Golden

11

"How did you know where I was?" I asked Harry curiously after gathering some courage following my second tequila shot. I placed the empty shot glass down on the table, running my finger slowly over the rim, eyeing him from across the booth.
After Harry's unexpected arrival backstage, we made yet another quick getaway together, slipping out the emergency exit that I knew Tally and Quinn didn't alarm. I followed Harry to the back parking lot, bracing myself for another eccentric vehicle that would draw all sorts of unwanted attention. But I was relieved when I watched him unlock a simpler, yet still very sleek and chic, black Range Rover instead. We drove quietly to the East Side, which slightly surprised me as I had pegged Harry for more of a West Side guy. We pulled into a tiny lot and parked in the last spot available all the way to the far side of the building. From the outside, the place looked abandoned and was entirely dark and windowless.
I unbuckled myself slowly, looking for any traces of people nearby and seeing none. "Uh, is this the part where you tell me that you've actually kidnapped me?"
Harry laughed, taking the keys out of the ignition and opening his door. "Not exactly."
"What is this place?" I asked as I hopped out, swinging my purse around my shoulder. I scanned the old brick building and noticed robust vines covering the corners, the only sign of life as far as I could tell. It was impossible to decipher if this place was an apartment, a restaurant, a barber shop, a store, an office building or maybe it was none of the above and something entirely different. I had no clue.
Harry grinned. "Come in and find out."
Before I could move, Harry grabbed my hand and tugged me gently towards the only door in our eyeline. We stepped right up to it as Harry rapped his knuckles lightly against the wood and waited.
"Password."
A rough voice startled me from behind the door.
"Banana peppers," Harry replied swiftly, smirking at me as the door immediately swung open into darkness.
"Banana peppers?" I repeated bewilderedly. I stayed where I was, clutching Harry's hands tightly.
"A pretty good password, right?" Harry stepped forward, keeping me close behind. I could hardly see anything as he kept guiding us forward.
"This definitely feels like a kidnapping on a Dateline episode," I reiterated, glancing up at a singular, exposed light bulb dangling overhead. I pressed my body closer against Harry, unable to see if someone was following us.
I heard him laugh again, echoing through the darkness. "I'd be a lousy kidnapper."
We stopped in front of another wooden door and Harry pushed this one open easily; no password required this time.
We suddenly emerged into a small vintage bar with candles everywhere, just barely illuminating the already dark room. I glanced around slowly, taking in the antique furniture and decor near a spacious bar where several people were already sitting. I looked up and noticed famous faces hanging on the brick walls in mismatched frames. My eyes stopped on a photograph of Harry with his arms around two people, one man and one woman, smiling broadly and clutching a drink in one of his hands.
"You find me yet?" Harry leaned down and asked.
I pointed to his picture, moving towards it to get a closer look. He looked a bit younger with shorter hair that was tousled back underneath a black cap. On the bottom of the photo, I could just barely make out the words in Harry's writing: "All the Love, H."
"That was actually taken when I came here after one of your shows," Harry told me, watching my face for my reaction.
I stepped back, surprised. "Really?"
Harry nodded. "Last year, around Christmas time."
I kept staring at the photo and my eyes studied the woman in the picture. She was about my age with long, straight blonde hair and a beautiful smile. She looked vaguely familiar.
"Who-" I began, but Harry interjected.
"Want to grab a seat?" He asked suddenly, placing a gentle hand on my back and steering me towards the back of the room. He nodded at the bartender as we quickly passed him, giving him a subtle signal that we were here, but not to draw attention to it. The server smiled politely back, but kept his lips shut and continued polishing glasses behind the bar top.
Harry and I slid into the back booth, practically unseen from the rest of the patrons at the front of the room. Before we were even properly settled, a waiter wordlessly dropped off two shot glasses and the largest and most expensive bottle of tequila I had ever seen.
"Thank you," Harry told him in a hushed voice, careful not to speak too loud just yet. "Add it to my tab?"
The waiter nodded again before disappearing just as quickly as he had entered.
"Jeeze, is this what being Harry Styles is like everywhere you go?" I asked in disbelief, eyeing the bottle as Harry poured us two shots. "Tequila immediately appears?"
"I wish. It would make all those boring corporate meetings way more fun," Harry replied with a cheeky grin. "I just come here a lot, so they know the drill."
"So this is the place you take all of the people you don't want to really be seen with?" I teased as Harry offered me a shot. Our fingers brushed slightly as I took the drink from him, feeling electricity shoot through my veins.
Harry scoffed. "I'd take you to the top of the Empire State Building and scream out to all of New York that I was there with you, if you'd like." He paused, his lips hovering just above the shot glass. "But from what I've seen just a few paparazzi do to you, I wouldn't think publicly announcing your presence is your style."
I smirked. "Good point."
"Cheers."
We downed our shots quickly and I felt the liquor warm my body, finally starting to relax. Harry didn't waste any time pouring a second shot, which I happily took.
"How did you know where I was tonight?" I licked my lips, putting the shot glass down again.
Harry leaned over, crouching slightly as his large shoulders spread out across the top of the table. He scanned the room quickly, making sure no one had noticed him yet.
"It's pretty easy to find out where a popular band is playing in the city," Harry pointed out. "Especially if you share a record label with them. My people already know your people, so it took about five minutes total to track you down."
I laughed, rolling my eyes. "I meant more...why did you come tonight?"
Harry sighed, leaning back against the booth. He appeared restless, like he was anxious or concerned about something. My mind flashed to the pretty girl he had his arm around in the photo.
Harry stared at me. "Did you like how we left things?"
"You didn't answer my question," I replied evenly, not accepting his question back to me, instead of an actual answer.
He sighed heavily again and began fiddling with the rings on his fingers. I watched him spin a giant ruby around his knuckle. "I wanted to see you again."
"But why?" I pressed, still confused. I rested my hands against the table, a few inches away from Harry's. I felt like I had to keep hold of something to anchor me to earth. My head was spinning and it wasn't solely because of the tequila. "If I were you, I'd want nothing to do with me after..." I stopped myself, swallowing hard and casting my eyes down, feeling too ashamed to even finish my sentence.
"You're way too hard on yourself, Lucy. Do you know that?" Harry told me softly. "Cut yourself some slack."
I couldn't look him in the eye. I remained silent.
"I think that running down the street to escape paparazzi is a completely normal reaction for any person, especially for someone who has had no previous experience with them," Harry continued as I perked up, feeling a tiny bit less miserable. "I mean...if seven strangers all swarmed me and shoved cameras in my face and started yelling at me as I was getting out of a car and that had never happened to me before, I would have been right alongside you high tailing it out of there."
I smiled half heartedly. "Really?"
Harry nodded firmly. "Absolutely. I don't blame you for how you reacted or that you booked it the hell out of there. I didn't take it personally." He paused before adding, "Well, I tried not to anyway."
"You shouldn't take it personally at all," I told him desperately. "It was more like a fight or flight instinct and...I chose flight."
I always choose flight, I thought to myself grimly.
"So can you stop blaming yourself for being human for once?" Harry gathered our shot glasses and began pouring again.
"Maybe." I still felt bad about it.
"I'm not mad. I was never mad. I understood why you ran," Harry clarified as he carefully passed me a full glass across the table. His green eyes danced in the candlelight. "And besides - you got a lovely song out of our little adventure."
I knocked back the shot, almost forgetting that Harry was in the audience to hear every word I said and sang tonight. I was also painfully aware that he knew it was about him. This was new for me: to be sitting in a bar across the table from the inspiration of one of my songs, who was also very aware that he was the subject of one of my songs.
"I really did love the song," Harry told me, picking up on my embarrassment and trying his best to ease it. "It's a great song. You're extremely talented."
"Oh. Thanks." I wanted another shot.
"I mean it," Harry went on. "You know that I've seen you play before and that I'm actually a fan of your music."
I cringed. I felt more anxious the more he spoke about my songs. My fight or flight defense mechanism was starting to warm up, I could feel it.
"Why does that make you uncomfortable?"
I shrugged, my skin crawling. "I just...it's personal, I guess."
Harry didn't say anything. He wanted me to continue.
I sighed. "It's like...writing is the most private and vulnerable thing I can imagine doing. And when I put my lyrics and thoughts and feelings out into the universe...I just...I don't know...it makes me feel like everyone knows all these secrets about me, even though I willingly told them these things. It just...it puts everything in my life up for speculation and discussion and dissection." I shook my head, locking eyes with him. "And it's...complicated...when the person I wrote a song about is staring at me over tequila."
Harry grinned. "It's a great song," he repeated, louder this time.
"Thanks. That's nice of you to say." I kept playing with my empty shot glass to distract myself from the blood that was rushing to my head.
"I'm impressed that you can write that well, that quickly," Harry noted; giving me another unnecessary compliment. "It takes me ages to get all the things out of my head and onto paper and then into songs."
I smirked, laughing lowly under my breath. "Maybe I had too much inspiration."
"No such thing." Harry winked.
My face flushed and my thoughts were swimming happily in my foggy head. I looked around the room at the other customers, none of whom seemed to know that Harry and I were even back here. My eyes swept the bar when I felt another pair of eyes lock on me.
"What?" I asked Harry, noticing he was staring at me and smiling.
"I'm not driving or almost running red lights accidentally, so my full attention can be on you without you worrying," Harry told me, still watching me.
"There are better things to look at in here," I reminded him, resting my chin against my palm, staring right back.
"Not in my opinion," he replied coolly, not breaking my gaze.
"Yeah? Why's that?"
Harry leaned in closer. "Because I enjoy looking at things I like."
"Oh?" My heart skipped. I was holding my breath.
"And I like you."
"I like you too."
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Three tequila shots in and I was getting loose lips.
"Do you really mean that?" He asked me, just barely above a whisper, like he was truly afraid to ask it too loudly.
"Do you really mean it?" I shot back.
"You didn't answer my question."
I smirked, surprised. "Using my own tactic against me." I raised my eyebrows. "Bold move, Styles."
"I'm learning from a master, it would seem," Harry retorted slyly. "Now what's your answer?"
"I meant it," I confirmed, unable to keep a straight face. "Obviously."
Harry stretched his arms over his head, looking victorious. I rolled my eyes, looking away and back to where his picture was proudly displayed.
"Who was that girl you were with in that photograph?" I asked suddenly, nodding towards the back wall.
"What photo?" Harry asked, feigning forgetfulness. I saw his cheeks turn a faint shade of pink.
"The one right over there," I explained, knowing he knew full well what photo I meant.
"Oh, she's a friend," Harry said quickly; far too quickly for it to be the entire truth.
"A friend." I knew there was more to it.
"And the man in the photo is the owner here," Harry offered instead. "His name is Paul and he's a really good guy. I always call before coming and he makes sure this back area is cleared out and I know the password before showing up. He really goes above and beyond for me-"
"That friend wouldn't happen to be your ex girlfriend, would it?" I was brazened by the alcohol. I usually wouldn't be asking such questions, but something inside me had to know.
Harry cleared his throat. His calm and collected demeanor vanished. "Why do you ask?"
"You didn't answer my question," I repeated, carefully studying his face.
Harry's mouth formed a thin, straight line. His eyes filled with visible heartache and I immediately regretting asking the question.
"Never mind actually," I said, at once. "Forget I asked. It's absolutely none of my business and I'm so sorry. Just...you don't have to answer." I was panicking, feeling foolish and intrusive. "Sorry. That was so rude of me and-"
"I want to talk about it with you," Harry told me, suddenly reaching across and gripping my hand. He squeezed it, a silent order to calm down. "I just...don't want to scare you off."
"Just don't shove a camera in my face and you have nothing to worry about," I said with a small smile.
Harry laughed, feeling a little more at ease. He sighed. "Her name is Camille and we're...we're working on being friends, but yeah...she's my ex girlfriend."
His speech slowed and he chose his words very carefully. I felt like I was interviewing him and his years of media training were kicking in.
"She's pretty," I offered.
"She's a great person," he replied diplomatically. It almost sounded rehearsed. For all I knew, it could have been. "A very great person."
It was my turn to pour another shot for us, hoping it made Harry sound less like a robot and more like the person I had met.
"We dated for a little over a year. She met my friends. She met my family. She came to a few shows on my tour. It was..." Harry's eyes glazed over, looking misty as he fidgeted with the shot glass. I was thankful he sounded more human, but also didn't like hearing the obvious pain in his voice. "It was special. She was special."
I felt my stomach tighten into a knot, but kept my face neutral.
"We just didn't work." Harry shrugged, shifting in his seat and slouching a bit. "And it hurt." He looked up at me, looking helpless. "It hurt a lot."
"I'm sorry" was all I could say; but it didn't feel like nearly enough.
"I mean...I think I'm getting better now that some time has passed and we've gotten some space between us," Harry went on, though it seemed like he was still trying to convince himself. "I think I can finally start...processing it." He clenched his fists. Every part of his body seemed rigid now. "I think I'll be able to write about it when I go back to California to get back into the studio."
"When will that be?" I felt my lip quiver and my voice cracked.
"Tomorrow."
My eyes went wide as my heart sank deeper into my stomach, resisting the urge to look at my phone for the time. Every passing second was precious now. I felt each moment slowly slipping away.
"Tomorrow evening," Harry clarified quickly, as if that would make it any better.
It didn't.
"I...I was only supposed to be here in New York for that label party for the weekend," Harry told me when I didn't say anything back right away. "I didn't...I didn't expect to..."
"You don't have to explain yourself," I cut him off, though my chest was aching so much that it was becoming very hard to breathe.
"I want to stay."
Who could ever leave me, darling?
But who could stay?
Who could stay? Who could stay?
You could stay...
"But I can't."
I felt my guard within me shoot up instantly, building an impenetrable fortress around my heart. I merely nodded, restrained. "I wouldn't expect you to."
"Lucy."
"Sorry I brought up your break up," I told him flatly, though I throughly meant it. My own voice sounded now robotic and mechanical to my ears. "It's none of my business and it was a stupid, invasive question. I just thought I recognized her in the photo and that's it. I didn't mean to...rile up bad memories for you."
"Lucy."
"How much do I owe you for the drinks?" I asked hastily, pulling my purse out and rummaging through it. I glanced at my phone and read 12:03 on the screen.
Harry would be gone today.
"Lucy."
"Here." I tossed fifty dollars on the table, hopeful that would cover the overly expensive shots, even though I wasn't entirely sure it would.
"Lucy."
"Thank you for coming to our show tonight," I told him, inwardly cringing at how corporate and lifeless my tone sounded. "I appreciate it. Really. And thank you for the drinks."
I went to slide out of the booth, but Harry was quicker. He ran across the table and slinked into the seat next to me, blocking me from getting out and leaving. My eyes got wide.
What was he going to do?
He was only a few inches away from my face and I realized I was holding my breath as he crept closer.
"Lucy," he said for a final time. "Listen to me."
"What?" I whispered as I dug my nails into my palms.
"Your fight or flight defense shouldn't be up right now," Harry told me lightly, though he was very serious. "Not with me anyway."
I kept my fists clenched and my guard still up. I debated crawling under the table to escape, but knew I wouldn't get far. I also didn't want to draw too much attention to us after remaining virtually unseen up until now.
"Are you listening?" Harry asked me softly, scooting over next to me as close as possible. Our arms were touching. My skin was hot.
"Yes." My teeth were gritted.
"Lucy. Stop. You're hurting yourself." He looked down at my hands and took my balled fists and wrapped his own hands around them, freeing my palms from my sharp nails carving into them. He ran his finger over the top of the indentations carefully. I flinched. "Does that hurt?"
I shook my head. "No."
It felt nice, but I didn't tell him that.
"I don't want to leave," Harry said earnestly, still grazing my skin with his thumb. "I really don't want to leave."
"I'm sure you're looking forward to going back to the studio," I said, trying to hide how hopeless I felt.
"I'm actually terrified," Harry admitted softly. "I've been avoiding it for a long time because I don't want to...feel it all over again."
"I know the feeling," I told him before I could stop myself. I silently scolded myself for being vulnerable again with him. My guards snapped right back up.
"This heartache was...very different," Harry said lowly. "Very, very different."
I felt my fortress crack. "Writing about it will help." I swallowed hard. My throat was so dry.
"Did it help you?" Harry asked weakly. "What...I mean...how were you able to write so honestly about your heartbreak without completely...losing it?"
I did completely lose it, I almost said, but didn't.
"It'll be painful," I said slowly, remembering how my heart felt like it was damaged and broken beyond repair and recognition; how I believed I'd never be happy again; how I cried myself to sleep for so many nights that I had no sense of time. "You might feel...lost. You'll cry. You'll scream. You'll break down. You might call her just to hear her pick up the phone because you miss the sound of her voice. You'll start reminiscing and overthinking and replaying the last year over and over in your head until you aren't sure what was real and what you imagined. We always tend to look back on what we had and what was with rose colored glasses, so everything will seem brighter and better than it actually played out, because you miss it so much that sometimes it takes your breath away. You'll wonder where things went wrong. You'll wonder why you did certain things and why you didn't do others. You'll get defensive. You'll get angry. You'll get lonely. You'll get sad. You'll blame her. You'll blame yourself. You'll think you're going to be alone forever. You'll want her back. You'll convince yourself you still love her. You'll convince yourself you hate her. Neither are true. You'll write for days and days without sleeping. Then you won't be able to string together a single sentence for a week. You'll remember her favorite color and suddenly start noticing little bursts of it everywhere. You'll smell her perfume in a crowded room and panic for a moment, thinking she's there. You'll miss her friends she introduced you to and try to talk to them because you just want to keep a piece of her around. You'll hear her favorite song on the radio or in a shop or restaurant and feel like your heart is caving in. You'll swear you're starting to feel better and then you'll come crashing down and not be able to get out of bed. You'll be happy again, even for a moment. You'll be relieved you remember how to smile and laugh still. You'll wake up one day and open your eyes and that hole in your chest is the smallest it's been since you can remember. You'll remind yourself that you're not broken and that...one day, you'll be alright." I felt dizzy from speaking so honestly. "And eventually, when you get all those things you're feeling out of your system, you'll feel...transformed. Just...you'll get to the other side of it. It's just sometimes hard to see the light when you're so engulfed in darkness." I shrugged. "It's a fine line, I guess."
Harry stared at me wordlessly. His green eyes were so wide.
Maybe I had said too much.
"Or maybe you won't feel any of those things," I backtracked quickly, shaking my head. "I don't know."
"It's a fine line," Harry repeated, dazed. "A fine line."
I didn't know what else to say. I glanced down at our hands that were still intertwined.
"You'll be alright, Harry." I squeezed his fingers.
He looked at me with hopeful eyes. We smiled at each other, holding hands silently in the dim lighting of our corner booth. Our bodies leaning against each other, our faces flushed from honesty and tequila. It felt for a moment like we were the only two people in the entire world.
"I know," Harry told me. It felt like he was making me a promise. Maybe he was. "We'll be alright."