The X-Factor Experience | L.S

Nineteen: January

Gemma had truly tried to get Harry out of bed, receiving help from both their mum and Niall. But Harry was buried deep into the mindset of believing that he was allowed to be sad sometimes.

Sometimes.

It had been three weeks since Harry got eliminated from the competition and all week he would spend in his room, hosting himself a pity party, in wait for Friday so that he could watch the X Factor from his bed and cry.

Live show after live show he watched with pained eyes glued to the screen of his laptop.

He knew it was sad. Pathetic, even. But what was he ought to do? Harry had put everything into that competition and while the fear of being kicked was always there in the back of his mind, he had never really prepared himself for what to do when that actually happened.

He hated that something so incredibly stupid as a hangover managed to be the reason he got sent home.

Harry curled up in his blanket, laptop on his lap as he watched the show. He watched Ted perform his song, talented as always, earning a enthusiastic applause from both audience and judge panel. Harry sighed, all he wanted was to be up there on the stage too and experience it first hand.

Lucas got eliminated last week. Harry found himself wondering how he was doing. If he had moved on like any other normal person or if he had fallen into a pit of despair like Harry.

Speak of the devil, his phone buzzed and lit up, blue light illuminating the dim room. Harry knew it was another message from Lucas. He had been calling and texting him nonstop ever since Harry got home from New York. Apologies and begging for forgiveness. Harry almost felt bad. He wondered if Lucas was ever going to stop.

Harry knew his elimination wasn't anywhere near Lucas' fault. The only wrongdoing he'd done was getting him drunk and letting him have a hangover on the day he had to perform. It wasn't his fault Harry slipped into a full blown meltdown in the middle of his act and got kicked – and for obvious reasons. Harry felt horrible for ignoring him. He swears he did.

...But it was nice to have a scapegoat, so he liked to convince himself that it was partially, okay, mostly Lucas' fault.

He groaned, pushing a hand through his greasy hair. God, he was starting to hate himself.

Then there were two slow knocks on his bedroom door. Harry had come to develop a sixth sense of recognising different people's knocks. This one was his mother's.

"Harry?" She knocked again, carefully opening the door this time. "Don't you wanna open a window? It's a bit malodorous in here."

Harry replied with a shrug to his shoulders.

"What about those drapes? You don't want any light in here?"

"No."

"Okay," she said simply. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and his mum closed the door, shuffling downstairs again. He sighed, letting his eyes dance over to the red velvet suit delicately hanging off the rack outside of his dresser. It had a sad beauty to it now, Harry thought. He guessed he would return it to Louis some other time. He just had to build up courage to do so.

Meeting those electric blue eyes again was bound to be difficult after everything that'd happened. How could everything go so wrong? He tried to fight back, but his thoughts and his yearn for the past overpowered him anyway, like they always seemed to do. So his mind started wandering, rewinding the tape.

He remembered the day after the show. He had woken up and it was freakishly silent — awkward. There was this tension between Harry and everyone. He knew they all knew something he didn't. He remembered wanting to ask Lucas about it but refraining. He remembered being pulled aside by Louis after the brunch. He vividly remembered those blue eyes, now with a glint of sadness and pity swimming in them. He remembered his stomach dropping in suspense, waiting for Louis to spill the words that were brimming his lips.

"Harry," Louis had said his name soft enough to melt his heart. Louis had his eyes fixed on Harry's. Harry remembered being terrified of the sudden solemnity in them. "You can probably guess what I'm about to say."

Harry had had an intuition but he buried the thought deep into the back of his mind, locking it in a tiny little box. But the more Louis stared at him, the more it seemed that the thought was starting to bubble up and the box was going to explode into pieces soon.

"I didn't want to break the news to you yesterday since you were, you know. I'm just gonna tell you. I have to send you home," Louis had said and Harry remembered the guilt written all over his face when Harry's eyes grew three sizes.

He remembered his knees going weak and the deep gut eating feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had tucked a loose curl behind his ear with shaky fingers. "What?" He whispered.

The guilt in Louis' face only grew. "It's hard for me to do this. It was a very difficult decision to make, but I believe it's the right one this time."

"Um. Okay," Harry had been trying to suppress the tears. It was ridiculous. He didn't know why he'd thought he was through to live shows after the tantrum he had thrown the night before. He hated the feeling of betrayal and hurt he experienced despite knowing fully well it was his own fault for being stupid. Getting besotted in abounding amounts of drinks the night before his performance. What was he thinking?

"You don't have to leave today. My chauffeur will pick you up tomorrow morning and take you to the airport."

Harry had nodded, a tear falling off the brim of his eyelid and sliding down his cheek. Louis had looked away awkwardly and Harry remembered going to the bathroom to cry before packing his bags.

He sighed at the haunting memory. It still hurt him to think about it.

Harry looked around at his room. Clothes were floating all around the hardwood floor. He wanted to clean up. No. That was a lie. He wanted to want to clean up. Normally he wouldn't ever let his room get this messy, but right now he found that he was too sad to even care. It bothered him, of course. Just not enough to do something about it.

He decided to take a nap. At least when he was sleeping he wasn't sad. He let the sleep tug in him, let it play its movies for him. And even if they were bad movies,  lately he had been feeling a serenity upon dreaming away reality.