In This World (Harry Styles)

Missing Chapter 5 (Jamaica)

(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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The next day, I woke in a trance. Z checked on me throughout the morning, but I was unable to pull myself out of bed. We rescheduled the interview for the following week, and he gave me all the space I needed to wallow, even going back to his own room for a few days. After going two days without eating, I was starving, and finally ate the room service he'd sent for me. That was the only time I was able to regain my strength; enough to leave the bed at least. He visited that afternoon, and we discussed a basic rundown of the points we'd cover in the interview later that day. I could only nod, acquiescing to everything he suggested, as I was too numb to argue.

The segment would be aired by the New York Times as some kind of twisted human-interest piece. All of a sudden, my life felt like a dark comedy. Some brutal satire that left me raw and defleshed. Like I'd fucked a cactus. Or, rather, been fucked by one. Z was at once the only familiar thing in this strange new world, but also the physical embodiment of all my woes. So I hated to look at him, yet needed to whenever I began to dissociate.

Gray's hard, cold, accusatory voice wouldn't leave my mind, and left me wondering: maybe I was the problem? Maybe I was the fucked up one that destroyed everything in my wake, not Z. Maybe Z was the good guy here. I was the one full of toxicity and marked by improbity. The world-killer. The bane in everyone's existence, without whom the world would finally fucking thrive in peace. Oh god, was I worse than Covid? Fuck's sake, I was worse than Covid, wasn't I?

"Ready to go?" Z asked, straightening my hair, then plopping onto the couch beside me.

"To stick my head in a vat of acid? Yep."

"Woah...okayyy then.

He set my MacBook up on a pillow between us, and we both leaned into the frame as best we could. I looked like a fucking zombie. He looked like he was flourishing. It's totally fucked how some things worked out. He was going to make it out of this whole thing alright. I was the one who let everything get to me. There was no way I could fix this and walk out of this room a respectable man—

"Alright, here we go!" He slapped me in the chest and cleared his throat as the call began.

"Gentlemen, thank you so much for joining us."

"Yup," Z said.

"No problem," I muttered.

"I'm Charlotte Tillsbury—"

"Hah, like Pillsbury!" Z declared, slapping me on the arm. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes," she laughed. "Exactly like that! I actually get that a lot."

"It figures," he uttered smugly.

"So what d'you say we dive right in?"

"Sure," we replied.

Z shifted uncomfortably a few times, while I had to will myself not to roll my eyes every two seconds. Everything was bizarre and so formal. I had no idea what this would entail, but I was willing to try anything to get my old life back.

"So...your worlds are upside down. You were hit with some devastating news recently, that intimate footage of the two of you was leaked to the public by a few bad actors. Help us to understand what it's like for you right now. Are things bleak? Are they hopeful? How are you coping? What exactly are the two of you feeling in this moment?"