Sweet Tooth [HS]

EIGHTY FOUR

Three days later.

Cameras flashed. Voices screamed. Hands were outstretched and microphones were shoved and Harry was wondering where the fuck he was.

It was like he'd just woken up. The last thing he remembered was downing half of that bottle of vodka - then the cocaine, and then the benzos. And then it was dark. And now it was way too fucking bright. And loud. And why was everything flashing?

He blinked groggily, trying to focus on a fixed point in front of him. But he couldn't. Everything was moving. There were all these faces and he knew they were screaming at him but it sounded muted, like a roar he was hearing underwater. And then there were all of these smiles on all these faces but when Harry blinked their lips were drooping downwards like gargoyles, and they were coming towards him, screeching at him.

He took a step back, tripping on his own feet and then swayed unsteadily. He felt like he was falling. But a hand caught him, and Harry looked to the side.

Brown hair. Blue eyes.

"You're not Max," he said, but his words were lost amidst the screaming.

"Harry," the woman said. "Pull yourself together. We're on a red fucking carpet."

"Where's Maxie?" He drawled, snatching his arm out of her grip and looking around trying to find Max's face.

Where was she?

Where had he seen her last?

He looked from right to left but the movement only served to disorient him more. It sent the world spinning, everything was a blur, nothing made sense.

"Harry," said the woman again. "Put your arm around me, quick."

Harry attempted to lift his arm but he realised it didn't move. It was limp. He started laughing. Then started scowling when the woman lifted it up for him, and wrapped it around her waist.

"Hey, I don't want to," he said, trying to tug his arm free. "Get off m-"

"Harry Styles! Addison Ford!"

Harry jumped back, widening his eyes and then squinting them as a face suddenly swam in front of him. It was a man. And Harry wanted to laugh because why was his body so fuzzy? Why was the microphone floating? It was a strange, disorienting sensation - seeing a head and no body, a face talking but not seeing their lips move.

"Hi Nicky," the woman said, and Harry couldn't make out the rest. He let the voices slip away, falling into the background, letting the screeching voices and flashing blur into one.

It was like he was underwater again. Like he was drowning. But where was Maxie? It was all he wanted to know.

He tried to figure out where he had last seen her. Yesterday? This morning? She should be here. He missed her.

Suddenly a hand was tugging at his jacket, and Harry slowly turned to see the woman blinking at him. "Harry?" She asked.

"What?" He didn't recognise his voice, it sounded like it was coming from somewhere other than him.

Then the man with the floating head said, "How are you going to cope with being away from each other when you're on tour?"

All Harry was thinking about was Maxie.

Maxie Maxie Maxie.

She wasn't here.

And then Harry swayed and closed his eyes, screwing them shut so tightly because he suddenly remembered.

She hated him. She fucked someone else. She was gone.

A sharp pain suddenly ripped through his body, coming from his heart and ending in his fingertips. He felt himself stagger backwards.

Of course, he thought. Maxie is gone.

He didn't know why he started laughing.

"She's not here," he said, "She hates me." She fucked someone else he thought in his head. But the words couldn't come out - all he felt was pain. "I think I'm dying."

Because Harry was so completely out of his mind, he didn't realise what he had just done. He did not notice Addison gasping. Didn't catch the interviewer's face.

He just thought about Maxie.

Maxie Maxie Maxie.

He left her. And she fucked someone else. And now she hated him.

"Harry, baby, what are you talking about? I'm right here." The woman said, trying to recover, but Harry pulled back. Ripped his arm away from her.

"I don't love you."

This woman was a stranger. This person was not Max.

"Well who do you love, Harry?" Said the interviewer. He was laughing, joking.

But Harry didn't realise. Didn't notice.

Because he asked him who he loved.

And he thought of her.

And he thought of her.

And he thought of her.

And he thought of her.

And he said, "Maxie."

And he thought of violet eyes and golden skin and what she tasted like and how she smiled in the morning.

It was the last thing he thought of before the world went dark.