"Yeah, I'm worried about her..... She wants to stay, so we're staying........ Well make it happen...... We'll be back as soon as possible, but until then we're staying..... Thanks mate.... Alright bye."
Harry comes walking back into the room, phone in one hand, running the other through his hair.
"What was that?" I say in my sleepy voice. It's definitely not as attractive as Harry's.
"I was, uh, talking to Liam. He and the boys are in LA with your manager."
"So what's the verdict? Do we have to go back?" I say, sitting up, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room. Whoa. I look like death. To be honest, I feel like it too.
"No. They understand, and they said they hope you're doing okay. And they're praying for your dad."
I let out a sigh of relief that I wasn't aware I was holding in and laid back down in my bed. I cocooned myself in my blankets and shut my eyes. It reminded me of that picture I saw on tumblr a few days ago. I'm a burrito of sadness it read. And that's exactly what I am. A burrito of sadness. Harry laid down next to me and wrapped his arms around me. His hugs are like my sadness airbag. It doesn't stop the pain, but it cushions the blow.
"It's gonna be okay. You know that right?"
"I wish I did, Harry. But nothing is certain anymore." I sniffled. He got up and walked to the other side of the bed, the way that I am facing and squatted down so his face was equal to mine.
"Seeing you like this kills your father more than that cancer ever could."
And that was the final second before this ticking time bomb went off.
"Quit acting like you know everything Harry, because news flash, you don't!" I yelled, getting out of bed and storming to my bathroom.
"I'm not saying I do know everything, but I do know you laying in bed, wallowing in your sadness is not gonna make your dad's cancer go away. It's not gonna fix anything!" he followed me to the bathroom and I slammed the door in his face before leaning against the other side and sliding to the floor.
"I think I have the right to be sad Harry!" I yelled as the tears streamed down my face. He's right. Laying in bed and feeling sorry for myself isn't helping anything. In fact, it's probably making things much worse. But I won't admit that I'm wrong. My father has cancer, for Christ's sake and if I wanna cry, I'm gonna cry. If I wanna be sad, I'm gonna be sad. If I wanna lay in bed and read The Fault In Our Stars all day, I'm gonna do it.
The door knob jiggled and I felt the door push against my back. I used all my might to lean against it to keep it shut.
"Can we at least talk about this like civilized people?" he asked, a little more calmly.
"What do you think we're doing?"
"I'm not talking to you from opposite sides of the door Mack."
I remained quiet, not going to give into him.
"Just come out here. Please."
I sighed before opening the door and walking into my bedroom. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at him with my not so evil glare. He just stood at the door and did the same, with much kinder eyes.
"Well, you wanted to talk, so talk." I said, crossing my arms. He walked over and squatted between my legs, using them as an elbow rest and took my face in his hands.
"Mack you have every right to be sad. I'd be sad too. Heck, you have every right to be mad at the world. You can kick and scream and break things, or you can turn yourself into the poster child for depression, but honestly... What's it gonna do?" he stroked my tear stained cheek and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. It's a wavy hot mess, and I'm in desperate need of a shower. But hey, that's what happens when you lay in bed for 2 days straight.
