Don't Wake Me Up || Discontinued

Chapter Eleven - The Pain You Caused

"Yes, this is Harry Styles, can I please talk to Simon Cowell?" Harry spoke, and then the line fell silent, followed by a buzzing throughout the room. There was a click.

"Ah, Harry, hello." I snorted, shifting my feet from out of underneath me to lean back on my arms. Harry gave me a look, and I nodded.

"Sir, Louis and I have an issue."

"I don't care, you have to pretend-"

"It's not about that, although that is still annoying."

"Then what is it, Styles?" his voice was annoyed, stern. I knew it wasn't the best idea to continue, but we had to. Simon needed to know what this caused.

"The magazine article. I know it was the work of your label. Only you and your people can do that bad of Photoshop."

"Save it. What's this about?"

I spoke up, I couldn't let Harry do this alone. "I'm not engaged to her. Never will be. And, look, I'm not even willing to fake it. I'm not okay with faking out relationship but I'll do it for everyone else and our careers. A fake engagement won't make it seem anymore real than it already does."

"Yes it will," Simon simply stated.

"It won't! They'll be looking for a marriage that wont happen. No way in bloody hell 'm marrying her."

"If I say so, you will."

"Bull! We aren't in a third-world country, Sir. It's England. I'm not marrying her, and I'm not engaged to her."

"That's not what the readers of Heart Beat think." Simon seemed so calm, but I was the total opposite. How dare he? I thought he had some consideration for our feelings, but I guess not. Hell, he already had a wedding planned! What's next, he was going to make me get her pregnant? I couldn't do this.

"For now, anyway."

"What?"

"Yea, that's right. We already called the publisher. Next week, the next magazine, will tell the real truth. Or most of it. Your engagement is off, Simon. No more. Bye-bye. It's a done deal. The lady was very nice, by the way. Just like that - bam - she was willing to put an article about the break-off engagement of Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder. Oh, the power fame gives you. At least I use it for truths. Good-bye, Simon." I hit disconnect and plopped down backwards on the bed, practically shaking.

"Well. . ." Harry said, ringing his hands. I grabbed one and squeezed his, giving him a reassuring smile. "I think I should take a wee."

"Alright, let's go," I said, standing up with his hand and mine, pulling him off the bed.

"On second thought, I don't have to." I nodded, dropping his arm causing it to fall limp at his side.

"I'm getting something to eat. Any requests?"

"Pop-corn and a movie. I'll pick the movie." I nodded, then walked out of the room towards the kitchen area. I tried to steady my breathing, still outraged by Simon's words. He didn't care about us or our feelings, just like my family. No one cared who they were hurting anymore, even if it meant hurting  loved one. It was all material. Everyone was material girls in a material world. Who cares about love; Who care about peace; Who cares in general? Care was scarce. Life was just a coaster of ups and downs, lefts and rights until we end up right where we came from: helpless, useless and lifeless. As if it was different in between. Something or someone always had power over us, and not everything we wanted could be achieved. This, of course, caused dead eyes; the dead-eyed living and walking and talking and breathing. It was all a trap.

By the time I reached the kitchen, I couldn't even move. I sat my butt on the table and closed my eyes, breathing deeply. I felt my eyes start to sting, but I rubbed the feeling away. I was not going to cry. I opened my eyes again, staring blankly at the countertop, wishing for some sign to help me through this. My eyes darted to the sink, where three knifes lay, just begging to be picked back up. I looked around - no one was there. For some reason, I quietly tip-toed to the sink and stared at the silver blades before picking the sharpest one up and scurrying back under the table.

I eased my pants down to my knees, then put the tip of my knife onto my nose, looking at it cross-eyed, then shutting my eyes, my shaky hands lower it to my thigh. My breath shook as well as my body as I slide the knife across in one, fast motion, stinging impulses of pain shooting through my leg. I rubbed my face, hobbled over to the sink, put it back, grabbed a towel and wet it, pressing it to my now-bleeding cut. One cut, that's all it took.

Once it had stopped bleeding, I threw the towel away and dug through the cupboards, trying to find a bag of pop-corn to put in the microwave. Once I found one, I slipped the bag into the microwave and followed the directions, then pressed start. I sat on a chair at the table, watching the bag inflate as the pop! sound got more and more frequent; louder and louder as the heat rose. The machine beep, and I opened it, taking out the steaming bag. Quickly, I ripped the bag open and grabbed a bowl from the shelf, then dumped the contents into the bowl. I threw away the bag, being sure to cover the bloody towel, and went back to the bedroom with Harry.

He was laying on the bed, cuddled up with my pillow, tucked in like a five-year-old. I looked at the screen, a movie ready to be played from On Demand. "Really, Harry?" I asked, then slipped in bed next to him, placing the steaming bowl in between us on the blue duvet. The title was big on the screen: Frozen.

Harry Styles, a nineteen-year-old man has chosen to watch Disney's Frozen. Yup, that's my boyfriend. Aren't I proud?

[A/N: Really couldn't think of a cliffhanger for this one.

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