Mad World // Harry Styles

Chapter 2

Melrose’s lip starts to tremble and I know she’s going to break down any second. Damn it, why’d I read that note? Wait. What am I saying? I’m glad I read that note. Melrose was going to kill herself. I’ve hardly known this girl for half an hour and I’m already getting attached. “Jim, drive.” I flash him a concerned look through the mirror. He nods before stepping on the gas.

Melrose’s teary eyes fill with panic. “What? No! I-I need to go home. I have to do something and-and,” she sobs, “please just take me home! I have to, please!” She’s a full on sobbing mess now. Her hands are tangled in her hair and she’s shaking like someone who’s been placed in Antarctica without a coat.

I gulp down my fear. I’m taking care of a suicidal girl. Melrose was going to kill herself. That’s why she bought the gun. She was going to kill herself with a gun. I picture the small girl in front of me holding a gun to her head and pulling the trigger. I gag, clasping a hand over my mouth to hold in my ragged breathing. Settling myself on the floorboard of the car, I wrangle Melrose into my lap.

She’s trembling and wailing, her hands clutching my shirt. “Please don’t take me back to the hospital.” Her cries rattle my heart. “I can’t go back there. Please.”

I tuck her head into my chest and fold her into me. “I’m not taking you to the hospital. We’re going back to my place and you can explain when you’re ready.” My voice is quiet and thick. I’m in shock. In all twenty-five years of my existence, I have never been in a situation this severe. What do you do with someone who’s suicidal? The logical answer is to take them to the mental hospital, but Melrose clearly stated she didn’t want to return there, and I’m going to respect her wishes. After all, who am I to be making choices, I barely know the girl.

She calms down a bit after I tell her we won’t be going to the hospital. Her sobs die into soft cries. Not ten minutes later we’re at my apartment. As soon as we pull into a parking space I’m outside the car and cradling Melrose against me, rushing into the building.

When I enter the lobby there’s already a herd of paparazzi waiting for me. They’re crowded by the elevator preventing me from making a quick getaway to upstairs. “For fuck’s sake.” I mutter under my breath, dashing towards the stairs. Lucky for me my flat is only two floors up.

“Harry, who’s the girl? Why’s she crying?” a surly photographer follows me up.

“No comment.” I say as polite as possible.

“She a new prospect of yours eh?” He’s smirking at me now.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. “She’s a friend.” My voice is gruff. I’m trying to convey that I’m not exactly in the mood for this. I speed up, taking two stairs at a time. Melrose is clutching tightly to my shirt. Her head is buried against my neck. My only focus right now is to get her away from all this crap.

Surprisingly he’s able to keep up with my fast pace. For a man with a beer belly the size of Texas he sure can walk fast. When he shoves his camera in Melrose’s face that’s when I lose it. I whip around. “Listen you little prat, I’ve put up with your obnoxious behavior, I’ve answered your questions, but you will not upset her further. Do you understand?”

He gulps. His Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down gives me a strange sense of satisfaction. “Yeah. Sorry for upsetting you Miss.” His apology is directed in Melrose’s general direction before he scurries away.

After climbing a few more stairs and jogging down a short expanse of hallway, I finally reach my apartment.

“We’re here.” I whisper against Melrose’s temple. She doesn’t respond. I jiggle my key into the lock and step into my small studio apartment.

“I thought it’d be bigger.” She murmurs. I can feel her mouth move against my chest.

I bite back my “that’s what she said” joke, and instead reply with, “Well it’s just me, so I don’t really need anything bigger you know? Plus, I really like the layout, how it’s all one big room.”

She hums. “I like it, but I think it needs flowers.”

I raise an eyebrow while sitting her on the couch. “Flowers, why?”

Her cheeks tint pink. “I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just like flowers I guess, and well, they would look nice on that window sill.” She turns and points to the window behind her.

I think about the flower idea for a moment and find that I actually like it. “You know what? You’re right.” I tilt my head. “Flowers would look nice.”

She gives me a small smile and my muscles relax with relief. She’s calmed down. That’s good, right?

“Can I take a bath?” She asks shyly. I watch as she slides one of her many bracelets up and down her arm.

“Um, s-sure.” I stutter awkwardly, her request taking me by surprise. I point out the only place in the house that’s closed off. “The bathroom’s right in there. There should be towels in the linen closet.

She begins to pad to the bathroom.

“Just call if you need anything.” I add.

She nods her thanks before disappearing behind the door.

I put my head in my hands and sigh. When I woke up this morning I had no plans of taking care of a suicidal girl. In fact, I had deemed today “Harry’s Not Worry About Anything Day.” But sometimes plans just don’t work out, do they? I prop my head so that it rests on my knees. My eyes are glued to my worn leather boots as I listen to the gentle “whoosh” sound the water makes every time Melrose moves in the bath. Abruptly, the subtle “whooshing” stops and is replaced with the clatter of a metal object hitting the floor.

“What the hell would make that sound?” I mutter, my eyebrows creased. Then it hits me. I had left my shaving razors on the counter. “Fucking. Shit!” I run to the door. The “whooshing” starts back up again and I realize she’s gotten back in the tub. I rattle the locked doorknob in a panic. “Melrose open the door.” I demand, shaking the knob even harder.

She doesn’t respond.

“Melrose please.” I beg. I pound a fist against the wood.

She still doesn’t reply.

I run back to the couch and brace myself. With a running start I ram my shoulder into the door. It swings open to reveal Melrose sitting in the tub with a razor perched vertically against her wrist. Our eyes lock and she sobs, immediately dropping the razor.

“Thank God.” I breathe, tugging at my hair. There’s no blood. She hadn’t done anything yet. I stride quickly to the linen closet, yanking out two towels. I wrap both of them around her, still in the tub, before kicking my shoes off and climbing in behind her.

She continues to sob, her body racking, as she backs herself into my chest.

“Thank God.” I breathe once again, rocking her. “It’s going to be okay Mel.” I whisper into her hair, trying to convince myself more than her. “Everything will be fine.”