Echo Of Us • Zarry

B 1

Harry would be lying if he said he didn't spend the drive to his apartment crying. Because he did. After he had left Zayn in the hallway, his legs did their best to carry him to his car as fast as possible. Luck was definitely on his side because Harry managed to avoid photographers, people asking for photos and also hundreds of his acquaintances. No paparazzi were waiting outside where his car was and Harry has never felt more relieved to unlock the door and get in the driver's seat. Then he let the tears fall feely. He held them long enough, ever since they started prickling his eyes when Zayn had said they 'used to fuck'.

            It didn't even feel real. He felt like he was floating over his body and looking down on himself, breaking again. Maybe this was a defence mechanism, trying to deflect the cruel reality of it all. Trying to keep the memories of him and Zayn intact, hidden under a veil of blissful ignorance and naïve hope. Harry didn't want to have the one thing that he used as an argument for getting through his heartbreak completely demolished. For years he's been telling himself that people break up, people leave and never see each other again – it happens every day all over the world. Perhaps he and Zayn just weren't The One for each other but they had great time and just for a small chunk of their lifetimes, they loved each other. And now, what was he supposed to do? Just accept the fact that he was nothing more than a side piece for Zayn? Or someone he fucked to answer his bi-curious queries? 'Yeah, I like fucking blokes and don't mind having a cock in me as well. Thanks Harry, gonna head back home to the missus now.'. Is that all it was?

            Harry let agonizing sobs tear through him to the point where he could barely breathe. Why was everything so fucking unfair? Why did he have to be still in love with a person that never loved him? Why, why, why? He slammed the steering wheel with his palm so hard he could feel it throbbing for a minute afterwards. He needed to get his shit together but he couldn't think of any other way to achieve it than to ignore Zayn for the rest of his life. As much as he knew it was the best option for him, Harry didn't want it. He didn't. Despite his heart breaking once again and all the pain he's been through, he couldn't bring himself to choosing to eliminate Zayn from his life again. Was it self-destructive? Yes. Is Harry going to regret it? Absolutely. But even another heartbreak has a better appeal than never seeing Zayn again.

            Maybe there's a tiny flame of hope somewhere and maybe Harry wants to find it. Nothing is ever lost until it is destroyed. They didn't go down in flames and ruin, leaving a wasteland of hatred and loathing. There was anger, there was resentment but never hate. Their end wasn't a war but a reluctant peace talk of two sides that didn't want peace nor did they want war. It was foolishness, trying to maintain his offer of being Zayn's friend but Harry was a fool for him and always will be.

            With tears clouding his vision and streaming down his cheeks, Harry sobbed his way down to SoHo. New York City traffic is always slower than any other, what would be a five-minute drive gets easily prolonged to forty-five-minute one just like that. In that moment, Harry was thankful. He had no desire to get home, to a place that felt devoid and cold and all that was waiting for him was just an empty bed. His car didn't feel so barren. It felt more welcoming for crying over his broken heart. His bed would mock him, remind him of the person that wasn't occupying the other side. The car didn't do it. There were no memories of being held in someone's arms, of promises whispered into his skin. It's the perfect place for wallowing in self-pity.

            Other drivers honked at him only about five times and he didn't cause a terrible accident nor scraped or bumped his car. He got home in one piece, some ounces of tears lighter but with his heart just as heavy, if not heavier than it was.

+

            After the Billboard article comes out, Harry's phone blows up like fireworks on New Year's Eve. His Twitter feed is one big mess – fans being excited and screaming; fans being angry and fighting. Jeff sends him about five almost identical texts, all of them trying to say: 'Harry you're a stupid piece of shit. But maybe we can use it for promo?'. Niall sends him a voice message that's mainly him laughing and a: 'how long did ya feckers wanted t' wait for a bloody miracle? I really hope ya pricks got ya big heads out of ya arses'. His mum is a different story though.

            She calls him, waking Harry up from his afternoon self-pity slumber. She's using her Harry-I'm-so-disappointed-in-you voice along with a posh accent and when Anne uses that, Harry knows he fucked up.

            "Harry, I can't believe you two! How long has it been since you two boys talked properly?"

             Harry sighs, knowing that Anne probably has the time counted down to days and hours, she just wants Harry to say it out loud so he can realize his stupid mistakes.

            "Almost three years. It doesn't matter, mum," he mumbles. Anne scoffs on the other end of the line and Harry immediately regrets what he just said.

            "Sweetheart, I love you, but it does matter! After the catastrophe that happened when Zayn left you, how can you two pose for cameras like it was nothing? I know the world doesn't know everything, but you do! Is something going on that I don't know about?"

            Harry stays mute. His mum is right, like she always is. Zayn and him should've talked before agreeing to be friends. Too many things are left unsaid, unexplained and Harry can feel himself making a mistake.

            "Harry?! Have you started sleeping with him again?!"

            "What the hell mum, no, of course I haven't," Harry's face immediately starts burning up. How embarrassing it is when even your mum knows what kind of a stupid fuck you are. If this happened a year ago, Harry would've dragged Zayn to a bathroom stall and attempt to suck his dick, that is true. So, Anne's worries are indeed in order.

            "Well, at least that's some good news. But are you okay, honey?" Anne's concerned voice makes Harry miss home. He just wants to run back to his mum's house and fucking cry into her skirt like a little boy.

            Harry's not okay. He's so far from it that okay, alright and its synonyms are nowhere near fit to describe Harry's emotional state. His heart got broken again, trying to get over Zayn is harder than it initially seemed and he's really fucking lonely. On top of all that, he needs to figure out how he's actually going to get over Zayn since he ruled out the Ignoring His Existence method. So, no, he's not okay. But his mum doesn't need to know that.

            "Yeah, no I'm fine, mum. Last night was amazing. I missed you and Gem, though. It's a pity you weren't able to come." Half-lie, half-truth. The ideal ration for successfully lying to your mother.

            "We're so sorry, sweetheart. We'll come next time. Have you planned your birthday party yet?" Fuck. His birthday. Harry completely forgot that in three days, he's turning twenty-four. He's fucking old.

            "Uh, not really? I'm not planning it anyway, it's supposed a be a secret. Nick's flying in and he's in charge of it. I just hope he doesn't order strippers again." Anne laughs on the other side and it brings a small smile to Harry's lips. God, he really misses being home.

            "Don't worry, sweetheart. Take care of yourself, okay? I'm gonna have go now, I've got muffins in the over and I don't want them to burn. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye, love!"

            "Bye, mum." Harry disconnects the call and throws his phone in the vague direction of the foot of his bed. He doesn't feel like dealing with the world today so he shuts his eyes and wills himself to fall back to sleep. With the headache and sore eyes from crying, sleep takes over as quick as light.