One Life

Chapter Twenty-Six

Omfg. This is ch. 26, and these bitches still ain't in London. (Jk) It's dragging soooo much, & I hate this book. Lawl.

I wanted to delete this, but some people happen to enjoy this crappy fanfic. x

Anywho, I'm gonna skip the last days in California/last gigs of tour. Too much of a hassle lol.

-

Chapter Twenty-Six~

Day after day has passed, and I had become highly immune to the wailing girls, but not enough to attend a concert or even, at that, sit backstage. I was just more comfortable hanging out on the bus alone. My ears could take the hollering through bus barriers and headphones, but they certainly could not take the screaming altogether. I hadn't anymore pills, therefore, I couldn't afford to get a migraine. It's bad enough that every morning I had to put up with aggressively cantankerous males who didn't like to wake up early, and if one did, he were too lazy to do anything early in the morning. They didn't really complain, they just had shitty moods, up until they had to plaster fake smiles when facing the real world, even Harry.

I even occasionally got a glimpse of the last dying look he would give me before departing.

"Do you hate what you do?" I curiously asked one day, but it was so low, that it was as if I were thinking aloud.

Harry had his eyes closed in a tired manner, sitting in the couch next to me on the bus. Each guy had taken showers one by one, after their final concert of tour. His forehead was drenched from his half dripping hair that was merely black, occupied by thin flat curls.

I resisted the urge to tug at a ringlet until it would become merely straight.

"No."

One word screamed the very opposite.

He was as still as a rock and as beautiful as the Statue of Adonis. Expressionless as the painting of Mona Lisa. Knuckles as pale as Louis' feet, which almost never saw the sun in it's existing... But of course he smelt nothing like feet... Anything but feet.

I found my hand hovering over his, to grab it... Touch it, even... But they were like magnets on the opposite ends, refusing to meet.

He hadn't seen my hesitation, so I had simply settled with leaning back into the couch, and leaning my head back like him, mimicking Harry. And that was that for small talk and curiosity.

The next afternoon, I was in the exact spot from the noon before, Harry, however was sat on the floor on my right, tracing blue veins that sickly poked out of my legs, ankles, and feet. It tickled, but I hadn't wanted to laugh, concentrating on his fingers on my skin.

Harry hadn't meant to be distracting, his brow was creased, and he'd seemed to be in his own distraction; his own little world of tranquility.

Everyone was so quiet that if a grain of cereal were to drop, we'd jump in fright. They were tired after a long night last night; the last night of being in America. If I didn't know any better, they might've been sad, but they weren't. I had no emotion of how I was suppose to feel.

Harry's nail accidentally stuck me, as he sucked in a breath, I'd even felt his body flinch.
But the reason being for this gasp had gone unnoticed by me, until later.

While I watched Harry, Louis yelled with much exaggeration added from the bathroom. It was one of those shrieks when you saw a spider.

Louis, afraid of spiders? I would have never known.