That night, as we were snuggled up in bed after the music showcase, kissing sleepily, you nuzzled closer and murmured that it was a great show. I pet your hair absentmindedly, replying with a vague grunt, not because I disagreed or even felt ambivalence, but rather just from a lack of energy. Performing always left my mind wired and my body drained. I needed a winding down period for my brain to catch up to my body.

"Better Than Words turned out great," you said, smiling. My eyes were closed, but I could feel your smile against my shoulder. You pecked the taut skin there. I dragged my fingers all the way down the length of your hair, humming my response. My nonverbal communication seemed to bug you, and you bit me, right where my arm connected to my body.

My eyes snapped open. "Aaaaggghhh." I covered my armpit protectively.

You blinked innocently up at me, moved my hand out of the way, and settled your head back on my shoulder. "I really liked the last song... Strong."

I smiled against your hair, combing it back from your face. You tipped your head back and met my gaze, and I kissed you. "It's my favourite thing about you," I whispered, "your strength." You blinked again, but this time your eyes were filled with emotion instead of mischief. "I love you, Madelyn."

"I love you, too," you whispered back.

I kissed you again, continued caressing your hair, and mused, "I can't believe we've been together eight weeks. It seems to have passed in a blink, but at the same time, I feel I've known you forever."

You lifted your head and rested it on your fist, offering me a sarcastic smirk, "well, you have, I suppose."

"I mean the real you."

A frown flickered across your face, for just a beat before it was gone again. "The first time we kissed--"

"You mean when I 'rudely pushed you against a wall in a bar,' as you phrased it?"

You laughed, your eyes sparkling in the dim light of our dark bedroom. "Right, yes. That day, you said that when you'd called me fake, you didn't mean it," I nodded warily, afraid of where this conversation was headed, "and that you just had other shit going on." I grunted in response. You pinched my chubby love handle playfully, and I took your hand in mine to stop the attack, lacing our fingers together. "Well, um, I've just been so distracted by the constant shit going on in my life, and I never really asked what that other shit in your life was..."

"I was..." Shit. How much to tell? How to tell it? I sighed and released your hand to pinch the bridge of my nose, another of my nervous habits. "That day, I was dead broke from moving. I was hungry and irritable. And then Louis said that stupid shit about his balls. That's no excuse, mind you. I shouldn't have snapped the way I did." I sighed again and looked at you. Your eyes were wide and earnest, and I'd never felt this kind of...concern from anyone other than mum and Gem, and maybe Liam. Okay, maybe Lou and Ni and Zayn, too, when things have been really bad. But never from a girl I've dated. It made me feel...safe. And loved. I felt like I could tell you anything. "What I was really upset about, what really was bothering me underneath all that was...that I had two phone calls from home earlier, one from Fern, which we've already discussed, and the other from mum telling me she was getting married."

The flicker of a frown flashed across your face again. "Do you not like the guy she's marrying?"

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "No, no! Robin is great. I love him. He's been an amazing stepdad and he treats my mum really well. It was happy news, their engagement. But it stressed me out because it's so soon, and mum asked me to help pay for my airfare home." I ran my hand through my hair. "I barely had enough to buy lunch, let alone a plane ticket." My face flooded with embarrassment; admitting my impoverished state was so very hard for me. "Plus, after what Fern told me, the idea of going back to England wasn't very appealing."

"She really hurt you," you ran your hand down my chest to my stomach, around my waist, and held me tight against you. I put my arm around you and held you just as tightly, like a drowning man to a life raft. You were my salvation, buoying me through rough waters.

"Yeah she did," my voice cracked. "I thought I loved her." God, how wrong I was. How foolish I was. How...betrayed I was by both her and Abigail. "Abby too. I thought I loved them both." I kissed the top of your head, so grateful to have found a love so true.

"What changed your mind?" You lifted up to look at me.

Without hesitation or equivocation, I answered, "Falling in love with you." I touched your face, almost in awe that you were mine. The way I feel about you...that is the very definition of love. "Loving you taught me what love really is."

Your eyes widened further, emotion evident in your every feature. You pressed your lips to mine urgently, clawing your fingers into my hair. I understood the message your lips were conveying. I understood the overwhelming, voice-thieving emotion that inspired this kiss. And while that kiss was urgent, fervent, it was also delicate and docile. It was the soft, recurring rhythm of a lullaby, soothing my soul and sending me to sleep in peace.

I woke up alone. I lay there for a few minutes, straining to make out the faint sound of your voice from down the hall. I couldn't tell whether you were talking to someone or...singing? I smiled to myself, imagining you in your office or at your piano singing as you did your homework, or writing new songs, or maybe just getting breakfast together. I finally reached for my phone. Shit. My happy imaginings dissolved as I realised I was an hour late for work. I'd forgotten to set my alarm! Shit shit shit.

I scrambled out of bed and pulled on my jeans and a tshirt, sliding my feet into my vans hurriedly. I found you in the kitchen, writing on your Mac laptop and listening to music through headphones. I pulled one out of your ear. "I woke up late," I muttered, kissing your cheek.

"I'm sorry, love. Was I really loud?" I shook my head. I probably wouldn't have awakened if you hadn't been singing. "I'm not really used to anyone else being here." Ouch. "I've been alone for so long." It was hard for me to tell whether that was a complaint or not; like, did you miss the days when you could sing at the top of your lungs and not worry about anyone hearing?

I kissed you chastely. "You sounded good. And you're not alone anymore, baby. You have me," I reminded you, watching your face for a reaction.

You smiled and kissed me. "I know. And not just you. I have my friends from the show. And your friends. They're my friends, too, right?" You raised your eyebrows nervously.

I nodded, "And your mum, too." My phone was buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at it. Fucking hell. Sal had called me ten times and was calling again. I was going to be in so much fucking trouble. "And soon, baby, you'll have my mum. She's so excited you're coming to England for the holidays--"

You cut me off just as I was about to say I had to go. "Oh, yeah, about that. You already have your ticket?"

"Yeah, mum sent me the email confirmation." You asked me to forward it to you so that you could book your ticket. I swiped open my email and found the message from mum. I clicked the forward button, then realised, "I don't actually know your email."

You chuckled. "It's MadelynTurningPages, all one word. At gmail."

I typed it in as you spoke and sent it off. "All right, done," I leaned down to kiss you, distracted by your wet hair. "Did you swim?" You nodded, and we kissed, a few sweet little kisses. I really needed to go. My phone was buzzing in my right hand as I cupped your face with my left. Still, I couldn't pull myself away. I smirked as my next question formed in my mind..."Do you still run? Or was that a one time thing?"

"I used to run when my stress was overwhelming me. My stress hasn't affected me in the same way since we got together, so I guess, my answer is no."

I grinned at that and kissed you again, "I love you, baby. I gotta go. I'm so late."

"I love you, baby."

I laughed as I pulled the door closed, then I ran down the hill to work. Sal was standing out back when I arrived, his arms crossed over his chest, angrier than I had ever seen him.

"I'm so sorry. I overslept," I panted as I jogged to a stop.

He shook his head, his face red and fixed with fury. "What happened here?" He pointed at the delivery van. I stepped closer and saw that the floor inside the back of the van was scratched up and gouged in several places.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

"You don't know." His arms were folded again. He stared at me, waiting. I simply shook my head again. I truly didn't know. "You are telling me you have no idea how this happened?" I looked back at the damage and wracked my brain. Our usual deliveries would never cause such damage. Sal seemed to think I was responsible--oh fuck. "Mm-hmm," he said as the realisation must have been evident on my face.

"I'm so sorry, Sal, we've always been so careful." It had to be our amps. We'd used Sal's van the night before for our gig, and I'd left Louis to return it last night so that I could come home with you. Fuck. It looked like they had dragged the equipment out rather roughly, with no regard for the van. I love my bandmates, but sometimes they can really be irresponsible arseholes. "I'll pay for it."

"You are darned right you will pay, Harry. This will come out of your pay check." I sighed and nodded. "As will the hour," he looked at his watch, "and twenty minutes you are late."

"Of course. I'm so sorry, Sal."

He waved me off. "Now, I am late for a meeting with my distributor. Get to work."

Fuck.

I went into the back room and pulled on my work shirt. I checked my phone quickly before heading out to the counter. Shit. Shit. Shit. It was Gemma's fucking birthday. I'd completely forgotten, and if I didn't call sooner rather than later, the day would be over back in England. I was a disaster.

"You okay?" Angelica asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

"He was pretty pissed. I'm surprised you weren't fired."

Fuck. Jesus fuck. That's the last thing I needed. "Thanks," I muttered sarcastically.

"He likes you, Harry. He'd never let anyone else get away with so much."

"He hasn't let me get away with anything."

"He has. You're late like every weekend."

Shit. I felt like an ungrateful ass. "Yeah," I grunted. I got to work, organising the displays where customers had moved things out of place. We were pretty busy the rest of the morning, and even though I didn't deserve one, Angelica insisted I take a lunch break once the rush died down. I made myself a cheese sandwich and handed her the cash for it.

She smiled and waved her hand, "Forget it. Just go."

"Um. Sal got pretty mad at me for having a sandwich on the house..."

"Harry, when he's not here, none of us pay."

"I..." I really wasn't sure what to make of this. I felt like I should tell him all his employees were stealing...including his daughter. Was that why no one ever paid at the Sherman Oaks store? He was never around...it wasn't policy, it was sneaky thievery. "I think I'd rather pay, just the same. Only because he's already warned me. And I'm already in trouble."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, taking the cash.

My stomach was tight with anxiety as I sat on an overturned crate in the back to eat. I didn't like being put in this position. Angelica basically tried to get me to steal. And now that I knew, I had no choice but to tell, right? But if I told, she would hate me. So would the other employees. It wasn't fair. I decided I would call Gem now and wish her a happy birthday to distract myself from this annoying issue.

"Hey big sis, happy birthday," I chirped as soon as she picked up.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She hissed. I was flabbergasted. What the hell was her problem?

"What--"

"You have the nerve," her voice was still hushed, but she was clearly yelling at me--whisper-shouting, "to call me and wish me a happy birthday when you know I'm here with mum!? What is wrong with you?"

"What is wrong with you?" I snapped back. "Of course I'm calling you on your birthday, and even better that you're home, so I can kill two birds with one stone."

"See that's the fucking problem. She doesn't even rate a phone call of her own."

"What are you on about?" I was confused and starting to get angry.

"You're a complete asshole. You missed her fucking birthday you twat."

"No, I didn't." I didn't. Fuck. I... "I sent her a card," I said lamely. I knew it was a pathetic response. Fuck. I never called. I put my head in my hands, shame flooding through me.

She sucked her front teeth in disgust. "Mmm-hmm. Oh yeah, that's really a suitable substitute. And by the way, it got here two days after her birthday."

"I can't control the fucking post, Gemma!"

"No, but you can control your fucking phone, and you didn't so much as text her. Call her. Hell, she was calling you all weekend over her birthday, worried sick about you, and you didn't even bother responding. You didn't call her for days after even, and then still didn't say happy birthday to her. And why was that? You were too busy punching people out and getting arrested." Holy hell. It was like she was carving my heart out with a dull knife. The worst part was, she was right. Mum's birthday was the Sunday after the hot Hollywood party. I had literally ignored every call from her for days. I never did say happy birthday. I felt a lump of emotion growing in my throat, and a pit of regret larger than the Pacific Ocean hollowing my gut. "You really hurt her feelings, but she's too sweet and forgiving ever to tell you. She was more worried than anything once she learned what happened because unlike you, she is selfless."

"I'm sorry!"

"You couldn't even spare a moment to call her and say you'd moved out of Sal's and into Maddie's house. She had to hear it by an email. Really, Haz? Really? That's how you notify your mother of this major life event?"

"I said I'm sorry!" Frustrated tears were forming, and I fought desperately to keep them in. I couldn't really afford to start crying at work. She was really pissing me off, and the more she pushed, the more those tears threatened to fall.

"I'm not the one you owe an apology to. It's the same bullshit all over again, and don't you even try to tell me different. I can't even blame Maddie and her rich bitch lifestyle."

"Don't call her that," I said weakly. "It's not her fault. It's mine."

"I won't have you hurting mum, Harry."

"Fuck, Gemma. I didn't mean to. This isn't like before, I promise you. I'm doing well in school, I'm working and--"

"Sal told mum you are late all the time." Fucking hell. I raised my eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. If he'd complained to mum, I was probably close to losing my fucking job.

"I'm just busy and trying to balance everything."

"Busy getting your rocks off."

"Hey! Don't do that. Don't make this some meaningless affair. I'm in love with her, Gemma. I know I've made mistakes. I'm sure I'll make more. But she's important--"

Gemma huffed, "everyone else is important except mum, huh? No time for the woman who has always had your back. You are doing the exact same thing you did with Fern and Cassie, and you will not convince me otherwise," she continued to rant about what a terrible son I was. I couldn't hear it anymore; I hung up.

My phone immediately lit up with another call from her. I declined it, chucked the majority of my sandwich in the bin, and rubbed my hands over my face to hide the emotion boiling up. My phone went off again. I powered it off and sat there staring at the black screen for several minutes. I had tried so hard not to repeat my mistakes. Yet here I was, caught in a cycle of failure. I'd hurt mum. And I'd hurt Gem by extension. God, it was just about the worst feeling. There are three women in my life I would kill and die for: you, Gem, and mum. The thought of hurting any of you...I can't. I can't even bear the thought of it. I stood and punched a huge bag of flour, my fist sinking into the soft material with a loud puff of white dust. I hit it again, needing to release this anger burning in my chest. I was such a fuck up. While mum waited and worried, wanting nothing more than a phone call for her birthday, I was too lost in my own life to remember. "Fuck," I grunted with one final punch.

I went back out to the front of the shop and covered the counter while Angelica took her break. The store's phone rang, and for a moment, I considered letting it ring in case it was Gem calling to chew me out again. Finally, I answered.

"Hey, um, I need to order delivery."

"Okay, what will you have?"

"Um, so I need half a dozen lettuce wraps with turkey."

I frowned. We didn't have lettuce wraps on the menu. "Okay. Is it a sandwich you want, but with lettuce instead of bread?"

"Yeah, the turkey."

I was in no mood for this. I pulled the phone away from my face and sighed before returning to the receiver, "We have four different turkey sandwiches."

"It's um, the light one. Sal knows." Her voice was familiar. Had I taken an order from her before?

"I'm sorry. Sal isn't here."

"Maybe you can look at my past orders? Amelia Broadhouse." Ahhh. Sam's date from Thanksgiving.

"Oh hey," I said. She didn't respond. I dug through the notebook where Sal kept the running tabs. There it was. Turkey with Greek dressing on lettuce instead of a roll. "Okay, found it. Six of those. Anything else?"

"No, that's it." She clicked off without another word. I didn't know whether we were adding it to her tab or she was planning to pay when I arrived. I copied her address down from the little book, washed my hands, and made the six wraps.

"Ange," I called as I went to the back, "I've got a delivery." She gave me a thumbs up and went back up front as I got in the van. Fuck. Was I even allowed to drive this anymore? I pulled my phone out and powered it on, thinking I'd ask. But I really didn't want Sal snapping at me, and the other delivery driver, Jon, was out on a huge catering order, anyway. So, I drove across town into Beverly Hills to drop off her food. I knocked on the door of Amelia's condo and waited with the bag held up. She opened the door wearing very little clothing. "Um. Hi," I looked down at the tag attached to the bag. "It was...it was $38.50."

She handed me two twenties. "Keep the change," she waved her hand dismissively. I looked at her in shock. This had to be a joke.

"You're messing with me, right? This is a joke because of Thanksgiving?" I would normally never call out a customer for a shitty tip, but this just had to be a joke. She looked completely confused. As recognition dawned, I went on, angrily now, as I realised she was in fact only giving me a dollar and a half tip, "because your gratuity will get me maybe a down payment on a coffee at Starbucks."  

"I'm sorry. I...of course it was a joke. Hang on." I could hear her digging her hands through coins. My face heated with anger and humiliation. "I think it's so cool that Maddie is with someone like you." She held out both hands cupped full of coins. Someone like me.

I wanted to be able to walk away, not take the humiliating handful of coins. But there were a lot of quarters there, at least five bucks, and that was a lot of money to me. I made a cup out of my hands, and she poured the change out into them. In all my time working in restaurants--since I was 14 fucking years old--no one had ever made me feel as small as she did then.

As I walked away, through the condo hallway, down the elevator, across the parking lot, I fought back angry tears. It had already been the shittiest day. Chewed out by both Sal and Gemma. And now she'd just made it so much worse. When I got to the van, I had to shift the money to one hand, spilling a good chunk of it, just to get my keys and unlock the van. The frustration of the coins hitting the pavement sent me over the edge, and I threw the rest of the handful at the side of the van in anger, tears now slipping from the corners of my eyes.

I huffed with my hands on my hips for a moment, staring at the scattered money on the ground. I closed my eyes, to block out the shining that was mocking me. When I opened them, my gaze was trained on the side of the van. There was a divot right in front of me, probably from one of the coins. I already owed Sal for the damage inside. Now I owed him more. I had no choice but to pick up all that money.

Bing.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket. I had an email from [email protected] and my heart already felt lighter. I clicked the message to open it. There was no actual message from you, just the forwarded plane ticket details from the airline, which you had sent both to me and to my mum. Great, another thing for Gemma to complain about. The way mum was learning you'd agreed to come was by way of another fucking email. I glanced at the message itself. The word first class popped out at me immediately. I frowned as I skimmed further. There was a second ticket, onto Manchester, also higher class. But I'd told you we'd take the train. I was so confused. Then there was another set of tickets in my name. I scrolled to the total price at the bottom of the page and dropped my phone. Like, it literally fell out of my hands onto the pavement among all the coins.

I picked it up with shaking hands, brushed the screen against my shirt, and stuck it back in my pocket, grateful that at the very least, I had not broken my phone. Then I got down on my hands and knees and collected all the coins, shoving them into my pockets. Tears fell freely now as I scraped my nails along the disgusting ground to prise them up, completely, utterly humiliated.

I was a boy who needed to retrieve every last dime from the parking lot tarmac and you were a girl who traveled in $30,000 first class seats.

I simply didn't belong in your life. Here, on my knees, gathering change off the ground, was where I belonged. And the longer I stayed there on my knees, the angrier I got. At the model. At you. At myself.

I finally gave up looking for the rest of the coins and got into the van. I drove to your house in a rage, my knuckles white from holding the steering wheel.

In my mind, I just kept replaying how the model held out the change. Someone like you.

I kept picturing my original plane ticket. A little less than £450. And then yours. Ours. $30,000. First class.

I burst through the front door to find you standing in the kitchen and unleashed all the rage that had been building up. "What the fuck do you think you're playing at?"

~~~~~

I can't wait to continue this chapter!!

What do you make of Harry's PoV of this fight?

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