Saving Larry [A Larry Stylinson + One Direction Story]

Ch. 4 - Talking with Harry...Part 1

Harry’s POV

Paul had informed the others that there was a security incident that had shaken me up. This required us to be flown out in a few hours on the corporate jet instead of on the chartered flight with the rest of the band and crew tomorrow.

I was still sitting in the same seat, when the other lads and Simon boarded the jet. Though at that time, my elbows rested on my knees and my hands were threaded through my hair as I sobbed. I looked up when I heard Louis gasp. I knew my eyes were bloodshot and puffy and my cheeks were streaked with tears, but it was probably more so from the fact that my jacket was ripped and I had appeared to have been in a scuffle. Little did he know or could comprehend the depth of the fight and that I was out numbered two to one.

I didn’t even see him move and I was immediately engulfed in his harms. The smell of his cologne, his shampoo and the feel of his clothes helped assured me that he was safe as well. That had been my worst fear, that not only was I a target, but that my attackers’ words would come true and that Louis also had been assaulted. After just a few seconds, I finally was able to make my arms move and snaked them around him and grabbed the back of his shirt in a white knuckled grip. He was murmuring soothing words into my ear and just rubbing his hands in a circular pattern on my back. It took a good ten minutes for me to calm down enough to lean back slightly, and I released my grip on his shirt and brought my shaking hands up to his face as I gazed into his teary blue eyes. Paul had walked down the aisle and placed a hand on my shoulder and informed me, “Harry, additional security measures were being put into place as I speak. These additional measures will require us to make a stop prior to our arrival at JFK.” I was aware of what Paul was talking about, as it had been the last resort that I had wanted to have happen. However, Louis and the other lads gave both Paul and I a quizzical look, and I looked up at Paul and said, “Give them an overview of what has been going on, I am going to go and clean myself now that I know everyone else is safe.”

I stand up from my seat, a little bit shakily, with my head down as I cannot meet the others looks head on and to the lavatory. Shutting the door, I take a good look at myself in the mirror and grab some paper towels and run them under cold water, take a seat on the closed toilet, and then hold the towels to my eyes. My eyes were so puffy and swollen from crying, that I couldn’t believe that I could still see anything clearly. I hear a conversation start in the cabin and the volume of voices increasing and then start to argue back and forth. Paul’s voice distinctively booming out, “That’s enough!” Simon also pipes in with, “You will find out what has been going on shortly. Now, settle down and take your seats! You are not helping this situation. You are only adding to the anxiety level that is already occurring with your arguing. I want it quiet. NOW!” The conversation subsided and I could hear Liam and Niall calling dibs on one corner of the couch, which elicits a slight giggle from me. All of us are in our early twenties and we still call dibs on seats, I guess we really don’t want to grow up. Then came the tentative knock on the door that I had been expecting with dread.

The door opens and in Louis steps, as I hadn’t turned the knob to lock the door. He had my “Go” bag with him, actually each of us had a “Go” bag when touring. It was either a gym bag or a backpack which had a change of clothes and boxers, a spare deodorant, a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, and back-up medications, and a pair of shoes. I look up at him as he finds my inhaler in the front zippered pocket and hands it to me. I heard him say, “Your still wheezing Hazza….,” he said using the nickname he had given me at bootcamp, “… take it now so you can breathe easier.” I shook it, breathed out, place it in my mouth, dispensing the first dose, inhaling it into my lungs and counting to ten and then slowly exhaling. I then repeated the process once more.

Louis holds out his hand for my inhaler, so that he can put it away. He then gets out my spare toothpaste and toothbrush, as he knows that the inhaler mist leaves a weird funky taste in my mouth that increases any nausea I may have. Which at the moment, I am just barely winning the fight against dry heaving into the sink. After I rinse and spit out the remnants from brushing, I look at Louis in the mirror. I see the concern in his eyes, along with his sassy attitude of his stance against the lavatory door. Two words come to mind – ‘Dog House’. Yup, I royally screwed up by not telling him everything that had been happening and I knew that I would have to soon. I just couldn’t right now, until I knew we would all be safe.