Cara

I look around the room, desperately trying to grasp a sense of reality and logic. The phone call with Harry has me shaken, frightened, even. He stated what he remembered, I stated what I remembered. Most of it is a blur. But I see parts of it; the touches, the glances, his scarlet lips. It connects, but it doesn't. I told myself from the beginning I would't get that shit faced, especially because of how I get when I drink and am around Harry. God.

I bring my fingers to my temples and rub in soothing circular motions, trying to get any relief for my pain. The noises coming from the city outside have grown, as it is starting to come alive. It only makes my head ache more.

An alarm goes off and I reach for my phone immediately, wincing at the thrumming in my head that is a result from it. 10:00am. I groan. It's time to leave for the show and press I have to deal with today.

Removing my tucked legs from the chair, I force them towards the side of the bed where my luggage sits. It isn't an open mess of garments as it was yesterday. Harry must have fixed it some when he got a shirt of mine.

I rummage through the mountain of clothes until I find my favorite black jeans.  I change my underwear before slipping them on and think twice before removing Harry's shirt. Normally, I wouldn't see harm in wearing it. He is a dear friend. But under the circumstances, it seems... inappropriate. And even though I doubt the paparazzi captured him coming to my hotel after leaving that private party, there would be a field day if they somehow figure out it is his.

Tying my disheveled hair, I make my way to the bathroom to freshen up before going back to the main living area. My bag is already packed, having everything I need. I only pour the coffee that remains in my mug into one of the cardboard coffee cups the hotel offers, as well as some from the pot until it reaches the top. I eye Harry's note as I place the lid on the cup and put it in my bag before moving to snatch my phone from the counter. The thought of a maid reading it or throwing it away bothers me.

Walking to the room door, I click the home button on my phone to call the driver and ask if he is already there, but am greeted with something besides my wallpaper. Missed calls and text messages from Lana last night occupy my screen, and I grow anxious at just how many there are. I check the time her messages came in before going to my call history. There, it is confirmed for me that we spoke amid my intoxication. Oh, god.

I bring my hand to forehead, thinking of all the things I could have said or done while on the phone as we spoke, while I was with Harry. What could have made her try to get in contact with me so much? Going to our messages, I read as she questions my state and who I am with, my stomach sinking when I see Harry's name and that she is worried. She didn't need this.

An// make sure to check out grigiogirls new story as well and her series Angel/Faded, simply amazing. she's a big help to this story-- so express your hatred for the heartbreak in this story to her as well!! drag ha!