The "Biggest" Fan (EN)

45.

The last two weeks had been a blur of sleepless nights and relentless work. Victor's schedule was insane, barely giving me time to breathe, let alone sleep. If I wasn't in the studio, I was in rehearsals. If I wasn't in rehearsals, I was being shuffled to interviews, meetings, or bullshit networking events that Victor insisted were 'crucial for my career'.

My career. What a fucking joke.

I rubbed a hand down my face, pressing my fingers into my temples. My hands were shaking — too much coffee, not enough food, no sleep. My body was running on fumes, but there was no time to stop, no time to rest.

A voice cut through the thick silence of my thoughts.

"There's another bunch of letters in the mailbox," Lottie called from downstairs.

I exhaled sharply, lifting my head up, "Just throw them away," I muttered, my voice hoarse.

There was a pause. Then, softer, "Louis..."

"I said, throw them the fuck away!" The second the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling through my nose, forcing down the frustration that had nothing to do with her. I opened my eyes again and let out a slow breath, "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

Lottie leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, concern etched across her face, "You're exhausted."

I sighed, rubbing at my temples, "Yeah. I know."

She hesitated, "They're still sending stuff, then?"

I nodded, "They won't stop."

The letters had been coming in waves. Some were from fans who still supported me — maybe even felt sorry for me. Others weren't as kind. Some were full of anger, demanding I admit that I had been the one in that window with Harry. Some were downright cruel, accusing me of ruining Harry's career and being a selfish liar.

The thing was, the letters weren't even the worst part of it all. Much worse were the fans who were always lurking somewhere, following my every move.

And I knew Harry had it worse, but we couldn't even risk meeting up. Too many cameras. All eyes were on us. We were supposed to be enemies.

I wanted to scream at them. But I couldn't.

Lottie sat beside me, brows drawn together, "You okay?"

I let out a humorless laugh, "No."

"Have you talked to him?" She nudged me gently.

My chest tightened.

"Not really."

We hadn't had a real conversation in weeks. We didn't have time. The only moments we had seen each other were brief, stolen glances in the hallways of Victor's office, both of us being pulled in opposite directions.

Victor had made sure our schedules kept us apart.

"They call him a cheater, Lottie. A disgusting liar. They stalk him when he's going in and out of the house," I said, barely above a whisper.

"Well, he has security. Can't they do anything?" She asked.

"They keep people from getting close to him. But they can't stop them from watching. From taking pictures from a distance."

She sighed, shaking her head. Honestly, I was so grateful for her — for dealing with all my bullshit, my moods and sharp words.

"You'll see him tonight though, right?"

My body tensed.

I didn't want to. I knew I wouldn't be able to look at him, at his sad green eyes, and pretend I didn't give a fuck.