In High Definition. [Larry Stylinson, Gryles & OFCs]

Chapter 3.

(A/N: As usual any flashbacks or letters are in italics. )

Harry sat in his white, sterile, hard twin sized bed looking at the magazines and Newspapers in front of him. He had ordered them in vain as the people in charge of the mail sorting had ripped any of the pages concerning him or the band out. “Triggers” was what the called them, Harry scoffed at the term as if he needed more motivation not to eat as if he needed a piece of paper to tell him that he should just cast himself off the nearest building that her could find.

“Triggers” Harry flipped through the glossy pages seeing bits of Niall’s leg, his hair, Lila’s shoes, in a way the remaining bits of the hastily ripped out paged represented what he remembered and it wasn’t much. Most of his memories were of all the heartbreak, a few good times but mostly of the more recent events. The pain.

A knock came at the door, it was a ‘rehab center knock’ not a knock that asked if the person could come in, but more of a warning. ‘I’m coming in, cover your dignity. If you have any left.’

“Hello.” Harry greeted the man dressed in white not moving his eyes from the magazines on his bed. He could tell it was James, he could tell the workers here by their smell by their walk. “What have you got for me today?” The younger man smirked finally reaching James’ eyes.

“Solids.” The man stated removing the lid from the tray to reveal a turkey sandwich and a few celery sticks. James had a way with the patients, he could be just as snarky and ill mannered as most of them behaved. His first night here Harry tried to fuck him, when he was doing his nightly rounds the musician got him into his room, but that’s as far as that went.

“I’m not eating that.” Harry licked a finger and flipped a page of the magazine. “I don’t eat white bread, and I defiantly don’t drink milk.”

“Well you better learn how,” James turned to leave the room as the younger man continued to pretend to read the old magazine. “Miss another meal and they are going to put you back on the tube.” With that the caretaker was gone the door shut behind him.

Harry swallowed he had barely been her a month, or was it two? And he had been tubed a grand total of four times, it didn’t seem like much compared to some of the other patients that lived being fed that way but every time Harry was strapped to the bed and a tube inserted down his nostrils, through his throat and down into his stomach he broke a little more. “Fine,” Harry yelled at the closed door. “But I’m not eating the crust.”

The boy looked at the clock above the large metal door, patients were allowed exactly thirty minutes to eat and he had already wasted seven of them.

XXX

“Can you two hurry up?” Zayn called already standing in line to pay for the snacks he had picked out. It was just too hard, American gas stations nearly rivaled supermarkets with all the different choices of crisps and brightly colored sweats.

“We’re coming!” Anastasia called picking up a few more sweets and swiping a magazine off the rack above. “Did you get your skittles?” She asked turning to Harry who was balancing a multitude of brightly colored boxes in his arms.

“I couldn’t decide which ones.” Harry shrugged as they moved to stand in line with Zayn.

The calories basically didn’t count as the group walked back to the hotel followed by paparazzi and reporters alike, they asked things about how the band liked the US and how their tour was going. A few cheeky things about who was dating who and the latest scandal and the friends were happy to reply.

“That’s a lot of treats you’ve got there!” One of the reporters called out pointing to the bag in Harry’s hand. “Going to feed a small army?” He questioned.