Chapter 11

I am red.

I'm wearing red and feeling that way too.

I feel foolish and ignored.

I've painted my Lips crimson, and borrowed shoes with soles to match.

I feel like I'm screaming "look at me! Look at me! Damn it, please look at me."

And the people are. Michael about screamed when I walked out to go to this tour gathering.

"What's that?" He'd pointed at me, gesticulating a bit wildly around.

"What is what exactly?" I tried for nonchalance as I reached down to pull the heel I was stepping into, like someone else's skin, over the back of my foot. I was well aware that I did not look like I usually did and that my big brother would not like what he saw when I suited up.

That's what it felt like to, like I was Superman ducking into a phone booth and putting on a part of me, a secret identity. One that I didn't share, hadn't really wanted to. But, tonight I slid the slinky red dress over the body I usually covered with days-old jeans and pilfered t shirts like it was a spandex scarlet speedo. I wanted to rock like I had a capital S on my chest that stood for sexy. Hester prynne and me wearing the badge like a brand.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" He trailed after me as I breezed by him to the mini bar already helpfully supplied with the alcohol I had determined I would imbibe tonight.

I desperately needed the social lubricant I usually scorned. Harry had told me ages ago I could let go with him. It had been months, months ago, that we had gotten close. It wasn't close enough. I wanted more than his secrets inside of me. I had tried my best to be his best friend, but I was sick of that role and tonight I was determined to play another.

I poured the whiskey already open over the last melting ice cube I had fished out of the bucket. It was brown grained leather on the outside, but the inside was just as inadequate as every ice holder at any level of hotel ever. I stared at it for a second before I decided I was projecting. I pulled the skirt of my sheath down a little and ignored the accompanying shift in the neckline while I answered Michael.

"A dress," I took a big sip of the brown fluid and coughed. My brother pulled the tumbler from my hand.

"I'm not sure that counts as a dress." He scoffed and shot the rest of my drink. He grimaced, "and since when do you drink whiskey straight?"

"Since now?" I poured the last of the bottle into my cup and took a gulp. Forcing myself not to react.

Michael blinked at me. "Listen, I knew you were upset when you came in earlier, and I was an asshole and decided I'd ignore it figuring it was some girl shit and you'd be fine by tonight." He looked me up and down. "But, your current game of dress up makes me think I should have stopped you to talk then. What's up?"

"Nothing, I'm fi—"

"Fine," he finished for me. "But I'm calling bullshit, because you just used the words nothing and fine within seconds of each other. Where were you last night?"

I laughed. That was a question he probably should have asked before we left the UK, the concern was too little too late. His concern was also the source of my irritation in about a million ways.

Harry and I had been cirque de soleil level acrobats lately based on the skill with which we had been walking the tightrope of friendship over the abyss of more. I wanted to dive in and trust that a blanket of feelings would rise up to catch me, and that he would follow me down. I'm not sure what he wanted; so I walked the line.

I caught him at times. Well, daily, really. He of the lingering stare and the constant touch.

There must have been opposing magnets in his palm and my sacrum. He loved to touch me there, I deduced. The sway of my back a desktop pendulum he carelessly set in motion when in need of a fidgety distraction. The regularity with which he pulled me in and wrapped me up in his spider arms would be alarming if I didn't already live in his web.

So here I was, ready to ruin the friendship and making every effort to do so.

"I slept over with a friend last night, brother. How about you?" I grinned and took a tentative sip, not ready to brave a full mouthful while I tried to talk tough and declare my independence with a uniform determination.

He had the good grace to look chagrined. "That's not the point." He carefully took my glass away and I let him because of the tender look in his eyes. "I think maybe I haven't been looking after you properly. 'Ve been distracted with all the—"

"Perks." I helpfully supplied with air quotes.

We shared a conspiratorial grin before his face pulled a 180. "Have you been enjoying 'perks'?" He didn't like the thought of that.

So I took pity on him and dropped my persona for a minute as told him my unfortunate truth. "No. I haven't." I held up crossed fingers. "But, it's not your business if I had been, Michael." I said it tenderly but meant it with all of my heart.

"Look, I know you are a grown up," he looked around helplessly., at me and then at the ground. "But, I promised mum I'd look out for you, and I think she'd have objections to this get u—"

"And I'd tell her what I'm gonna tell you." I took my drink back, thinking it funny that we were essentially sharing the whiskey. It had loosened our tongues and the reins on our feelings. "I'm a big girl, I'll wear what I like. Lou had the dress and I like the way I look. The way I feel." I put my hand on his forearm. "Let me try this version of me on tonight, where it's safe, and you can keep an eye on me?" I said it like a question, playing Neville Chamberlain at appeasement.

I would give him an inch, but I wasn't changing.

"You look really beautiful," he grinned but it didn't reach his eyes. "Though it pains me to admit it." He looked me over again, "yeah, I really don't like it."

"Luckily, you don't have to like it, mate," I handed him back the tumbler and he finished it. "Ready?"

"Ugh." He shivered with the final gulp. "Yeah, let's go." He offered his arm with exaggerated motions and I decided to go with the silly mood he was setting.

That crisis was averted, but the current situation has me much madder than my brother's overprotective-ness did.

I'm not sure what I had been expecting that night, I think I had spent so much time ruminating over my feelings and planning my appearance, that I just expected- more.

I knew how I felt about Harry, well I had sight of the iceberg at least. I may not have been sure about the submarine expanse, but I knew. Fuck being best friends.

But, his best friend had been a recent declaration up til that point. Only a month had passed since he had put a label on us. A label that felt like the sweater a gracious auntie gives you- beautiful and special, maybe even rich, but ill fitting. It felt much to small to contain what I was sure we had.

Those were all of my feelings though. I had not asked Harry directly about his feelings. I only knew about the inadequate vestment he had put upon us. Even now, I'm not sure where he was wearing in those days.

Maybe a hair shirt?

Clearly, my expectations were sky high. Maybe I thought I would walk in, looking like a million possibilities, and bucks, and he would fall at my feet; Fawn over me the way I restricted myself from doing on a daily basis. Far away from prying eyes. Why I thought he would out us, when there was no us, I don't know. He was not as private as he continually became, but we had mutually and silently agreed to be a secret.

I hate comfortable silence.

I especially hate uncomfortable silence. And that is what I encountered. Besides a widening of the eyes when I walked in, there was no acknowledgement of my presence, let alone the moth to flame scenario I had imagined. All of the conversations I had rehearsed as I painted my lips red in preparation for painting the town the same hue, went unused.

Maybe he was not uncomfortable. Maybe the chafe of my dress and the chap of my hide had more to do with how totally at ease he seemed.

He was not fawning over me. There was most certainly fawning however. And Harry, rather than falling at my feet was occupied entirely with the girl at his own.

She was actually on his lap. And she was perfect. She was not the lady in red and I thought her dress was a size too small. It still fit her better than mine did.

They weren't kissing or anything, but it seemed a matter of time to me.

I couldn't stand the thought of his lips on hers. I had decided earlier, when I chose the lip stick rather than the stain, where I wanted his mouth painted at the end of this night. More expectations unmet.

I was doing my best not to notice how much she was laughing. I wanted to pretend that it was a put upon giggle. His harmony of snort and sneeze was undeniable though. I knew that laugh intimately. Half of the lines I had crafted while curling my hair carefully had been dedicated to drawing it out.

My stomach hurt.

I realized that I didn't remember when I had last eaten. I walked away from the crew member who had shown me the attention I was seeking. He was sweet and attentive, and lacking. His eyes weren't even green.

I don't recall if I said a word in excuse when I walked away.

I found Niall, predictably, by the food. When I took a plate, he looked up in happy surprise.

"Mel, you look cracking!" He exclaimed and hugged me. I loved the exuberance of Niall in theory. In practice, it overwhelmed me. But I wasn't me today, and I was just begging for worthy attention. Niall would do. He was at least answering my siren call.

"Thank, Niall!" I tried to match his volume If not his enthusiasm. "What's good eating here?"

He finished chewing the bite he had taken of the hunk of brown bread taking up most of his plate.

"Well, my Irish heart is currently full because Sarah made me this," he pointed to the piece of loaf.

"Bread?"

"No, dear silly Australian girl! Irish brown bread. Best bread in the world." His expansive gesture nearly sent his precious to the floor. "It's rich and yeasty and fillin. Here try it." He plonked some onto my plate.

"That description sounds like it requires a trip to the doctor, mate. It's less compelling than you think," I looked at the slab as he buttered it dubiously.

"Nah, you'll see, just try it," he assured.

"Bottoms up," I raised it to my mouth.

"That's for Guinness lover, that comes next, but try this first." Niall nodded as I chewed.

"Mmmm," I commented while taking another bite. The bread was entirely satisfying and was soaking up the sourness in my belly caused by whiskey and emotion.

"Right!" Niall loaded me with another piece and some roast meat and gave me a one second gesture while he ran off. He returned with a beer and I found that I wanted to stay in his warm presence. His warm amber glow had dulled the green of my envy and red of my rage.

I found myself laughing and accepted the beers Niall fetched me, maintaining the buzz in my veins and ignoring the one in my brain.

I knew that Niall was pleasant company. On the few days when everybody was out and about together, or bound inside, he was hard to miss. Often the center of attention, with a guitar on his lap, a song in his throat and a smile on his lips. He was easy to be around. Being the center of his attention was flattering.

I also appreciated that he didn't seem to care who saw us.

We had caught a fair few eyes. Lou looked delighted for instance. I'd seen Lottie lean in conspiratorially several times to her ear. It was nice to be part of their clique. They even seemed to have enjoyed my distracted behavior at the mall and liked me anyway. I'd also seen Louis nudge Liam not so nonchalantly.

My boys had also noticed. Ashton has even called Niall out for it. But Niall has only raised a glass to him. The cheer that came up as a result warmed my cheeks, but I was surprised how happy I was to stay on the cozy couch even with the focus of the room shifting to us with regularity.

There were two pairs of eyes not as enthused by the boisterous laughs and innocent touches my Irish friend gave me.

Occasionally I could feel the burn of familiar mossy eyes on me. They were not the only pair trained on the way I was tucked under Niall's shoulder giggling. Michael looked particularly sour, his mouth downturned and I wondered when he would come over with some excuse to butt into my lively conversation.

I basked in it. It was not the attention I wanted paid to me, from Harry or Niall, and especially not Michael. I didn't really want anybody else's attention at all, but I could ignore it. Michael was also impressing me. He respected my earlier statements for longer than I expected. My display was being tolerated, however upsetting my brother found it.

It was effective though. My intended target was thoroughly distracted from the manicured hand currently plowing rivulets through his curly head.

This incarnation of me is unfamiliar. She is useful though, and I for a moment appreciate why so many artist have a persona they take on when they need to be something they are not, or grander than they feel.

I feel as powerful as the color I am wearing and as noticeable. But, the best part?

I'm not the only who is red.