my sister's boyfriend's bestfriend ⋆ a harry styles fanfiction

18: you talk of the pain like its all alright

TW: this chapter includes sections about EDs, body image issues and bullying. please skip this chapter if these are triggers for you. and, as someone who lived through it and is out on the other side, please know that you are not alone and you are beautiful the way you are. 

The weeks since I had moved to London flew by like a video set to fast forward. It all seemed like a blur, my life moved faster than my body and brain could keep up with. The sweet summer air had dried up, replaced by the crunch of autumn leaves which scattered along the ground in mosaics of reds, oranges and yellows. Yet, in all this time, I had never watched Harry perform. 

Sometimes in the mundane moments of simultaneously sipping our coffee and doing the laundry on Sunday afternoons, I had forgotten that he was a performer - a world famous sensation. In those moments it truly felt like he was just my roommate, my friend, my Harry. 

But, in reality, he was not mine by any means. I shared him with the world. I shared him with the media, the endless army of paparazzi wielding their cameras outside our home. I shared him with the boys, who have been seeing him way more than I have lately which, though I hate to admit it, sends a painful pang of jealousy through me. But most of all I share him with the fans. The millions of girls who adore and worship him. In their minds, he belongs to them. 

They've known and loved him longer. They love him with such ferocity and passion that they think I am stealing something that belongs to them. Yet, the people we love are completely different people entirely. They love the Harry that wears bandanas and skinny jeans. The one who dances around on stage and erupts a stadium filled with thousands of people with laughter. I love the Harry that remembers which brand of almond milk I prefer when he goes to the store. The Harry that sings Fleetwood Mac while he showers. The Harry that doesn't complain when I pitch him my fifth novel concept of the day. The Harry that exists in private, within our four walls. They are different people entirely. I wish they would see that. Maybe they would hate me less. 

Maybe. 

But unfortunately, that wasn't my reality. 

I held onto Eleanor, partially so she guide the way, but also to keep me steady. My legs shook beneath me with each step. As we emerged from backstage into the audience, it was as though someone had pressed mute on the world. The symphony of cheers and applause for the boys silenced instantly. At first, I thought it was all in my head—a trick of my overstressed mind, drowning out the booming noise. But then I glanced out at the sea of faces, and the truth hit me like a punch to the gut. They weren't cheering. They weren't applauding. Instead, countless eyes stared back at me, full of judgment and something that felt a lot like disgust. Hands that had been raised in mid-clap now hung in the air, frozen, as if the mere sight of me had drained the excitement from the crowd.

A knot formed where my stomach used to be. I know Eleanor saw it too, but she refused to stop, she carried on, as older sisters do.  

"Ellie you're a SLUT!" A voice shot from the audience. My body swiveled to follow the noise to find a girl, no older than 16, barking her words at me. Her eyes, blue and unfamiliar, were filled with hatred. 

It wasn't long before others joined in. 

"You're too ugly to be Harry's girlfriend!" 

"Go home Ellie! We hate you!"

"Harry could do better than you"

"Nobody likes you Ellie!"

"Harry doesn't like fatties like you, Ellie!"

The words sliced through the air like arrows, each one striking with a precision that left me breathless. My chest tightened, the noise around me fading into a dull hum as the final shot hit its mark. I froze, rooted to the spot, the echo of her voice reverberating in my mind. I didn't know her, this girl who hurled insults so casually, as if I were an easy target she'd aimed for her whole life. And yet, in an instant, she became someone I did know. Someone I had known for years.