the afternoon like that; sometimes we spoke, and sometimes we didn't. He picked his photos, reluctantly, after beckoning me to tell him my personal favourites, and he'd posted them, as required. I'd silenced my phone to avoid the stream of notifications that would flood in as a result of him tagging me in his post. Then, I'd gone back to editing some other photos that I needed to compile; some from shows, and some that I'd just taken of him, otherwise. We'd go through periods of silence, his fingertips tracing mindless lines along the inside of my leg, as he'd stare into space, sometimes even letting his eyes flutter closed, briefly. He seemed comfortable with the silence as well. And that was another thing I couldn't help but notice - I didn't need to keep him entertained, or occupied. He wasn't relying on continuous engagement from me; I didn't need to force conversation, or impress him in any way - sometimes we'd exchange a few words, and then we'd return to silence. And it wasn't torturous - it wasn't that type of silence that felt scarily loud, where you'd search for the correct thing to say in order to break it. We both just sat there, him turning to his phone occasionally, before he'd set it down and return to his casual tracing of my leg, and I'd remained on my laptop, clicking through photos I'd taken and editing them as required. I wasn't sure quite how long we sat like that, but I feared I might've stayed like that forever, had it been allowed.
Harry's eyes were on his phone when I finally closed my laptop, sufficiently satisfied with the work I'd done. I looked over at him, my hand landing on top of his, on my inner knee, and he looked up to grant me attention.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," I returned, smiling over at him as he set his phone down in his lap with somewhat of a sigh. He closed his eyes for a second, squeezing lightly at my leg, before he opened them.
"Mitch wants to see me about something," he said, "He was fixing an instrumental for me, I think he needs me to look at it."
I nodded, "Okay. I'll see you at dinner," I told him, and he nodded, pressing his lips together to form a gentle smile as I reluctantly pulled my legs off his, to allow him to stand up. I reached for my phone, then, to see it was after five, now, and that the group chat of Harry, Sarah, Elin, Pauli, Mitch, and I had a few notifications around the scheduling of dinner. I went to start reading them, sensing Harry as he stood up from the bed, and stretched his arms out in front of him.
I noticed, then, the flowers on the edge of the bed a few feet away from me, where I'd left them, and I reached for them, standing up to follow Harry.
"I didn't even put them in the sink," I huffed, watching him shake his head with a quiet laugh. He leant in, pressing his lips briefly to my forehead, and then to my own lips. I knew I'd be seeing him again in a matter of hours, but I found myself wanting him to stay, rather than leave, now.
I'd been on my own for less than ten minutes when my phone began to ring. I walked over, mindlessly, lifting it up from where I'd discarded it on the mattress, only to find it to be Grace, calling me. I frowned.
We'd only caught up, fully, the day before. It was unlike her to just randomly call without knowing if I was free, so soon after a long conversation - we hadn't texted much today, and I was slightly confused by the unexpected call, especially with it now being the late evening for her, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome. I picked it up quickly, bringing my phone to my ear.
"Hey, is everything okay?" I asked, brightly, still very much on cloud nine from the afternoon I'd had.
My best friend's voice came back in an uncertain response. "Yeah - yeah. All okay. Are you busy?" I narrowed my eyes.
"No, not right now. What's up?"
The line went silent for a second, and it cracked slightly, as if she'd exhaled a deep sigh. My heart was beginning to race already, every single awful possibility of what could be wrong suddenly forcing its way to the forefront of my mind. Somebody was dead; Johnny's knee had worsened significantly in the past 24 hours; she'd been evicted from the flat - just about every worst-case scenario was an option, now - her silence only further encouraging my mind to race so incessantly.
"Grace?"
"Your mum called."
I froze - that hadn't even been one of my worst cases; that scenario hadn't even been one that I would've entertained. My mouth went completely dry; my skin turning cold. My hand reached out to flatten against the mattress and steady myself, almost out of sheer necessity in fear that my knees were going to collapse from under me. It felt like I could hear my heart thumping in my head, as my eyes undoubtedly widened.
And suddenly, I was a teenager again; I was back where I was four years ago, leaving home for university, certain that I'd never look back. I hadn't even told her where I was going; she knew it was going to be a law course, in London - just as they'd wanted - and that I'd be away for five years. I supposed, then, she didn't know that I'd never be back for Christmases, or birthdays - or that in my head, that was it, and I'd never be back at all. I'd told Grace the second I'd accepted my university place that I would do everything in my power to never go back there - and so I had; I worked a job, I studied full time, I picked the five-year course instead of the four, just to keep me out for as long as possible - and most importantly, when I'd arrived in London, I'd changed my phone number. I didn't want to be traceable for any of them; I didn't want any of them to have the slightest chance of finding me ever again. But now she had.
The last time I'd spoken to her was when I'd left my house to move away. She'd barely so much as looked up from the cheap gossip magazine she was reading, at the kitchen table, as I'd lugged my suitcases past her. Grace had asked me at one point how on earth my mother hadn't inquired any further - where was I going, where would I be living? - but it had only taken a second to remind her that my mother would never waste an ounce of energy worrying about me.
The last I'd seen of her, she looked old. She'd stopped dyeing her hair a couple of years before, after my father had died. She'd stopped doing a lot of things, then. But it was only there, in that moment, that I really saw it. Her face had lost all elasticity; each of her features drooping away from one another, disguising any real expression. The shade of grey that coated her scalp - only twinges of the faded chocolate brown remaining on the splintered ends of her hair; growing up she'd paint her hair brown, from a box, the moment even a singular grey hair began to show itself. She wasn't like that, anymore.
It was scary to look at somebody and know that if you were to die, they wouldn't so much as bat an eyelid. There were times I'd even wondered testing it out, as a child - maybe to collapse in a heap at her feet, just to see if she'd find it in herself to pick me back up. When I stood in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at her, with Grace waiting in the car outside, I didn't feel that like I used to. I remembered the feeling; I remembered wanting to shake her, and scream at her; beg her to tell me what it would take for me to be enough for her; for her to stop resenting me, just as my father always had; for her to view me as a human being, rather than a nuisance, or a detriment, or a failure. But I didn't feel it, then - or I'd convinced myself that I didn't; in that moment, I didn't need her to pick me up, because I knew it would only be to push me back down, herself.
I'd told her 'goodbye' - perhaps, out of habit. Perhaps, out of that sneaky, tricky little part of me that still wanted her to validate me, just once. I'd said the one simple word in her direction, and was met with silence in return. I'd waited, for a moment, as if by some miracle, she'd suddenly look up with some benevolent wishes to send my way; but of course, she hadn't - she didn't. I waited, and nothing came. And so I'd left - and I'd forced myself, finally, not to look back.
I'd tricked myself into believing that the life I was living in London wasn't still for them - like every step I took; every move I made, wasn't for that little girl I'd left behind in that house, and the mould they'd always forced her into. I was lying to myself to believe that I wanted any part of the life I was building in London - all I wanted was to be away; to be free, and to finally be happy. And I was none of those things, until I was here, on tour - and here she was, somehow, to push me right back down, herself, just like I knew she always would.
"Izzy?"
"Yeah? Yeah - sorry, I'm here."
The line went silent again, as Grace waited for me to speak again. But I didn't really have proper words to say to her - and I knew she'd know that.
"She called you?" I asked, the words sounding like they weren't even mine.
"No, not exactly," she returned, "she called my mum, today. She wanted to know how she could contact you." My heart felt like it was going to thump out of my chest - in four years, she hadn't done that - not one attempt had been made, at least to my knowledge. Why? What could she want, after all this time?
"My mum said," Grace paused, her voice practically oozing sympathy as she spoke, to the point where I felt slightly sick. Not at Grace, or her demeanour - but the fact she even had to be telling me this, now. I didn't want this; I couldn't hear this. She continued, "Well, apparently, she wants to make things right."
I instinctively sat down on the edge of the bed, now, my eyes widening in shock. I leant forward, bringing my hand over my mouth as I desperately tried to process what I'd just heard. Make things right? My mother? My entire life, she hadn't so much as admitted a wrong - for her to try and make things right, was to admit something was off to begin with - and I'd never have dreamed of her even coming close to that.
"Izzy, my mum said she wants to apologise," Grace said, then, and I felt like the room was spinning. "I have her number, here. I can give it to you, if you think it's a good idea. We didn't give her yours."
I wasn't sure I'd even heard her properly. I still found myself unable to speak, simply staring intently at the wall ahead of me in search of the answer - what was the answer here? She wanted to apologise? That had never been something I'd so much as considered her doing; not to me, not to anyone. It was beyond unfathomable - an apology, or even some sort of recognition had become one of those things that I wouldn't so much as dare of dreaming of receiving - it just wasn't an option; she wasn't capable. Then why else would she reach out?
"What do you think?" I asked my best friend, my voice barely a whisper, aching for her to somehow resolve this for me. Grace was silent, but she didn't really need to say anything, because I knew that she knew as well as I did, that as much as I hated it - I wanted it; I needed it. I could spend years, upon years convincing myself I didn't need a thing that my mother could provide - I wanted it, and I needed it. If she was offering me, now, the acknowledgement I'd spent my entire childhood wishing for, I couldn't mask the way it ignited something within me. I was five again, wishing she would come and save me from the beating I was far too small to endure; I was seven, desperate for her to swoop in and defend me from the relentless insults; I was ten, watching the other children get picked up from school with a tight, loving hug, whilst I walked by myself in the dark to get home; I was thirteen, wondering why she'd watched me cut my hand whilst cleaning up the shattered glasses from the kitchen tile, and opted to say nothing; I was fifteen, by my father's hospital bed, watching him die, wondering why she wouldn't stop him from berating me that one, final, relentless time. And I was eighteen, leaving my house to move away from her, wondering if she'd ever so much as acknowledge me, just once, even now, as I left.
I'd grown up without receiving any sort of sincerity from her - but that didn't mean I'd never craved it. I did; every day in her presence, and some days, even now - and here it was, somehow, being offered to me. An apology - an admittance of guilt and wrongdoing - she wanted to make it right, and maybe, just maybe, I could heal from it; all of it.
"I can't tell you what to do, babe," Grace replied, "I know you want this. And I understand it. I'll send you the number, but I think you should sleep on it. You don't have to do anything right now."
I sat in silence for a moment more, my lip drawn between my teeth, nodding my head slowly even though Grace couldn't see it. I closed my eyes, then, exhaling.
"I have to go to dinner," I said, quietly, though I was unsure of how I was supposed to disregard this and go and socialise for a few hours as if everything was normal. My immediate inclination was to text everybody and tell them I couldn't make it - to lie, and fake an illness, only to sit and wallow in my own contemplation for the evening. It was almost fitting - how quickly my entire situation had shifted; from elation to the opposite, I felt worse than I had in a while.
"Good," Grace said, then. She repeated, "Good. Go get dinner. Go see Harry, and your friends, and go have some fun. Let yourself think about it properly. I was gonna wait to tell you, but-"
"No," I interrupted, "I'm glad you told me. I just, um-" I paused, biting my lip so hard that I feared it may bleed. "I'll let you know before I do anything," I told her, trying to keep my tone even. "I love you, I'll talk to you soon."
"I love you too."
I hung up the phone, a funny emptiness overtaking the pit of my stomach, my hand shaking as I set the phone back down beside me on the mattress. Keep it together - don't lose it now. I felt sick to my stomach, as I nervously dragged my nails over my arms, staring intently into the space in front of me. And then, my phone buzzed with a notification from Grace, and I saw she'd attached a number, within a text. My mother's number.
Another text had come through, around five minutes before, during my phone call to Grace, from Elin.
'Downstairs in 20 minutes?'
Twenty had since become fifteen - I needed to pull myself together, and quickly. I needed to put on my brave face, and go - I needed to set this aside, like Grace had said - I needed to take some time to think, and not rush into anything. I needed to go and have the night I was supposed to be having, with my friends, and with Harry.
I sent a confirmation to Elin, leaving myself with no other option but to go. I'd leave my phone here, I decided - I wouldn't look at it anymore, for fear I'd go insane. I made my way into the bathroom, instead, to try and make an attempt to pull myself together in the next fifteen minutes.
I set my eyes on the bouquet of tulips, poorly balanced in the sink, and my stomach turned. I could've almost laughed at how quickly it had all been flipped on its head; I'd grasped these with elation, kissing the man who made me feel so elated, not so long ago, and now I stared into the mirror, emotionally exhausted.
I could pull it together. I had to; I would. I'd manage, I always did. I'd go, and I'd have the night I'd wanted, and it'd be fine. In that moment, I still had control - I had it, and I got to decide what to do with it. The power was mine, and it could stay that way, as long as I kept it together; as long as I thought this through.
It would be different this time; it had to be.