Rescue Me [H.S.]

19. Breaking Away

Harry's POV:

It took several minutes to walk the few meters from my van to the entrance to the tall, modern building also known as the Syco Music headquarters. The reason why walking a few meters took minutes: paparazzi. Destroying my life for years now.

"Welcome, Mr. Styles. He's waiting on you in his office," says an ordinary looking girl around my age.

In her chocolate brown eyes I find no distant sign of pain, no hurt - nothing that makes her just a tiny bit interesting. I do notice that her cheeks are a few shades too red, her eyes restless. A few months ago I would've flirted with her, maybe even had sex, but what's the point really? Maybe I used to do it as an act of rebellion; they could control my longer-lasting relationships, but not my one-night-stands.

"Thank you," I say, sending her a small polite smile before walking into the elevator.

* * *

"Harry. Sit down, please," John my manager says.

We're in my manager, John Campbell's, office. A huge room with windows looking over the London, a huge glass table with soft leather chairs around it. John sighs and places his hands behind his neck, leaning back in his chair placed at the end of the table that's a bit bigger than the rest of the chairs. Typical men in power. I sit down in the chair opposite him - the furthest away from him, the huge table making sure there are several meters between us. My first act of rebellion.

"So, what do you wanna talk to me about?" I say, leaning back in the chair as well.

He sighs, takes off his glasses and scratches his temples.

"Your female friend is giving us bad publicity," he declares, and because I'm too stunned to say anything, he continues: "You can't be seen publicly with her."

"You know she's bad publicity," he repeats, leaning towards me, a frown on his face appears when a low chuckle erupts from me.

"Why? Because she's not perfect like you think Taylor Swift is?" I ask, not even realizing that I've clenched my fists.

"No. Well, yes. Haven't you seen the latest trending on twitter?" He asks, too calm, it is obvious that he's trying to hide a triumphant smile.

I clench my teeth, not wanting to, but my curiosity takes over: "what is it?" I ask.

John Campbell doesn't even try to conceal his glee as he turns his computer screen and moves it towards me.

"Take a look for yourself."

Twitter. I read the first tweets and close the computer while sinking a lump in my throat. The tweets and pictures are still too clear in my head.

"Maybe @Harry_styles will notice me now! #cuttobenoticed"

"If victoria that bitch can do it, so can I #CutToBeNoticed"