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View from bus window
***
I wake up to the familiar sound of a bus roaring down the road. It takes me a minute to adjust to my surroundings—I'm back on the tour bus. Still a little groggy from sleep, I sit up, only to be jolted awake fully by my head smashing into the bunk above me.
"Agh!" I curl my head into my knees feeling the shock run through my body.
"Oi, mate, are you alright?" I hear a familiar voice coming from above me. It's Niall, one of my bandmates. Instead of mustering up the decency to respond, I crawl out of my bunk and head straight to the bathroom. As I navigate the narrow hallway of the cramped bus, I catch sight of my other three bandmates—Louis, Liam, and Zayn. They're all packed into the lounge, engrossed in a game of FIFA on the Xbox, as per usual. I refocus my attention on reaching the bathroom. Passing by the lounge, I make my way to the small door that leads to an incredibly tight bathroom space, consisting of a shower that's barely bigger than our bunks, a sink, and a toilet.
Leaning over the counter, I face myself in the mirror. My long, curly hair is a tangled mess—it looks as if I haven't taken a shower in days. Truthfully, I probably haven't, considering I've been stuck on this bus for three days now. I blindly reach for the faucet and turn on the cold water, running my hands under the stream before splashing some of the icy liquid onto my face. Grabbing a washcloth from the shelf, I dab it against my skin. Once my face is dry, I peer back into the mirror, only to notice a sizable purple lump on my forehead.
"Lovely," I think to myself, a hint of sarcasm coloring my thoughts.
Exiting the bathroom, I head to the lounge area where the boys are still engrossed in their game of FIFA. "Holy cow, dude, what happened to you?!" Louis shouts between mouthfuls of Cheerios.
"I got beat up by some shady man behind a dumpster," I reply sarcastically.
"Jeez, I was just asking," Louis retorts, setting his bowl down in his lap and throwing his hands up in mock defense.
I walk in and shut the door behind me, making a beeline for my usual spot on the sofa where no one else sits. Flopping down, I fish my phone out of my hoodie pocket. Opening Google, I decide to search for "how to get rid of a massive bruise before the Apple Music Festival." Naturally, I've overshared with Google again, so most of the results just show where to buy tickets for the festival. I toss my phone onto the cushion beside me and turn my attention to the game on the screen.
Turns out, my lack of sleep catches up to me when I wake up to Zayn shaking me, attempting to rouse me.
"Harry, come on, we're here and need to get to our hotel."
"Where are we?" I mumble, rolling over without much interest in our location.
"We're in Camden Town, remember?"
I let out a loud sigh as I drag myself off the couch. Most of my belongings have already been taken by our crew, so I gather the few things that were left in my pockets, items that fell out during my nap.
The hotel wasn't extravagant by any means. It's not like there were many luxury options in this part of town, but we weren't too fussed. Neither were our crew. They seem to be on the frugal side, as they didn't bother getting us our own rooms. Instead, we're all crammed into two rooms, except for Louis. Louis is our manager's favorite, so he always gets the "first-class" treatment.
All five of us squeeze into the elevator, lugging our own bags since the crew had to rush off to the venue to set up our mic system. The elevator dings, and we all try to exit at once, causing our suitcases to get jammed in the door. After some struggling, we finally manage to escape the elevator and make our way to our rooms. Predictably, I end up sharing a room with Zayn. Zayn is about as much fun as watching paint dry. He spends most of his time in bed, only emerging to use the bathroom or scavenge for food from the dismal vending machines down the hall.
I tap the keycard against the sensor, and the door unlocks. Stepping inside, I'm pleasantly surprised by the room's appearance. I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of two queen-sized beds.
"Thank god," Zayn exclaims loudly, already making a beeline for one of the beds.
I can't help but chuckle as I observe Zayn struggling with the tightly made bed. It's a mystery how those maids manage to tuck everything in so tightly. Zayn spends a good five minutes trying to loosen the sheets enough to crawl in comfortably.
Unlike Zayn, I drop my bag onto my bed and quickly fish out a new pair of joggers and a shirt before retreating into the bathroom. I make sure to close and lock the door behind me. There have been way too many incidents where I've been caught off guard with no clothes on by one of the guys.
Thirty minutes later, I finish my shower. Yes, it took longer than expected because the hotel soap refused to lather properly. I grab my towel and dry off before pulling on the fresh clothes. Suddenly, there's a persistent knocking on the bathroom door. I can only assume it's Zayn because I sure hope to god that he locked the hotel room door behind him.
"What do you want, Zayn?!" I shout, not overly loud but enough to convey my irritation.
"Get some manners, Harry," a soft voice responds from the other side of the door.
Taking a wild guess, I reply, "What do you want, Lexie?" Lexie is our tour manager. Even though we're not on tour, she still looks after us at any of our gigs.
"The car's about to leave for soundcheck," she says, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I run my hand through my hair a couple of times before exiting the bathroom. Lexie is waiting outside. Naturally, I ignore her and walk past, feeling her presence close behind me.
We make our way down to the parking garage, and I casually scan the area until I spot the familiar black Range Rover we always travel in. Deliberately taking slow steps to annoy my colleagues, I finally reach the vehicle and climb into the backseat. I settle in, staring out the window, indifferent to the conversations happening around me.
