Grief is everlasting. Some say it gets easier with time. Some say that the pain lessens. I don't believe them. My grief and pain is still there every day, like a storm cloud following me. It doesn't get better. It doesn't get easier. It's all a lie...
"So apparently this Harry Styles has an interest in you," Ken, said to me, skimming his eyes over his laptop. "It's good publicity."
"Did he say something else?" I said, grabbing onto the back of his chair in his office, leaning closer to the screen to see what he was looking at. Twitter was open, dozens of statuses on the screen before one stuck out. "He shared our song..."
"Just that one share has led to 2 million more views on the video. You should befriend him."
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, my stomach already in knots at the thought of talking to him again.
What is wrong with me?
Ken turned in his chair, looking up at me with his fingers tapping on the arm rests. "Befriend him. Get some more publicity. You're doing great on your own, but why not get more just from association?" He shrugged his shoulders before turning back to scroll on the laptop in front of him.
"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked, watching his fingers type on his keyboard, clacking at an even pace.
"Don't worry about it, I already replied as you," he said as he continued to type. I felt my eyes widening, the knots in my stomach getting even tighter. It's an awkward thing, having someone reply as you and pretend to be you. I took my phone out of my back pocket, opening the twitter app and immediately going to my profile to see what had been posted.
"So glad you love the song!" I had said in reply. I leaned against the desk, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. "So what now?"
Ken didn't answer right away, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. "We wait," he said. "He'll reply eventually. I guarantee his team feels the same way about him supporting a new artist."
"Okay," I said, some sense of disappointment hitting me. Part of me had wished that this had been Harry's idea, and that he was actually interested in my music. Now, it felt like it was just his team encouraging him to do this. Either way, why did it hurt so much to have this realization?
I lay in bed that night, looking at the ceiling and watching the lights of LA make a kaleidoscope across it. I had been thinking of Kurtis and why he had made his choice. I had come up with so many different theories, trying to figure out what was actually true. But, did I want to know the truth? Or, did I want something that I could accept; something that I could find closure in?
My phone started to vibrate in my hand, startling me out of my thoughts. I brought it up, noticing an unknown number on the screen. I ignored it, looking back up at the ceiling before feeling it quickly vibrate in my hands again. I sighed, swiping right and putting it to my ear.
"Hello?" I asked, closing my eyes and running my other hand through my hair.
"You know, I thought I would at least get a reply from you, not your manager" the velvety voice said on the other line.
I sat up straight, my heart already thumping much stronger than it should have. "Who is this?" I asked, not thinking before it came out. I knew that voice, the depth of it settling into the pit of my stomach. I grabbed onto the comforter, steadying myself.
"Lana, it's Harry," the voice said, a small laugh coming through.
"How - how did you get my number?" I asked, my hands shaking. I wondered if Ken had slipped it to his team, wanting us to be more involved for publicity. I brought my knees to my chest, biting my lower lip, anticipating his answer.
"I have my ways," he replied, his deep voice sinking into my bones, oddly comforting me.
"For your information," I said, begging my voice not to quiver, "I would have replied myself but my manager answered before I could."
"I knew it!" he exclaimed, and I let out a small laugh, finding myself smiling genuinely.
"Why are you calling me Harry Styles?"
"I don't really know," he said, followed by a long pause. "I'm intrigued I guess."
"Intrigued by what?" I asked, confused. I wondered what he knew about me or what he had heard. The media had had a field day when they found out about Kurtis. Tabloids and magazines plastered the story in them, fans and other consumers making comments about what happened.
"You."
"Me?"
"Your songs. They're full of emotion. And you write them all yourself. It intrigues me that you have such an innate ability to do that."
"Thank you?" I asked, not sure how to respond.
"Maybe we could write together sometime," Harry said, his voice getting softer towards the end, apprehensive.
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"Um, yeah okay," I said, my smile getting bigger before I could notice. I ran my finger over my lips, reminding myself that good things only come followed by bad things.
You're not special. Not anymore.
"I'm back from tour in 2 weeks. We'll meet at the studio when I get back?"
"Sure," I replied, my face on fire. I put my cold hand to my cheek, feeling the burning on my fingers.
"Don't flake on me Lana!" He replied, laughing again.
"I wouldn't dream of it Styles."
"I'm holding you to that. I don't forget these things." I could hear the sarcasm in his voice, imagining him smiling while waiting for me to respond.
"Enjoy the rest of your tour and I'll see you when you get back to write," I said, biting my lower lip, trying not to smile even further.
"I'll see you soon. Goodnight Lana."
"Goodnight."
I heard the phone click, and I fell back onto my pillow, butterflies in my stomach from nerves at the thought of writing with Harry Styles. I was excited, a famous musician wanting to write with me and listen to my thoughts and ideas. But, I was guilty, knowing that this is what had caused Kurtis to make his decision in the first place. I opened the messenger app again, seeing my last green message on the screen.
