Maddie's perspective.
As I slowly peel my eyes open against the harsh LA sunshine, it takes me a good five minutes to fully convince myself that yesterday actually happened, that I didn't just dream Harry turning up on my doorstep in his crisp white suit and whisking me off for lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in Malibu to feed me raw fish and watch me tip caviar all over myself. It's his suit jacket hanging over the back of the white plastic chair by the small dressing table in my room that finally convinces me. I may have an overactive imagination, and I may have dreamed some funky shit in the past, but even I can't hallucinate a jacket out of thin air... Can I?
Pushing myself upright I swing my legs over the side of my bed and clamber onto my feet, raising my arms up above my head and stretching until I feel my shoulders pop before taking the four small steps over to the chair and reaching out a hand tentatively towards the jacket. As the fabric brushes lightly against my fingers a rush of memories flashed past my eyes, like one of those corny montages they put in romantic movies to remind the viewers how the lead character got to this point in the story, I vividly remember the brush of Harry's hand as it lingered briefly on my neck when he placed his jacket over my bare shoulders, I can almost smell the ocean and hear the waves crashing against the shore below the balcony of the restaurant and the pleasant murmured chatter of the other patrons and staff going about their days. I can picture his face so perfectly before me that I can count all the different shades of green in his bright eyes, and it feels like I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
Without thinking, I pick up the soft, supple material and lift it up towards my face, smelling the scent of aftershave and the faint aroma that is just simply Harry and inhaling it deeply. I feel the crinkle of an envelope in the pocket, and my heart lurches as I remember the other item I came home with. The ticket.
What am I going to do? I wonder as I carefully drape the jacket back over the chair and take a small step backwards almost tripping over my own feet in the process as I try and get a little bit of distance from it. Do I want to go through all that again? Put myself back out there and give him my entire heart and just hope and pray that he doesn't break it? God knows I still have feelings for him, of course, I do, but is that enough? Do I want to be in a relationship with someone so very high profile when I am just about to release my very first record? What will his fans say? Will they all boycott my music out of hatred and jealousy? Would they be supportive and make me wonder if I'd really done well or if I was just benefiting from Harry's fame? What if we fuck up again? If we can't figure out how to communicate with one and other and then have to go through some horrible high-profile breakup? What if I'm just no good at relationships and Harry would be better off if we make a clean break now, go our own separate ways? So that he can find someone who really deserves him?
Not for the first time in the last few weeks, I wish that Sammy and I were still speaking. I really could use her straight forward, no bullshit advice about now. Looking back with a clear head, I wish I had told her about Harry and me sooner. I wish I'd not been so paranoid and trusted that she would keep our secret. If I had had her by my side, maybe I wouldn't have completely misunderstood the conversation that I heard between Harry and Kacey. Maybe she would have slapped some sense into me – metaphorically of course, although maybe a real slap would have been useful too - before I charged off and argued with Harry about it. Maybe things would have turned out differently. Shaking my head slowly, I try and bring myself back to the present.
The past is the past. There's nothing that I can do to change any of it now. Now all that's left is for me to move forward and to decide who I want to take with me into the next stage of my life.
I take an absurdly long time in the shower, carefully shaving my legs and scrubbing every inch of my skin until it's baby smooth and almost shining. I think I may have ended up conditioning my hair twice, as for the life of me I couldn't remember whether I'd done it already when my mind started to wander again and figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Afterwards, I pull on my favourite, comfiest shorts and a T-shirt and make my way to the little deli down the street to get some lunch before settling down in front of the TV and trying to lose myself in the drama's happening in Litchfield prison in Orange Is the New Black, telling myself that as many mistakes as I've made, and as utterly stupid and disastrous as some of them were, at least none of them were illegal.
Finishing my sandwich, I ball up the wrapping and take aim at the small bin by the hotel room door, closing one eye in order to try and line up my shot as well as possible before lobbing the paper and plastic across the room, getting ready to celebrate when it goes in. But of course, as it's me throwing it, it misses entirely and manages to crash into of the mugs filled with flowers on the table at full force instead. The mug totters there for a moment, swaying slightly, and it's like everything is happening in slow motion as it starts to tip further and further to the side, before finally crashing into the second mug next to it and sending the contents of both crashing down all over the neatly stacked envelopes filled with Harry's handwritten poetry.
"SHIT! Fuck fuck fuck!" I curse as I leap off of the bed and rush over to the table, grabbing the pile of letters and trying to pull them away from the slightly green coloured water that is flowing out of the mugs, but I already know I'm too late. The moment my fingers brush against the paper it starts to dissolve into some kind of weird mushy green paste, the ink runs down the crisp white pages, and I feel tears escaping my eyes mirroring it as they fall down my cheeks. I flop down heavily onto the floor, the letters still clasped in my hands dripping water onto my bare legs and let out a sigh as I watch the last droplets of water from the mugs cascade down the wooden table legs and pool on the carpeted floor.
Seriously, every time I think I've reached peak stupidity, I manage to outdo myself. Of all the things to ruin, these are the one thing that I can never replace! I can hardly text Harry and ask him if he'd mind spending a few days rewriting each and every one of his letters to me to replace the mulch now clasped in my hands. I know I probably shouldn't be so upset about a pile of letters, but with all the emotions running through me today and all the decisions I have to make, this just feels like the straw that broke the camels back, and I allow my tears to flow freely as I mourn the little pieces of Harry I had with me in this tiny, unfamiliar hotel room that still feels alien to me.
A knock at the door a few moments later startles me and forces me out of my melancholy and up off of the floor. I hastily brush away my tears and straighten my T-shirt before pulling it open. Yesterday's surprise guest was shocking enough, but never in a million years would I have expected the two faces that stare back at me from the long, brightly lit hallway.
"Hey there, Kiddo. Been a while." Clark's broad south London accent greets me cheerfully.
"Hey." mutters a much quieter voice beside him and I glance over and make eye contact with Sammy for the first time in weeks as she tries and fails to produce something resembling a smile which turns into more of a confused grimace.
"Erm... Hi. How did you...? What are you.. ?" I stumble, trying to find the question that I want answering first and failing miserably.
"You don't call, you don't write. I dunno kiddo, you go off and get yourself some fancy record deal, and I never hear from you anymore. Seriously, that shit can hurt a guys feelings. How long have I known you? You couldn't manage a text message?" Clark says in a playful tone, and even though I know there is some truth behind his words I can tell right away that he isn't really angry, nor has he really come here just to check up on me.
"Michael?" I ask, knowing full well that the most likely person to have told Clark where I am currently living, is my darling big brother.
"Michael." He echoes with a firm nod. "Aren't you gonna invite us in?"
I take one more glance at Sammy, who is now very intently studying the carpet under her feet as she shifts her weight from side to side awkwardly and avoids my gaze, before shrugging and flinging the door open a little wider, waving an arm in the general direction of my room to indicate they should enter it. Clark, of course, saunters right in and settles himself down on the bed, propping himself up on the pillows and crossing his arms behind his head looking perfectly relaxed and as though he owns the place, whilst Sammy hovers uneasily by the now-closed doorway, still studying the carpet, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as if she's protecting herself from something. I decide to stay standing and position myself on the opposite side of the room.
"OK. Have at it." Clark says simply and nods towards Sammy, who finally peels her eyes up from the floor at his words and gives him an uncertain smile before squaring her shoulders and turning to me.
"Maddie..." She begins, before swallowing so heavily, I swear I could hear it and starting again. "I'm so fucking sorry Mads. I've been such a bitch. There are no excuses for what I did, but, I wasn't in my right mind. I was so upset that you hadn't trusted me to tell me about you and Harry that I just saw red, I couldn't think straight! I really didn't mean to go and tell everyone about the two of you. I only spoke to a couple of people, well, ranted is more like it really, but I never dreamed that... What I mean is that I never meant for you guys to become the talk of the tour. I would never have intentionally hurt you like that, I know we've not known each other long, but you were my best fucking friend! I.. I... I'm sorry." She blurts out, the words tumbling out of her like she's been storing them up for weeks and now that they've finally been let loose she has no control over them at all. Tears well up in her wide eyes and as soon as she's finished her speech, she returns her gaze to the floor, wiping the back of her hand across her bright red cheeks to brush away the lingering moisture from the few tears that have escaped.
I stand there dumbly for a moment, not entirely sure what to say. As much as I was angry at her for what she did, a part of me has always understood. Things get out of hand on tour, you talk to one person about something, and before you know it, it's public knowledge. I get why she was upset and that she needed to talk to someone about it and I don't honestly think she would have intentionally told everyone about Harry and me. As much as what she did hurt me, and as much as it had a knock-on effect and caused more issues between Harry and me, I've had plenty of time sitting alone in this damn room to think it over, and as I search my thoughts, I can't find any anger or resentment towards her anymore.
"It's OK Sammy," I say softly, and her head jerks up as if she's been electrocuted, it's almost comical, and I have to suppress a giggle that I can feel welling up in the back of my throat as her wide, and still slightly wet eyes meet mine.
"It's not OK though Mads..." She begins, but I cut her off.
"Seriously, you apologised. I've accepted it. Do you really think it's wise to try and argue with me even more?" I tease her, allowing the edges of my mouth to perk up slightly as I try not to grin at her.
Without another word, she steps forward and flings her skinny arms around my neck, getting a face full of my still damp hair for her troubles as I hug her back.
"Why does it smell like a florist in here?" she asks from somewhere near my ear, and I can almost feel her crinkling her nose in disgust at the strong smell that's filling the room.
"That's why," I tell her, breaking our hug to gesture over to the upended mugs on the table behind her and the little puddle of water beneath them and realising at the same time that I am still holding Harry's soggy letters in my now outstretched hand.
"You've not gotten any less clumsy since we last saw you then?" Sammy teases me with a small smile and nudges me with her elbow. At that moment I realise that I may not know what the hell to do about Harry, but I'm sure glad I've got my best friend back at least.
"Thank fuck for that. Now that girly shits over with. Are you coming to the show tonight or what?" Clark chimes in, breaking the silence in the room in the most Clark way possible and causing Sammy and I to start to giggle happily. Just like old times.