To Be So Lonely || l.s. ✓

Chapter 1

TRIGGER WARNING:
•self harm
•unhealthy eating habits/possible eating disorder
•talk of suicide
•possible alcohol abuse

Other works:
-I'm Fine
-Loving You's the Antidote
-Tempest
-Exile
-Glory and Gore

twitter & instagram= twinklingpiscess

"Harry? Are you ready? The show's starting in two minutes!" Harry's manager called him.

Louis was doing a show today. Harry didn't know how he knew that, well he did, he had all the boy's post notifications on, but it was all he could think about. How was Louis doing? How did he find performing his shows without the rest of the boys?

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, putting his phone down before standing up and straightening his suit. Since the band had gone on a 'break', or so they called it, he had been able to explore his style more, finding something which appealed both to him and his fans, something he felt comfortable in.

He plastered a smile onto his face, making sure his sleeves were tugged down before running out onto stage, blowing kisses to the screaming fans.

"Hey." He breathed out, a real grin making its way onto his face. The support from the fans had been amazing, at least they'd stuck by him.

As soon as that singular word came out of his mouth, the screaming got louder.

//

"So, how was that? I know you've been a bit...you know, down lately, but are you feeling better now? Maybe it was just no tour blues." Jeff asked, sitting next to Harry.

"For the last time, I'm fine." Harry huffed, "you've literally been saying this for the past 5 years but every time you come up with a different excuse for why I'm 'down'. I'm fine."

"What? So you're just constantly in a bad mood." He scoffed.

"No I'm not." He frowned, "I'm always happy."

"Pfft, you and I both know that's a lie."

"Okay, whatever, it's no tour blues." Harry dismissed it with a sigh, he never wanted to talk to anyone about his feelings. It was just not something he'd ever liked doing. Even when the band broke up, he didn't want to tell anyone about his worries so he just let it happen, not wanting to ruin things for everyone else. It was obvious they were ready for their own careers, so who was Harry to mess that up?

"You're just saying that to get me off your back." Jeff rolled his eyes.

"Maybe." Harry shot him a fake grin, "I'm going home. Need to rest and all that."

"Harry, you have to talk to me one day, it's been literally 5 years."

"No I don't. What do you even expect me to talk about if nothing's wrong? This is just my personality, okay? You should know that by now." Harry shook his head, "bye."

"But it's not your personality, you weren't like this when you were in the band, you-"

"You don't know what I was like in the band." Harry snapped, "just back off."

//

Harry didn't want to admit it but Jeff was right. He had been feeling 'down' for the past 5 years, well, much more than down. He didn't have any motivation to do anything, only leaving the house to do his shows or public events. He spent most days crying, or just sitting there feeling numb. It certainly wasn't the best way to spend his days but there wasn't much else he could do feeling like this.

It wasn't like he was lonely, but he just felt alone. He had his family, and his team and band who were his friends, but he didn't have the people he had looked up to for a large part of his life. They'd just left and forgotten he existed.

He knew they had kept in contact with eachother, he saw it in their tweets and interviews, or when there were pictures of them together on their Instagrams, but to them, he didn't exist. And that hurt, it really hurt. The people he thought of as brothers didn't want to know him anymore.

//

He awoke the next day feeling just like every other day. Shit. As he sat up he looked to his phone, frowning at the 3 missed calls.

He called the number, his eyes widening as he heard the familiar voice, "hello Harry."

"Simon." Harry said curtly. Simon had been a dick in the beginning, but as time progresses things got better. He stopped being quite so controlling but Harry still didn't like him for how he had treated them at times. "Why are you calling?"

"You know how One Direction went on a break?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, long story short, we're getting the band back together."

Harry's heart dropped, his hand going loose and phone falling to his floor. "No." He mumbled quietly.

"Harry, are you there?" Simons voice rang out through the phone but Harry couldn't move. "Harry?"

"I can't."

"It wasn't a question. The band is getting back together, and I need you to sort out your problems with them. It's pathetic."

"I-I don't have a problem with them. They have a problem with me."

"Whatever, sort out your stupid problems. There will be a meeting this Sunday at the normal place."

"I-I can't do this." Harry stuttered, "I can't, can you get it back together without me? Please."

"For fuck's sake Harry, no I can't."

"Why? Why not? I'm not ready for this."

"Have you seen the demand? They want all of you. It's not a fucking pick n mix. I'll see you on Sunday." He hung up the phone, Harry shakily standing up and heading to his bathroom, almost as if he were on autopilot.

"I can't fucking do this." He repeated to himself. He wasn't ready to see any of them. He could only imagine how it would go, they would leave him out and ignore him. He inhaled deeply as he slid down the bathroom wall. His hands were itching for a blade but he couldn't, he had thrown them all away in a sudden fear that someone may find out and now he fucking regretted it.

He settled with digging his fingernails into his wrists until the urge had settled down slightly, turning the shower on and slowly climbing in.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking rugged breaths to stop himself from having a full blown anxiety attack. "You're fine Harry, you're fine."

After a while of just sitting in the scolding water he finally got out, pulling some clothes on and grabbing his wallet before heading to the nearest shop. He pulled up his hood, grabbing two packs of razors along with a pack of cigarettes.

He knew he shouldn't. Of course he knew that, but it wasn't something he could help. He had to cut. And it wasn't like he did it all the time, just when he needed it, which was quite often to be honest. And he knew that smoking wouldn't help calm him down or anything, it actually did the opposite, but he felt like it helped, so it did.

Once home he returned to his bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat and bringing the blade to his wrist. He bit his lip and looked to the ceiling as the relief flooded through him.

He was not ready for this. Not at all.