Don't Wake Me Up || Discontinued

Chapter Ten - I'm What!?

I couldn't make sense of any of it. I looked at the magazine over and over, but none of the words formed into something that I remembered doing - well, faking. I studied the pictures hard, I thought hard - so hard I thought smoke was coming out of my ears - but nothing came to. Not one small memory that I would both disregard because of the amount of pain it would give me, but remember because of the amount of suffering I would have gone through to accomplish it. I read the article over again, studying every word. Then I stared at the picture. Nothing. I read the first sentence again, as tears stung my eyes.

"Sorry, Directioners! One Direction's Louis Tomlinson has been taken off the market for good by long-term girlfriend Eleanor Calder. The couple recently saw each other, in which the visit consisting of many things - including proposal!"

None of it was right, though. The details, the whole article, everything. I haven't even see the bitch-dog El in weeks, nonetheless last week. There had to be some clue to what in the bloody hell this was about. I scanned the page. . . no fine print, nothing to read between the lines with. I studied the picture some more, as if Eleanor was going to speak to me through the page.

And in a way, she kind of did.

I saw it: the glowing green lines all over the picture. They were faint, but they were there - the lines of Photoshop. The only person who could do this much of a horrible job at Photoshop was the only and only Modest! management, who by the judging of this wasn't so "modest". Making Harry and I pretend to hate each other and make me date that girl who seems not to speak is one thing, but faking - nonetheless Photoshopping - our engagement is a whole other topic to roam about. they crossed the line, and judging by this, the lines were pretty clear.  

Angrily, I through the magazine on the floor, then stepped on it over and over, screaming Harry's name. he came running in, his hands flailing through the air. "You need my mouth, babe?" He smiled, which soon faded after he caught of a glimpse of my face, which sported a hefty frown. ". . .or we can talk about who I need to murder."

He took a seat next to me, grabbing my hand. I pulled away, too mad at everyone and everything for human contact - even Harry's. He studied my face, leaving the room fall into uncomfortable silence for a while before I even begun to let Harry in on my apparent engagement. Part of me didn't want to tell him, knowing it'd crush both of us, considering what Harry was falling back into. The there was the part felt a need to, not wanting him to think it's real therefore I hid it from him, or him finding out on his own, then finding out I knew but didn't say anything. I took a deep breath, then let the rage spill out. "So I was going through the store, and I saw a magazine with me on the cover, it said something about "Louis Tomlinson's Big News!" and I wanted to know what it was, since I didn't even know. In all honesty, I still wish I didn't. Please, don't let this set you off, Harry, you know I love you, okay?"

His face turned white, and I felt like a ghost had inhabited the boy next to me. I saw him swallow hard, "Yea."

"We're just going to rip it off like a bandage. . . Apparently, I'm engaged." I cringed, looking out the window, not wanting to know what Harry's face looked like. The room was silent, so much so that you could hear the breathing patterns of both Harry and I. I turned slowly, scared to see what Harry was doing. When he came into view, I saw him, sitting there, staring straight ahead, not moving. "Harry," I asked, touching his arm. He shook me off, then ran away. I got up, chasing after him.

He opened the bathroom door, ran inside and tried to slam it, but I caught it, then slipped inside. I shut it behind me and locked it. "Talk to me, Harry, please," I pleaded, leaning against the shut door. He shook his head and sat on the toilet, turning away from me. I walked next to him, crotched on the floor and looked in his teary eyes and grabbed his hands. "Look at me," I said, causing Harry to look up, to my surprise. "Harry Edward Styles, I love you so much, and I don't see myself marrying anyone but you. That girl, she's nothing to me. Another one of my co-workers, if that. You, on the other hand, are my best friend; the love of my life; my everything. She's barely a pebble I'd kick down the street. I don't care what anyone says - they could force me to date her; they can call me every swear in the human language in any tongue - I'm in love with you, and there's no denying it. They don't know what they do to us; they don't know what they do to anyone. All they care about is themselves, not how they get there or who they hurt along the way. Its selfish, Harry, it really is. You know what, though? We're the selfless ones here; we are the ones who are doing good. We're hiding - we're hurting - so their sorry asses can get paid and make a living. Them? They're depriving us of our rights so they can be swimming in pools of hundreds, driving into ones of thousands. That's all they care about. . . and me? All I care about is you."

I was crying, now, and there was no stopping. I put my head in Harry's lap, and he put his head on mine. His head sprung up, followed by the rest of his body, throwing my head in the air, then he ran out of the loo. I followed him out as he sat down, magazine in hand. He flipped it over, and squinted at the publishing information. "Bingo," he said, tapping his finger on the typing, "I think we owe someone a call."