A Dreamers Dream

Los Angeles, California, USA

Maddie's perspective.

Stumbling through my hotel room door, I glance helplessly at the alarm clock on the small white bedside table squinting to see the time through the half-empty water bottles that litter the glossy surface to read the bright red numbers shining back at me 03:52 am. Jesus. No wonder I'm exhausted. I cannot remember the last time I got back to my room at a decent hour, Dean has been keeping me in the studio from lunchtime until the early hours practically every day since Michael left earlier this week. As much as I adored having my big brother here for a few days, if I'd known the price, I would be paying for taking the time off I might have delayed his visit for a couple of weeks.

It's not like I am not loving being in the studio, spending my days and nights writing and recording, learning a little about the process of actually producing real music from scratch, although I was scared off of touching any of the buttons on the huge mixing desk after I managed to somehow delete an entire days work by fiddling with the different coloured knobs and getting an absolute earful from Dean.. which I probably deserved to be honest. It's been one of the most amazing experiences of my life but... god I am tired. I've barely had time to eat or sleep in nearly a week now, and it's starting to take its toll.

I make my way into the small en-suite bathroom and have to suppress a groan when I catch sight of myself in the shiny silver mirror above the sink, the small amount of make-up that I hastily applied this morning, (yesterday morning? Who the hell knows anymore) Whilst Dean banged his fist against my door telling me to hurry my arse up, has managed to mostly get rubbed off over the course of the long day and the face staring back at me closely resembles Casper the friendly ghost. I won't even mention the bird's nest on my head which at some point I am sure was hair... I'll deal with that over the weekend. Thankfully the studio is booked up until Monday now, which means I get three whole days off to try and revert back to a normal human being, or as close to a normal human as I ever am anyways.

Slouching back into my room after a quick shower I pull my phone from my bag and put it on charge, noticing as I do that I've got a couple of texts from Harry. Since our phone call last week we haven't spoken properly again, keeping our communication to just text messages, but I've heard from him daily and, much to my surprise, he is still sending me the beautiful handwritten poetry and flowers each day. I honestly thought, after my confession about kissing Dean, that I had blown it once and for all. It's one thing to misread a situation and run away, but it's quite another to shove your tongue down your new bosses throat in retaliation. But Harry, immensely kind and understanding Harry, hasn't mentioned it once since our phone call. Sure things have been a little strained between us, our conversations are a little bit stilted, but I can't be sure if that is because of the kiss or just because we are working through that awkward stage where you're trying to be somewhat friendly with your ex, despite still being head over heels in love with them.

He hasn't once asked me to take him back. He hasn't even alluded to it. Mostly we talk about our respective days, his shows, my writing. We talk about the weather, what we had for dinner that day and the news. It's all superficial, and some days when I am utterly exhausted and just want to sleep, I find it hard to make polite small talk with the man who I used to tell everything to and wonder if it's really worth the effort. What are we going to do exactly? Be mates? See each other once or twice a year when we both happen to be in the same city at the same time, go out for a coffee and try and catch up on each others lives? Do I want that? Can I handle that?

The mere idea that he had slept with Julie nearly destroyed me. How would I cope seeing pictures of Harry and his latest flame, who would no doubt be a model and ten times prettier and skinnier than I'll ever be, plastered all over social media? Urgh! Throwing myself face first on to my bed, I decide I'll wait and respond to him after I've had some sleep and desperately try and put all thoughts of him out of my mind.