Dead And Gone

Chapter Three

Harry's P.O.V.

I heard heavy clomping approaching me, probably from heels. 

"Excuse me, are you Harry Styles of One Direction?" she asked. 

       I could tell by the way in which she was dressed she belonged to a very high news channel. Her blue sweater over her tan shirt didn't exactly conceal her identity much, and neither did her pure white van with her the name of her place of work on it in big, bold, red letters. 

"I promise," she continued, much to my annoyance, "this won't take but two minutes."

       I nodded, gesturing for her to continue. Apparently, she didn't understand what I was doing. I was trying to avoid looking up at her, due to the puffiness of my eyes and all the slob on myself. She tapped my shoulder, obviously not understanding the term of personal space.

       "Yes, continue." I ordered without looking up from the small chip of concrete that was missing from the doorstep. I remembered just then what had caused it. During the time period in which Jen was still alive, we spent every minute of ever day together when I was on a temporary break. One day, after being with her all day hidden from the media in the protection of her own home, I decided that it was best to take myself home because of all the paparazzi stationed in her front porch awaiting to see if we would do anything smutty. Much to her protest, I went home, bound to be on the road on my way to the next concert the following day. I pried myself from the comfort of her couch, she quickly followed my every movement, mirroring my every action.

"Baby do you have to go?" she complained. 

       I smiled at the amount of begging in her beautiful, toned voice. "You know I have to. Dublin tomorrow, gotta get a good night sleep and be ready." I paused, trying to think of what to say in order to not get chocked up in front of her whilst saying my goodbyes. "And anyway, you'd be too much of a distraction." I winked. She blushed, indicating that she was slightly uncomfortable with my rather perverted comment. I wasn't one to make these kinds of comments, I did though, only on a rare occasion when I was trying to stop myself from breaking down in front of her. She wasn't one to complain either, she was usually very composed and calm. She despised when I complained about the fans saying that I should be grateful for what I have and not to be bitching about it.

       Anyway, I walked over to the door, holding her in my arms as I kissed her forehead and occasionally whispered sweet things into her ear. She lightly squeezed my bum before hitting it and saying, "Time for you to go! Wouldn't want you tired tomorrow! Long day." There was a hint of pain in her voice as she said goodbye without having to actually say goodbye. We both knew that these weren't our final goodbyes, five minutes before I took the stage on the day of my concert, I would call her and that's when we would finally say goodbye to each other.

       I gently pressed my lips against hers in a strong, passionate kiss. She pulled away and opened the door for me, ushering me out. There was no passageway with all the paparazzi that were in front of her flat that night. Everything was going fine until I heard a rude remark about our relationship coming from one of the men snapping our pictures. We were hand in hand, I turned, looking the man straight in the eye.

"What the hell did you just say to her?" I beckoned

"You heard me." he responded. 

       I abducted the camera from his hands, my anger boiling inside me, begging to come out. "This," I motioned to the camera, "is bullshit and so are you." 

       "Well, at least I have a good-looking and admiring woman in my house awaiting my arrival. Because what you've got here is a sorry excuse for a human. She's a bitch to your fans, cussing them every chance she gets, and on top of that she's cheated on you tens of hundreds of times and you don't even know it." he said bluntly. 

I cursed under my breath, throwing the camera at the first abandoned place I saw on the floor. The concrete cracked where it had landed but I didn't care, I was infuriated. 

       The next morning, management walked into my hotel room, seemingly upset for the "show" I had caused the night before. They kept jabbering on and on about how I should be polite to the media and be respectful because it gets me more fans. When they were finished, I breathed a sigh of relief, not having to put up with this for any longer.

"I did what I had to do, she's my girlfriend and I'd protect her with my life if I had to." I said before I walked out. 

That was all I had said to my management team that day, not wanting to pick an argument yet again. I could feel the tears coming yet again, I had been crying nonstop for hours now, stopping only to wave to the fans every few hours. Other than that, I spent my day in a ball on my mattress. My room became dark, suddenly vivid whenever anyone came to open my curtains and implored me to do something. anything. Depression was no longer a word for what I was feeling, I was beyond that. I was delusional. Hoping that this was all just a bad dream I kept pinching myself, telling myself that I would soon awake and everything would be alright. Jenny would be back. Isabelle would be long gone, and the media would let us be happy. For once at least. Her mother's words rang in my head, taunting me to the point where I would scream at the voice, telling it to shut up. As time went on it kept getting worse, I continued to hear them throughout the whole day. 

I jolted from my sleep when I heard my phone ring. The ring-tone signaled the call was coming from someone who I'd been longing for. I picked it up and answered, placing the receiver to my ear. 

"Harry?"

A/N: I'M NOT GOING TO UPDATE UNTIL I GET 3+ VOTES & 3+ COMMENTS! THANKS FOR READING. xoxo