Echo Of Us • Zarry

OK! 2

That was eight days ago. Each more miserable than the last. Harry's in a perpetual state of a wine hangover but even with the wine fridge in his flat, he's running out slowly but surely. His eyes have been constantly puffy from crying since the moment he left Zayn's hotel room.

He just wants to turn back time. It's an impossible feat but Harry would do everything differently. With a line and a nudge, he got carried away to a time long gone. Harry's not that person anymore. He doesn't try to escape through long nights in bars that are members-only but also shitty dive bars stuck in dodgy alleys, places where no one would ever look for a world-famous pop start, or whatever they call him.

The last thing Harry wants is to escape. He wants to go back. He wants Zayn back. For years all Harry wanted was to have the man he loved in his life again and now that they were about to get married, something Harry didn't even dare dreaming of when they were young and sneaking around in shadows, he can't let it all go down the drain. Yes, he made a mistake. But he wants to fix it. He just doesn't know how.

The doorbell rings then. Harry's body jerks at the sound, his heart accelerating to the point where he's worried he's having a heart attack. His hope goes up immediately, even if he might be setting himself up for disappointment. Zayn is the only other person who has the keys to his New York flat. Lenny, the doorman, would never let someone in like that, without calling.

Harry looks down at the checkered pyjama pants he's wearing, a stain of red wine on one knee. The rest of his garments is just as depressing, the Michael Jackson shirt he took from Zayn's half in the closer not looking very desirable. But Harry swallows his pride and gets off the couch, walking quickly to the door before he has the urge to lock himself in the walk-in closet and hide behind his suits until he turns into a mummy.

"Don't be a nutsack," Harry whispers to himself, hand on the door knob, before twisting it and swinging the door open. He blinks a few times because it's not Zayn standing in the hallway, professing his eternal love.

It's his mum.

"Mum?" Harry asks after he finally gets his slack jaw to work again. "How did you get here?"

"Well, I took a plane, then a taxi, then I rode the elevator to your floor," Anne says, a small smile on her lips. "Lenny let me in. I was worried."

Harry blushes a little. "I'm sorry I dropped off the Earth's surface for a while. Come in, please." He steps aside to let Anne in and locks the door behind them.

"You should've called me, love," Anne sighs softly as she puts her holdall on the floor by the couch, surveying the messy living room. "Have you even left the flat?"

"Yes," Harry clears his throat. "I went shopping a few times. Can't starve, right?"

"I guess you got some other things too," Anne picks up one of the gossip rags from the floor and hangs it up like it's a pair of dirty underpants. She puts it on the coffee table, next to the depressingly empty wine glass and two bottles. Harry can see the miniscule shake of her head even if she's turned her back on him. "What happened, Harry?" she asks and turns to him with a somber look, pity in her eyes. It's so reminiscent of the times Harry got in trouble but instead of yelling at him, he just got a bone-breakingly honest and reasonable lecture about why he had done something wrong and why he shouldn't do it again.

"Shit hit the fan," Harry shrugs, trying to smile but tears break out of his eyes instead. He lets his face drop and a sob escapes his mouth. Anne's pitying look only intensifies.

"Come here, darling," Anne says and sits on the couch, gesturing to him to come and get a hug like he did when he was a little boy. If Harry cared enough, he'd feel silly about crying into his mum's shoulder but the love of his live might've ditched him so it's more than in order. He'd rather not have his therapist know all this. He wonders what she would say to him if he turned up after half a year, having almost completely dismantled the emotional development they achieved together.

"I mucked everything up, Mum," Harry cries, his arms around his mum's shoulders, his face in his shoulder. He can smell her perfume, a bit stale from the plane ride but it still can transport him back to the first flat they ever lived in after his dad had left.

"Remember that one time in Manchester?" Anne asks as she rubs Harry's back. "When we had that squabble over your relationship?"

Harry lets out a tired breath of air through his nose when he remembers. Of course. "I do. But it's not like that."

"Then what is it, love?" Anne asks, no malice in her voice. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Harry shakes his head a little. "I don't have a clue, mum. I just- I wanted a little respite from everything. It was what I used to do years and years ago and that should've been the first clue that all of it was wrong."

"Why didn't you stop?"

Harry's silent for a while. "I don't know. It was fun. I was stressed about everything. First the film, then the album and the wedding-"

"Do you think you were ready for it?"

Harry pulls away, sighing. "Mum, please, not thing again. I love Zayn more than anything in the world, of course I'm ready. The planning was just a bit annoying and new problems constantly arose because of it being in the US. It was a lot. But don't doubt that. I'd marry him tomorrow if I could."

"Okay," Anne says and pushes Harry's messy hair out of his face. "But what if Zayn didn't know that?"

Harry looks at her, his brows drawn together. "What do you mean? I was talking about having a baby, even. Not only about the wedding."

"Yes," Anne agrees, nodding her head. "But your actions didn't match your words."

Harry watches his mum for a while, his eyes squinted. Then it clicks. "Did Zayn call you?"

"No," Anne looks away for a second. "I called him because I was worried about you and you replied mostly using just one word answers. I might've been worried about him too."

"Mum!" Harry gasps. "Why didn't you tell me at least?"

"Because you're being thick," Anne replies calmly. "And I'm not here to tell you to go run after him now. He said he wants you two to spend some time apart."

Harry nods a few times, looking down at his lap as tears start to cloud his visions again. "So we're over, right? It's done for. He's left me."

"He didn't say that..."

"Of course he didn't," Harry throws his hands, letting them smack against his thighs. "You're my mum. He's too nice to tell you that I'm a piece of crap who went behind his back and did terrible things. It's over."

The silence that falls over the room then is suffocating, like standing in the steam of a too hot shower, barely being able to breathe. It's still better than when Anne breaks it and asks, "Harry, did you do it?"

Harry doesn't dare to raise his head and look his mum into the eyes. They both know very well what she means.

"I don't know," Harry replies, his voice barely audible. "If I did kiss that guy then I don't remember it. I just know that we were playing some sort of a drinking game. That lad was an old mate of Xander's, I think his name is Brent or something. He was trying to hit on me all evening even if he knew very well that I was engaged, even though I told him like three times. I don't really know what happened."

"Give it time, darling," Anne says, grabbing Harry's hand. "It will all be alright."
Harry looks up at her then, eyes full of tears. "I love him, mum. I really do."

"I know, baby," she says and wraps Harry in a hug again. "I know you do."