Somewhere Only We Know

Harry's Prologue

so, hi there. 

i'm siena and i'm rewriting this awful author's note i wrote when i was thirteen or so, so i should be able to have a new one up in a sec. 

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It doesn't take a genius to figure out I've fucked up. Hell, I'm just a fuckup in general.

I would apologize for the cussing, I'm probably making a bad impression. But as this torrential year has gone by, I've tried to teach myself never to apologize for who I am, even if everyone hates who I am.

The teaching hasn't been working.

I thought that after I spoke the truth, I'd be accepted. People would be proud of my courage, and I could continue to ride my unhappy wave of fame.

I was wrong.

Everybody walked on my words like a dirt path, used my words to tread on for hate. 

As my career, relationships, my life began to burn in flames, all I could do was watch. And the worst part?

I did it alone.

From that point on, I grew some armor. I locked up everything. I put my feelings in a steel jar only opened up for me, nobody else. And I got used to being alone.

I bet you're confused as hell right now. But you'll figure everything out later.

And hopefully, I'll figure it all out too.

But for now, I'm in a musty church basement in Doncaster in a plastic folding chair. With a mashup of people more or less fucked up than me.

But, despite the fucked-upness of each stranger, we're all here for the first meeting of Alchohol Abusers Anonymous.

Except I'm not really anonymous.

I'm Harry Styles, that popular alternative singer you hear about on the news or hear on the radio. I'm tall, curly brown haired, green eyed. My hands are a little big, I'm from Cheshire, I have four nipples, I cook for myself, I can juggle a bit and speak French and make tea.

But the things everyone pays attention to is not my personality or quirks. It's my long list of fuckups.

There's so many mistakes and things wrong with me and they're all a part of me. A part of me I can't get rid of.

You could say I fucked up by coming out.

Or when I opened my first bottle.

Or when I kissed my first guy.

Or lit the cigarette, or spoke the words on TV, or figured out I was alone, or -

We don't need to continue with that. You get the point.

Besides, I have better mistakes to make later.