Rising Stars [H.S]

33.

song: Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
play when you see the *
Harry left about 30 minutes after Jenny left. He made me some eggs (after I had to teach him how to use the stove). It's a bit weird how sweet he's being, I am so used to him being closed off and a bit passive aggressive, but he's been being very nice.

My mind still can't wrap around everything that happened with Dylan. Three weeks ago we were fine, and then the second Harry walked into my life everything flipped. As much stress and pain Dylan made me go through, I don't regret it. I'm glad Harry came into my life, I haven't exactly figured out what we are yet, but I want to. Although he can be an arrogant son of a bitch sometimes, he's made me happy.

The week that I spent with him on that road trip is the most alive I've felt without anyone's input.

I base my happiness on how much others approve of me. I've been doing it since I was a little girl. If someone doesn't like something about me, I will work my ass off to change it. I've always lived to please other people, it's part of the reason I love being a singer. When a whole stadium of people is cheering for you, it gives me that satisfaction that makes me happy.

But— I've learned over time I can't base all my joy from other people. And Harry showed me it's possible to find happiness without having to sing a song about a broken heart. That night on the roof when I smoked his cigarette for the first time, or when we sang together in the car, when we went swimming in the middle of the night, all of those times proved to me that I don't need others approval to be happy.

Harry showed me that without even trying, and I adore him for it.

I didn't mean to find myself attached to Harry, it just happened. He has this magnetic force to him that just pulls you and pulls you closer until you're stuck.

Harry and I are going to pick up Jenny's nephews from school at 2:00, so I should probably get dressed. I pick myself up off the couch that I've been on for the past hour, and make my way towards my bedroom.

I decide to take a shower, I probably need to wash my hair. I walk into my bathroom and look at my reflection in the mirror. I look like shit. The bruises on my jaw and neck were turning purple, and my lip was a little swollen. My hair was tangled and almost matted, and I had very prominent bags under my eyes. I'm fucking exhausted, and it definitely shows.

I walk over to my shower and turn it on, letting the water adjust to the right temperature. I strip of my clothes and stick my hand under the water to check the temperature before stepping in. The water runs down my scalp and down my back, immediately easing my muscles. I grab the shampoo and run it through my hair, repeating the same steps with the conditioner. I then wash my body and my face, being very gentle around my bruises. I finish by shaving my legs and turning the water off. I wrap a towel around my self before stepping out into the foggy bathroom.

I dry myself off, wrapping my hair up into the towel and grabbing a different one to wrap my body. I decide to put on some light makeup, going with the usual concealer and mascara. Except this time I get some extra foundation and concealer, and cake it on to all my bruises, trying my best to cover it.

I let my hair down from the towel and blow dry it. I brush it though, and decide not to really do much with it, leaving it just flow down my back.

I walk into my room and to my dresser to pick out an outfit. I find some denim shorts and a white silk tank top, tucking it into the shorts and matching it with a fashionable brown blazer. I slip on Doc. Martins, finishing my outfit.

Usually I don't like to go through social media. I don't like seeing pictures of myself or seeing articles about me and my dating life. Most of the time the articles are just bullshit and don't even make sense. But— was that picture of Harry and I at the hotel all over the internet?