(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)
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THIS IS A RE-POST OF CHAPTER 14 FOR THOSE WHO CAN'T SEE THE ORIGINAL.
February 2016
Jeff cleared his throat, shifting across the table, bringing me back to the discussion at hand. Where had we even left off?
"I appreciate you saying that, I really do. But...it's not even like that, y'know? Things were different...with uz. Believe it or not, he did actually tell me goodbye. Only me."
"Hm..." He pursed his lips.
"Yeah...it was all really f--ked up to be honest. But...he made sure he reached out before he left the hotel, and then again at the airport, and then again after he got home."
"Then what happened? How'd you get here? Not speaking for...what...nearly a year?"
"It was when he didn't come back."
"Ah..."
"When he left on the 18th, he promised it was just a break. That he'd be back in a couple of shows...by the South African leg, I think, which was a few shows later. But once we got to Jakarta—everything fell apart. They Skyped us—Simon and everyone—and just hit us with the news...and there was just no going back after that."
"Did he reach out anymore?"
"Zayn?" I asked. He nodded. "He did...but only after I'd already heard the news from someone else, and that's where I got pissed, y'know? It's just not something you want to hear from a corporate suit over Skype." I took my hat off and ruffled my hair, becoming overly warm. "That your friend or brother—or whatever—was gone and wasn't coming back. And there was just no time to talk him out of it, because he was already across the bloody globe by then. Sh-t...to be honest, it almost felt like he'd died—or like, uh, he'd been some kind of illusion all along. I don't know..."
"You never told me this." He looked concerned.
"It was bad, y'know. I couldn't really express myself for a while. But...uh...now I can. And I just know you don't do that...you don't just spring that on a person. It felt dodgy..." I grimaced. "I wouldn't speak to him for a while. And by the time I was done processing everything...I think his number had changed. I didn't take it personally, though. It was like a week later, I think, and I can only imagine the kind of heat he was taking from everyone. I would've changed my number too, probably sooner. But for him to not reach out right away with the new number, kind of pissed me off too, if I'm being honest."
"So then he was under the impression you were done with him too?"
"Sure." I grinned with a shrug. "Exactly. So I couldn't be too pissed, right? I was equally at fault...for what happened after. For uz not speaking for so long."
"So...you were both being stubborn dicks...?"
"Of course." I grinned. "And it just went on for weeks. I think neither of uz wanted to be the first to call at that point. Our pride or whatever got in the way." I laughed, remembering how dumb we were. "We're so much alike. He hated me for not answering after he left, and I hated him for leaving in the first place and not continuing to reach out even while I was pissed. Mate, it's ridiculous."
"So what'd you do?"
"I sent the email...in like August of 2015, I think? But he ignored it, of course, and I think that's when I decided it was time to let go and move on, y'know?" I winced. "Well, apparently he did too. He's happy, and I didn't want to be the one who gave him grief for doing what he always wanted to do...no matter how much it hurt uz all as a collective...the band. Then he started chatting sh-t in some interviews about the music or whatever, but it was nothing we hadn't heard before he left."
"Can't blame 'em, if I'm being honest. It wasn't close to what he was into, if the new single is any indication. What is it? Pillowtalk?"
"Yeah...he's different now."
"So what do you plan to talk about when you guys meet? How weird he is now?" He chuckled. I lifted my hat and fixed my hair again, having asked myself the same question since I got the message a few hours ago. Also, I didn't think he was weird. Just different. A good different.
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Tucked away at my stepdad's bungalow in late 2011, he and I had discovered something tentative and reckless. The day we entered into what some would call 'true intimacy', was the day my life and sexuality was altered beyond repair.
We were starved for each other's touch, exposing every bit of ourselves, inside and out. Hidden parts that had been locked away for ages, dying for light, for recognition, for exploration. Both of us longing to be loved without restraint. Without inhibition. To be touched without fear. From there, I refused to let go, and soon that hidden thing came out of me and became me (the adult Harry). Now the person I was before Zayn was dead.
To my dismay, I discovered he was quite good at alternating between both versions of himself (the old him and the new him who'd fooled around with me), which left me feeling alienated most days—constantly confronted with the realization that he didn't need me as much as I needed him. He didn't allow what we had to consume him like it consumed me, and that was humiliating.
Starting in Fall 2011, it all changed. That was the week that set us apart from the other boys as having a unique 'bond', even more than the one I shared with Louis at the time. Of course, many assumed that Louis and I's friendship was something more than what they saw on screen, but they were always invariably wrong.
Later the band discovered that girls liked the idea of us all together, pairing off and screwing each other's brains out; fighting over each other, being jealous and possessive and overtly sexual onstage. Me and Lou, and Zayn and Liam. Poor Niall was mostly left out, unless he was paired off with me by a divergent few. Shipping is what they called it.
With Louis and I, they were so frantic for it to be true that they refused to humor any notion to the contrary, even directly from the horses' mouths. Even when we emphatically and categorically told them it was all bullsh-t, they turned a deaf ear and a blind eye. Nothing we said was ever enough to convince them otherwise, so we eventually stopped attempting to deny it, and settled for avoiding each other altogether.
I certainly found no fault with it. The shipping. I could sympathize with most things as I grew older, and the Larry crusade was one of them. That didn't mean I didn't have serious qualms about it either though, because I did. With a little research, it was easy to uncover that the Larry train had moved far beyond the superficial fetishism of two closeted men fooling around in the dark. Some had actually devoted their lives to cultivating a narrative around it and appraising the supporters of our every move day in and day out.
In truth, they had fabricated an alternate reality, one in which like-minded people could enter and feel safe and hopeful about things like true love conquering all, even through the damnedest of times. A world in which Louis and I happily shared a life and were mad for each other, in spite of the external factors that worked tirelessly to part us—like institutionalized homophobia, evil exploitative music execs, and other societal impediments. We were two lovers kept apart by the omnipotent Modest management—a story brimming with PR beards, secret rendezvous, elaborate media cover-ups, and well...fake babies. There was nothing they wouldn't believe in order to keep hope alive for our theoretical love, and at some point, one had to respect their tenacity.
Most of the stuff was harmless, and amusing even, but some of it leapt across the line of innocuity and became delusion. Sheer, volatile delusion that in turn inspired the harassment of our families and acquaintances online (if they even remotely posed a threat to these fantasies). The more I thought of it, the more I laughed. I was incredulous that they missed the real story by such a large margin, despite it staring them directly in the face; offering far more damning evidence than anything they gathered to prove Larry existed.
How exactly had they missed Zarry in all of this? Better yet, why? I got the feeling that because so many people wanted there to be something between Louis and I, they thought they could manifest by believing hard enough or lying often enough. Since Zarry posed such a serious threat to the Larry theory, it was as good as non-existent in their eyes.
Thinking back, it was easy to see how Larry was born. He and I were close at one point, though there was never anything remarkable that set our friendship apart from the others. I felt as though he had a far better friendship with Stan, while Niall and I were certainly closer at some points. In the end our relationships all contributed to the magic of the band, and our chemistry as a whole set us apart from most other groups on the market.
As my relationship developed with Zayn, this ship nonsense became less of a joke and more of a threat to what we shared. I noticed it made him insecure that so many people read so much bullsh-t into my behavior with another bandmember. He figured (wrongly) that it must be true on some level if so many people could see it. I just couldn't help but think how f--king clueless he and everyone else was. These people had no idea the thoughts that pervaded my mind throughout the day. The thoughts that ran me. He had no idea he was the only one I saw, and that no matter how much time I spent with him, letting him kiss me until I couldn't breathe, it was never enough.
He had no f--king idea the way he owned me. In my eyes, only an idiot couldn't see the way I trembled for him. I wanted to carve his name in my flesh. In big gruesome letters across my forehead so he could never mistake exactly who commanded my thoughts.
Eventually his insecurities taught me I needed to be conscientious about the whole thing. So to shut rumors down for good, I stayed as far away from Louis as was humanly possible, and naturally that friendship deteriorated overtime. And to be honest, I regretted nothing.
There was nothing I wouldn't do to secure what Z and I had. Nothing was too costly. Be it friends, money, fame, self-respect—you name it. Though I wouldn't admit it to a living soul, I was more than willing to walk away from whatever I must, or walk over anyone necessary to pave my way to him; (and I didn't care how callous it sounded).
During the height of the Larry bromance in 2011, the five of us spent a seven-day stretch at my step-dad's bungalow. This was our second retreat here, and looking back on it now I can only recall a sense of paradise. Pure happiness. The verge of everything our lives were to become, especially Zayn and I's. Back then, many never suspected the full truth, despite it staring them in the face and grinning.
During that retreat, our team set us up with a week's worth of food and every snack imaginable. They invited a film crew to come over and catch footage of us bonding and goofing off between the interviews for our documentary on the making of the band. The footage was supposed to be candid and endearing, and it was. Everything about that week was authentic, from our on-camera antics, to our individual dynamics within the group. Nothing was contrived. We genuinely all adored each other and enjoyed each other's company and didn't want it to end.
Lou was my best friend and I could talk to him about anything, including unloading on him a little about Zayn. Niall was a pal, always lighted-hearted and caring and forever up for a good time. Liam was a lad, often the most level-headed one present, despite not being the oldest. He kept our ducks in a row for a while, until we corrupted him and he became as obnoxious as the rest of us. And then there was Zayn.
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