A Novella - One Journey

Chapter 3:

I woke up the next morning with a slamming headache, sweaty forehead, and aching bones. If this is what getting older is like, I swear I'm moving to Neverland and joining the band of lost boys with Peter Pan. I turned around, expecting to see Harry and his comforting smile, but instead, my face just sees a close up view of the stiff sheets as I fall into them, face flop. I grumble, sitting up, wondering where the heck my husband is. To my surprise, I find a note on the nightstand adressed to me. "Sorry I had to leave early. Emergency. Love you babe, xoxo." Well that helped none whatsoever. Emergency. Like, a 911 emergency? Or a, "we're out of milk," emergency? He really needs to learn how to communicate. I rolled out of bed, in desperate need of something to fill my stomach. My frail bones rolled out of bed, and clambered downstairs. Immediately my ears filled with the sound of pouring rain beating against the windows. Great. I desperately longed for sunlight the spread through the ever constant daunting clouds that blanketed London every single day. Just another thing to add to the list of things that are currently messing up my day. Well, coffee sounded warm and cozy right now. My hands searched the pantry, but to my despair, we were out of coffee. At this point I was just going to give up and eat a brownie, but I knew that I would pay for it later from my doctor who is insisting that I eat healthier. I don't entirely understand why though. I'm slender, and so what if I eat a candy bar from time to time? He says I'll get what he means when I have a heart attack and regret every single French fry I ever ate. Whatever Doc. Begrudgingly I grab a banana, and chew in silent annoyance. Why was I so bitter this morning?

A bright light finally broke through my day when I received a phone call from my mother. When I saw her name on my cell phone, I nearly threw it in the air and did a dance to show my thanks.

"Hello?!" I said giddily, happy to finally hear an American accent.

"Hello lovely," my mother said, trying to copy a British accent. I was about to start banging my head against the wall.

"Please. Speak normally. I'm so done with British accents," I said flatly. My mother seemed to notice my edge.

"Uh-oh. Is someone a 'wittle' hormonal this morning?" she said, using her baby talk voice. I clenched my jaw.

"I. Am. Not. Hormonal. I'm just....peeved," I said through my gritted teeth.

"You sound pretty emotional to me. Almost like you poked your eye with a mascara brush. You need a woman. And chocolate," my mother advised.

"Mom!" I said, flustered. The woman has no limits.

"I'm sorry honey. How are you doing? Can I help you with anything?" she asked sweetly. I felt tears forming. Maybe I was hormonal this morning. It just felt nice to know that someone cared about how I felt. What I needed. And right now, I needed something more than a brown goopy banana. This time I reached for a bag of carrot sticks.

"This isn't fun. I mean, it's not easy. I mean, it's easy, plenty easy. But--" I started to say, searching for the right words.

"But you feel trapped?" my mother added. Bingo!

"Exactly!" I cried.

"It's typical. Especially in your case. You're living in a country still foreign to you, and you can't walk out without being bombarded by crazed fans. You're not surrounded by things that are comfortable and familiar to you, and you don't have any females in that house. How is rooming working out for you?" I placed my head in my hands. After grossing out Louis yesterday morning, I'm not sure if this is working at all any more.

"It's awful! I try and be careful and calm, but in the end it just doesn't work out! I cook dinner for all of us, and end up doing their dishes while they watch TV. I know Harry wouldn't do that if it wasn't for Louis being here. I can't walk around the flat between eight and nine-thirty without fear of seeing Louis in a towel after a shower, and for the love of all that is good in the world, I am tired of sorting through all of these packages of fan mail that only contain carrots! Louis doesn't even like carrots anymore! He won't eat them! And I know that because I'm the one cooking for him!" I said, looking down at my own bag of carrots.

"Yet they never send Lamborghinis. I should've expected that," a perfect British accent said. I felt my ears turn scarlet. That was definitely not my mother.

"Louis! What are you doing on the phone?!" I cried, embarrassed.

"Louis?" my mother asked, confused.

"Yes, Louis!" I cried.

"Kevin!" he screamed. I placed my head in my hands.

"Well, hello Louis," my mother said coolly.

"Louis get off," I said curtly.

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure everything was alright. Where's Haz?" he asked, ignoring my comment.

"I don't know. He left early this morning. Some type of emergency. Now get off," I said.

"Annabel, be nice," my mother said.

"Alright! Louis, I'm sorry! And I'm sorry if you heard anything you didn't want to hear. Mom-what am I going to do?" I pleaded.

"Apology accepted," Louis replied.

"You move out," my mother answered.

Harry finally arrived home around lunch time. The three of us sat around the table, eating turkey sandwiches, neither Louis nor I mentioning what conversation we had earlier. I was just waiting for Harry to explain himself.

"So, where were you this morning?" I asked casually.

"Oh, I was just getting some food. We didn't have any coffee or eggs." Of course.

"Oh. Thank you," I said. He nodded.

"Well I'm done. Thank you Annabel for a delicious meal," Louis said, standing and actually taking his dish to the sink. I guess he heard enough of the conversation. When Louis left to go back to his room, I decided it was now or never.

"Harry something is wrong," I said quietly. He put his sandwich down cautiously and eyed me suspiciously,

"What's the matter?"

"Harry, I don't know if you've realized, but we've kind of extended our stay here. Harry, it's been two years. I think it's time we move out," I said breathlessly. He stared at his lap for a while. For a minute I thought he was playing on his phone, but I was proved wrong when he turned to look up at me with hurtful eyes.

"You-you want to move out?"

"It's been quite some time. But yes. Don't you?" I pressed.

"I suppose so, I just haven't really thought of it," he said quietly.

"Harry, don't you see it happening? I can't walk out of the bedroom between eight and nine-thirty because Louis' in a towel after his shower! I can't kiss you because that'll gross him out! I love the boys, I really do. But sometimes, it's good to have time with you just you," I said, loudly.

"If that's how you feel, then why didn't you say something sooner?" Harry asked, taking his plate to the sink. I was not going to let him get out of this conversation.

"I have! But everytime I try, or start to get the courage to, you shut down! Just like you are now!" I said angrily.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You can't look me in the eye. You talk quietly. You mumble just like you are now! Harry, say something-say something real, and something that I can believe!" I yelled.

"You just can't accept me can you?!" he fired back. Accept what?!

"What are you afraid of?!" I screamed. He looked taken aback by that question. It was true though. What was so terrifying about just us living together? At that moment he stormed out of the room and upstairs. I threw my plate in the sink and trudged up to where he was.

"This isn't over Harry! You can't keep running!" I called up to him. I stood outside our bedroom door. I had tried many times to open it, but he had locked it. I knocked on the door, and he wouldn't answer. I started to pace. What was going on? Suddenly the door opened, and he still wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Watch me," he said firmly. I gaped at him. What did he think he was doing? He walked past me and downstairs. I tried to follow, but I heard the front door slam before I could make it to the bottom of the steps. Now I was officially worried, more so than angry. I flew down the steps-or at least, I thought I had. My feet brushed against the floor, but I felt my head start to spin. I blinked my eyes, blackness caving in. The last thing I remember was my head banging against the floor, my eyes searching for something. All I saw though was a view of the ceiling.