"You're gonna do great," I tell him as some staff members direct us backstage. Julian leads us to a small room with a few black leather couches and a few stations for hair styling and makeup.
Each station featured a sleek black vanity desk and a tall, rectangular mirror hanging upon the wall above it. There were three vanity stations total. Littered with expensive makeup and hair supplies, it was organized chaos but somehow looked nice. Basic hair tools neatly line each mirror. Next to each vanity stood a black leather stool, matching the couches on the other side of the room. You can tell just from the brands and quality of the supplies how rich these boys are.
"Harry," a lady says, sitting in one of the leather stools beside the middle vanity. I look at her reflection in the mirror. "Who's this?"
"Lou," he hums. "This is Aubrey, my girlfriend." He turns to me. "Aubrey, this is Lou. She's our hair stylist for our shows and any appearances we do."
"Oh," I greet her with a small smile and wave. "Hi, Lou."
"Hi darling," she greets me kindly. "Aubrey, was it?" She pulls me aside from Harry as the boys take a seat on the couches, Niall helping himself to a platter of cheese and crackers.
"Yeah," I say quietly.
"How long have you been with Harry? It's been so long since I've seen the boys."
"Two months," I smile.
"He treats you good?"
I nod. "Yeah, very."
"I'm glad to hear it," she smiles.
Aw, she seems like a really nice person.
"Niall, stop munchin' on crackers and come over here so I can get my hands on that rat's nest of yours," she barks at Niall.
Niall's hands subconsciously touch his hair and he frowns. "My hair isn't that bad, is it?"
I laugh. "She's teasing you."
"No, she's not," Harry blurts.
"Harry!" I scold. "Be nice."
"I'm just being honest!" He exclaims, shrugging as he tells the harsh truth.
Two hours later, the boys all sit crammed together on a red couch in the centre of the stage. Next to them, a blonde male interviewer sits in a single couch cushion with his legs crossed.
The boys talk about their new upcoming album, announcing to the public the title of it and that they are planning to release the album cover later in the week. The fans scream loudly, some even tearing up in the audience. I watch some of them who have theirs eyes attached to Harry and won't look anywhere else. Man, that must be sad. Obsessed with someone you don't even really know. Only an illusion.
It goes on for a while, talking about the album and their new tour which is coming up in three months, as well as some of Liam's public appearances with Sophia. Before I know it, I'm brought back to reality after zoning out when I hear my name being mentioned.
"Fans have tracked down this girl who has been seen with you a lot," the interview starts, switching his legs. "Aubrey, her name is? What can you tell me about her?"
Harry smiles. "Well, Aubrey lives here in Toronto. She's a local artist and is quite popular for her work being really emotional." The interviewer smiles. "We're really close," he murmurs.
"How close?"
"Well, we're dating," he announces. "It's new for us but she's perfect."
"How new?"
Okay, go digging deep into our business. That's cool.
He bites his lip. "Only official for a few weeks," he lies. "But we've been seeing each other for a lot longer. It feels like we've been together for months, if I'm honest."
Thank God the interviewer drops the topic of us soon after.
Zayn is questioned on Gigi, and Niall is left fake crying when he announces he isn't seeing anyone. The fans instantly brighten up and sit straight in their chairs.
Okay, girls. Sure.
"I told you," I murmur, pulling Harry into my arms tightly after the boys slip backstage. He takes a sip from his water bottle and raises an eyebrow. "You did great."
He smiles at me. "Thanks, baby. I wouldn't have done as well if you weren't here, though."
"You couldn't even see me," I protest.
"But I knew you were here," he tells me. "You were on my mind the whole time."
"Mhmm. I can't say I didn't do the same," I admit. "I mean, I wouldn't be here if you weren't, anyway. Also, that interviewer wants to dig deep into our relationship, eh?"
He laughs. "Everyone does. We're new and interesting. 'The famous Harry Styles finally has a girlfriend. Is he ready to settle down and break up the band? Who knows.'" His voice imitates that of a news broadcaster. I grin at him.
"You and your damned fake accents," I laugh. "You're cute."
He smiles and pokes my shoulder childishly. "You love me."
"I do, I do, Styles."
Harry yawns loudly and checks his phone momentarily.
"When are we leaving?" I ask. "I'm hungry. Crackers and cheese don't really appeal to me."
"Whenever we want," he says. "We just have to be careful if we leave soon because the fans are still here. They brought an extra car in case we wanted to leave separately from the boys."
"Let's go, then," I suggest. He nods.
"Okay. Let me tell Julian and the boys."
Harry scampers off as I recollect my jacket and backpack. He soon joins me again with a pair of keys in his hand.
"Don't let go of my hand when we go out. I know for certain that there are fans outside and that the paps will be waiting for us."
"Don't worry," I murmur. "I won't say anything."
We walk to the back exit door and push out, the cool wind instantly blowing my hair back.
"Jeez, it's windy," I say, shielding my face.
We push open a door in the chain fence rising at least eight feet above us, a security measure to prevent people from hopping it. The actual door is locked from the outside, but still.
Fans line the outside of the chain. Looking down, I shield my face with my spare hand and follow Harry as he opens the door, quickly shutting it behind us. Fans grab at us and I move closer to Harry. They yell the usual.
"I love you!"
"Harry!"
I even heard my name yelled by paparazzi. Questions are thrown my way but I completely ignore the noise, focusing on the warmth of Harry's hand in contrast to the cool air.
Jeez, it's cold for the beginning of September.
We finally move through the majority of them, though quite a few follow our tails. Harry leads me to his black Sonata. We quickly slip in. He turns on the engine and gets ready to back out, but apparently some of the fans are idiots and won't move.
"Are they dumb?" I mutter, sighing.
Harry's lip curls up into a half smirk.
Eventually, they get the message and move out of the way. Most of them go on their way after realizing we aren't getting back out.
We pull out and exit through the gate. I then wonder how they even got past this point. Oh well.
Harry pulls onto the highway and we're soon on our way back home. He rubs his large hand across my thigh in a non-sexual, comforting way as he drives.
"Can you please drop me off at my apartment?" I ask, trying to hide the sadness creeping up on me over having to leave Harry temporarily. "I still have bills and rent I have to pay for if I want to stay in my apartment ever again, which I do. I enjoy having my own space to call home. So I'm going to need to create at least a few paintings by the end of this week if I want to make my rent. Sadly, I do not get your pretty paycheque, not even a small fraction of it."
Honestly, it's probably a good thing for me to go home, anyway. If I spend too much time with him, I know I will get attached to him, and not just normal 'attached'. I have serious abandonment issues from my father being mentally absent and abandoning our family without a word when I was a child. As a result, when I get attached to someone, it's like my subconscious takes the word literally. It makes me afraid to leave them, even temporarily, for the fear that they will leave the same way my father did. Thus, I want to be with my partner all the time and I struggle when I'm forced to spend time apart from them. If I get too attached to Harry, him leaving for his band's tour will severely fuck me up. I will be a mess if I let myself get attached to him.
Isn't it a little too late to be worrying about this? I don't want to admit that I'm already attached. But, deep down, I know I'm hooked.
"You know, I'd be more than happy to help you out," he tells me, turning the steering wheel. His hands grip the wheel tightly, tattoos stretching out. Jeez, even his hands are fucking hot.
"No." I shake my head. "Nope."
"But why not? Come back to my apartment, baby. You know I have more than enough money to cover your bills, and it would make me happy to help you out. Then you have more time to spend with me." He tries to convince me with a smile on his face but I know I'll just feel guilty if I let him do that. "Plus, we did get so very rudely interrupted by a certain someone before we left. I was enjoying kissing and touching you." He grins at me with a wink and I shake my head smiling at his naughty thoughts. I can almost see them behind his eyes.
"Because I want to provide for myself, Harry. I don't need your help. I'm proud of my work and I like when it sells. And, well, I will only end up feeling guilty over it. I'm not some gold digger trying to use you for your money," I tell him.
"If you were a gold digger, Aubrey, you would've asked for more than a meal whenever we went out shopping. I know you, I know you're not here for my money. I thought that was obvious. I know that you don't need my help, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't take me up on my offer. Why work excessively when I can help you out without hurting my own bank account? You could relax, paint whenever you want, not stress about selling enough art to pay your bills in time. You could do whatever you want, baby. You could put all the money you save aside and save up for a vacation or something," he suggests. He's trying surprisingly hard to convince me, all because he wants to be with me?
Damn, he really does love me. I guess part of me feels unworthy to be loved following the aftermath of Martin's abuse. The reality is that I am the definition of damaged goods. I'll never be the same person I was before. I will always have severe trauma to deal with. It's not even dramatic, it's true.
"C'mon Aubs, don't be dumb. I want to help you," he persists.
Growing up, my mother taught me to never reject free money, that if someone offers money, you should take it and not act proud. Humble yourself and accept it if you need it. Unless it's a scam, of course, or an ill-intended person. I used to go by that advice until Martin invited himself into my life like a leeching parasite. He would molest me, rape me, then give me a huge wad of cash or a large cheque to cash in later as if that made it any better. Rape money. Money to silence me from speaking out. After that, I never took free money again. Obviously, his money was never really free. The price was my sanity, my mental health, and my purity. My normality.
"How about this," he offers with a hum, "I'm going to be going back on tour in a few months or something like that. That's always been the original plan. What if I cover your bills, but only until I leave Toronto to tour. Then once I'm gone, you can go back to painting full-time and selling your artwork. Of course, you can paint whenever you want, I want you to be happy. I just think this would help alleviate a lot of stress from your shoulders. Painting full-time sounds exhausting."
"Ughhh," I groan in defiance. "Why are you always so damned convincing and persistent?" I whine at him. He grins from cheek to cheek, knowing well that he is guilty of being very persistent. "Fine, damn it, you can cover my friggin' bills. Only until you leave for tour. Alright? That's it, okay?"
"Okay," he agrees. "Deal. Does that mean you're going to come back to my apartment instead?" He grins at me, tucking his curly hair behind his ear.
I nod. "Yeah."
"Yeah!" He yells happily, obviously very happy that I'll be spending more time with him. "Sick. Like I said, we were so rudely interrupted before we left. I was sort of hoping that that would continue..." He admits, trailing off. His voice is deep and raspy. His stunning, detailed green eyes pierce me as he mimics his best puppy-dog eyes.
"We'll see, baby," I laugh, almost teasing him. I know I'll be kissing him the second we're alone in private.
Soon enough, we pull up to the two-story parking garage around the corner from the entrance of the apartment building. Harry parks the car on the lowest level and pulls the sunglasses atop his head down over his eyes. I pull out mine from my black leather mini backpack and follow his lead.
Harry holds out his large hand for me to hold, and I naturally interlace my fingers with his. The size difference between our hands is incredible, but I love it, because he makes me feel protected.
We walk down the somewhat-busy sidewalk. Around the corner, a couple dozen fans wait outside the apartment waiting for a glimpse of Harry or one of the boys.
"I love you," he whispers close to my ear, giving my hand a squeeze.
"Mmm. Me too, baby, me too. But shh, there are fans approaching. We can continue this inside, okay?"
He laughs but nods in agreement. "Can we continue earlier..?" There is a joking tone in his voice but I know he is being dead serious.
"Harry! Shhh!" I exclaim, giving him a small glare as we come closer to the group of people.
As the fans reach hearing distance of us, he listens to me and holds his tongue. Fans bombard us with the typical questions but neither of us answer. Approaching the front entrance, we see Paul, one of the boys' security guards. He notices Harry and I holding hands and swiftly unlocks the door for us. He holds one of the double doors open for us with a curt nod.
"Thanks," I tell him. Harry does the same. Quickly, we each take off our sunglasses as our eyes adjust to the indoor lighting. I slip mine in the small outer pocket of my mini black backpack. "C'mon, let's go," I usher him.
"No need to say more." He smiles widely, happiness dancing beautifully on his features. He grabs my hand swiftly and almost drags me down the hall.
"Okay, okay, don't trip me, baby," I chuckle. "Why in such a rush, Styles?"
He grins at me suggestively, like he's failing to hide his very-obvious smirk. I can see the hunger in his eyes.
"Oh, nothing. Just excited to be alone with my girl, I guess," he shrugs.
Butterflies rush my stomach as he says 'my girl', claiming me. I know we're dating, but it still makes me feel all funny inside, in a good way.
"Are you, now?" I tease him back, biting my lip. He nods in response.
As we approach the familiar burgundy door, Harry reaches into the pockets of his black skinny jeans and pulls out a ring of keys. He inserts one of the keys into the lock, unlocks it, and pushes the door open for me to enter first.
"Ladies first," he insists with a smile.
"Awww," I hum. "You're sweet."
"Just a little old-fashioned... but only in some ways. I try to be a gentleman," he admits. "Sometimes," he laughs. He slaps my ass the second I kick my boots off by the front door.
"Hey!" I yelp with a smile. "I should've seen that coming." I roll my eyes and hang up my jacket on the hook on the wall.
-
not finished
"See you tomorrow?" He asks.
"Maybe," I shrug. "Maybe not. I think we should take a day without seeing each other. I mean, we've spent the last two weeks straight together. It's not good for us."
He bites his lip, trying to hide his frown.
"Okay," he mumbles.
"I'm not breaking up with you, Harry. It's just not healthy for other relationships for us to spend every single second together. I need to talk to Josh. I need to see someone else other than you for once."
He nods. "Yeah, you're right. I'll try to fix things with Lou, I guess."
He doesn't really have many friends here in Toronto, does he? Is that why he spends every second with me?
"I'll see you later," I say, smiling as I slip out into the cool air. "Bye, baby."
"Bye, Aubs," he nods. A sad smile settles on his soft lips.
Ugh, how I would love those lips on mine.
Harry drives off as I saunter down the small road. My backpacks jumps slightly on my back as my boot clashes with the ground. It isn't completely even which gives me a bit of a limp.
I should probably call my doctor and make sure everything is okay in terms of my arm and how my ankle is healing. I really want this thing off my leg.
I walk into the lobby, entering the elevator quickly. I sort of just want to lay in bed on my phone or maybe read a book. I haven't read a book in a damned long time. I used to love reading.
Maybe I should get high and paint, I think to myself as I unlock my apartment and step in.
"It's way too quiet in here," I mumble to myself, kicking off my shoes. "And messy, shit."
I'll just smoke and clean, I guess. I always clean when I'm high.
Passing by a pile of clothes in my bedroom, I collapse on my bed and reach down under the bedside table. It's almost as if shock shoots through me when I move my fingers around and identify the object I'm holding.
The syringe.
The full syringe.
No, Aubrey. Fuck no. Not today, not now, not ever.
Then why is it in your apartment in the first place?
Fucking hell, no. I can't. I won't.
Harry will be so disappointed in me.
He won't find out.
No. No.
No.
Maybe.
Yes.
No.
Fuck.
I pull out the syringe delicately, holding it up so that it won't leak onto the white carpet.
Aubrey, no. You can't.
I pull out the bag aside it, looking at the dirty spoon and the lighter with anxiety.
God, forgive me.
I place the spoon on the desk and empty the syringe into it, the sludgy brown liquid soon filling the depression of metal. My hands are shaky as I lift the spoon over the table and reach for the lighter. I almost can't get it lit, I'm so anxious. I haven't done this in three years. I could overdose so easily. I have no clue how much is too much.
You won't fucking overdose, Aubrey. You fucktard. Get your head together.
The flame flickers beneath the metal, liquid heroin starting to bubble above it. I grab another cigarette butt and place it into the liquid just for precaution. Sticking the syringe in, I pull out slowly, a brighter and more transparent brown filling it up.
You're such an idiot.
Holding the syringe up, I stand up and walk to the closet. My arms reach out and grab a red elastic band.
Why do I still have this?
I continue the battle in my head, talking myself through the anxiety as I sit on the floor with my arm extended.
You're such a pussy. You can't even shoot up anymore. You've lost your spark. What would Elijah say? He'd be so disappointed in you. You really have lost your spark, haven't you.
I wrap the elastic around the top of my arm tightly, extended my arm straight again. With deep breaths, I bring the tip of the syringe to the inside of my arm and press it to the skin. It doesn't break the skin, it just sits there.
Pussy.
With that, I push in, pain causing me to squint my eyes. I bite my lip, moving around until it feels right. My thumb shakes as it finds the end of the syringe and pressed down.
Oh, my God. I can feel the warmth of it in my veins. I'm actually doing this. Oh, my God, you fucking idiot, Aubrey.
The feeling comes in short minutes. At first, a rush of warmth comes over my muscles. I'm instantly gratified with a sensation of relaxation and my arm slumps. Pulling the syringe out, I drop it to the floor and walk to my bed.
Wow.
When I slide under the covers, the warmth grows warmer. The feeling of the mattress beneath me begins to alter, almost as if it's moving like waves. They come gently, swaying me from side to side. They grow more intense and then slow again. The waves sweep me away into a swirl of dreams filled with life, colour, and beauty. But, I'm not entirely asleep. I'm still somewhat lucid.
The feeling of the high is like curling up on a warm blanket with a cup of hot chocolate after being out in the cold of a snowy winter night. I feel so sedated, so at peace. The only thing I need now is to set the mood with some music and a candle.
My mind completely disregards the fact that fire is dangerous when not watched. God knows I'll forget about it through this God-given high.
I reach for the lighter again, carefully lighting each wick of the candle on my bedside table with the hot flame. The warm flickering of the flames echo against the darkness of my room as I turn off the night and slide back into bed. I don't feel tired, no. Just at peace. Just comfort and warmth. Nothing enough to make me sleep.
I plug in my phone to the speaker system bolted up on my wall. Soon, the sound of the Neighbourhood overcomes the silence of my breathing and I'm lost again in the high. The waves have turned into swirls beneath me. The beautiful sound of each note is enhanced, sweeping me into the pattern moving beneath me.
The thing I like best about heroin is the fact that you don't feel anything. There's a gorgeous absence of feelings present in my soul. It's numbness, a comfortable numbness, resignating through me. It's not just emotional, though. My body feels numb, too, and all of my thoughts seem unimportant. Martin isn't an issue. Harry isn't an issue. The boy I left under the supervision of Eli isn't an issue. Not anymore. Not right now.
I don't have a care in the world, and there isn't one damn thing that could ever bother me. It is a complete temporary escape from all pain. I just don't care anymore. I don't worry about anything, despite the fact that I'm in unruly danger on Martin's behalf.
I laugh. Fuck him.
God knows how much time passes as I pay close attention to every odd sensation attacking my nerves. The Neighbourhood continues to enthral me, pulling me in with every word and every soft synth riff.
The Beach is one of my favourite songs by them. The lead singer's voice is so unique, so gorgeous and blending perfect with the music. The soothing simplicity of the wavy synths and contrasting, yet somehow matching partial-acoustic plucking is astounding with the way they've managed to blend genres. It's like soft rock, but it's really not - it's slow pop, but it has a beachy vibe. It's so hard to describe. I love the way it sweeps me into the sensations my body is giving off, the drug is giving off.
If I told you that I loved you
Tell me, what would you say
If I told you that I hated you
Would you go away
Now I need your help with everything that I do
I don't want to die, I've been relying on you
Fallin' again, I need a pick-me-up
I've been callin' you a "friend," I might need to give it up
I'm sick, and I'm tired too
I can admit, I am not fireproof
I feel it burning me
I feel it burning you
I hope I don't murder me
I hope I don't burden you
If I do, I do
Standing up, I unplug my phone and slowly saunter to the bathroom. I bring the candle with me and place it on the counter carefully. I pull out a white towel and start a bath, the scalding water filling the room with steam.
Maybe I should do some more to make myself feel even better. Another hit won't hurt.
This time, I can't even tell myself off. I'm not bothered. I slip back into my bedroom as the bath runs and grab the spoon, repeating the process. I wrap the band around my upper arm and extend my arm. Tranquility overwhelms my senses once again as I press down on the syringe.
When I put the spoon back into the bag, forgetting about the syringe, a small bag of white powder catches my attention. I almost laugh in ecstasy and excitement when I realize what it is.
This is going to be fucking great.
I almost skip back to the bathroom, the cocaine jumping as the bag flops around in my palm. Darkness fills the room as the light switch is flipped off. My clothes hit the floor with a soft thud and heat fills me again as I slip into the water, my lucidity slipping away with each minute so much that I don't feel how dangerously hot the water is. My skin instantly turns pink.
Reaching for my phone, I empty some of the cocaine onto the screen and use my long nails to push them into messy lines. I bring it up to my face and push my nose into it, inhaling with one nostril as I press against the other. A surge of rushing euphoria hits me instantly as if it's shocking my system. It's so weird to feel both of these at the same time. I still feel so relaxed, my eyes drooping, but a loud whistling noise screams in my ear as I sink deeper into the water.
I lose track of time again as I down three more lines.
God, this is so wonderful. I love cocaine. I love drugs. I love cocaine. It's so wonderful. No wonder I was addicted, it's so wonderful.
I don't know if I was saying that in my head, or if my head was saying it to me. Maybe I was speaking it out loud. I can't remember if my lips moved at all when I spoke to myself.
My eyes droop again, my heart rate spiking and dropping in a matter of seconds. Shivers rake my body in the overwhelming heat. I continue to feel my breathing slow, not thinking how dangerously slow it is. I don't think about the possibility of overloading my system.
Slipping under the water, I lose all consciousness. My heart stops as water leaks into my mouth and my hair spreads out messily on the steaming surface.
-
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