Lost Within Myself

4

05:58am.

That's what the beaming red numbers on the microwave displayed. Harry cursed himself for falling asleep before dinner. He should've known better. Why didn't Simon wake him up? They were in bed together, after all.

Sitting cross legged on the cold tiled kitchen floor, the room pitch black, the boy fiddled around with his beyond cracked phone- he really did need a new one. But, his mum still hadn't called him back. Harry had even called his dad, but again, to no avail. Of course.

Were they really that angry with him? Had his brother actually been right? Did they not want to talk to him anymore? Ever again?

The thoughts of his family combined with his earlier nap prevented him from falling asleep. Even after watching two different nature documentaries on his phone, Harry found it impossible to close his eyes and fall back into a slumber. He really wished he could.

In around four hours the rest of the boys would wake up, and Harry had Sidemen Reacts filming with a few of the others. He was absolutely dreading it.

Harry let out a deep sigh and tilted his head back, leaning it against the cupboard. His headache had gotten much worse during the night. He knew he should probably -definitely- get up and take some painkillers, but he just couldn't bring himself to do so. Something about the constant throbbing in his head kept him steady. Maybe because of its familiarity. The pain kept him grounded, on his feet, if that made any sense.

Harry huffed. He knew it didn't.

Lifting his head back up, he opened his left hand and turned it so he could look at his palm. The angry red indents from his blunt fingernails were still there. They stung with certain movements; like when he picked up his fork and held his toothbrush. But for some, completely unknown reason, the stinging wasn't uncomfortable. It felt...

Harry abruptly curled his hand into a fist. No. He was not going down that route. Just because his anxiety was getting worse, didn't mean he could allow stupid, idiotic, dark thoughts like that to infiltrate his mind. He couldn't go down that route. Not again.

He pressed his head back against the cupboard, harder this time. The sound of his skull hitting the wood rang through the kitchen. It made the throbbing worse.

Maybe he was already going down that route.

"Fuck, get a grip, Harry." He whispered to himself. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

No, because really though, what was wrong with him? He was living his dream. He was a YouTuber, he was able to stand in front of a camera and perform to the best of his abilities, with his best friends by his side. He had fun, so much fun. All the time. He got to meet people from all around the world, he had millions of fans that loved him and screamed his name and cried over him whenever they saw him in public. He was living such an amazing life. This was what he had always wanted.

So why did he feel so... sad?

Did he feel sad? He definitely did during the phone call with his brother. But that was expected. When else did he feel that way?

With a frown, Harry started to rummage through his brain. He remembers wanting to cry three weeks ago, when the Sidemen had once again spent an entire day in the studio. And when a mistake was made with their Uber booking, they had to wait an extra hour for a car to drive them home.

He remembers hiding his face in his hands when he dropped his phone for the third time in twenty minutes.

He remembers tears forming in his eyes when Vikk bumped into him two weeks ago and made him spill his long awaited coffee.