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delos-mio · 4 years

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First Thing To Go - DAY 1

DAY 1

Around dinner time and with a complimentary drink in hand, you took the elevator to the top floor. The Oceanfront Suite at the Four Seasons Maui awaited you and Kendra- two full weeks of what was supposed to be romance and relaxation. Now it seemed you wouldn’t be experiencing either. You made it to the grand white double doors of the suite and let yourselves in.

The suite was enormous with a living and dining room, doors off to the side that led to a master bedroom with a canopied California king bed. The en suite had a jacuzzi with crisp, white his and her robes hanging beside it. Your mouth downturned and you quickly spun on your heel, eager to look at anything else.

“Holy shit,” Kendra said with a whistle. “You guys were really gonna ball out.”

“Were,” you muttered and tossed your bag aside.

“Sorry.” Her eyes were down before she turned to investigate the suite further. You shouldn’t have been so defensive, especially toward the one person who dropped everything to be there for you. But you couldn’t help the turning of the knife in your chest every time you were reminded of why you were originally supposed to be here.

The room was ridiculous. There was a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon waiting for you with a card from the hotel. You flipped it open and read the obnoxious calligraphy inside:

Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Langford! From, your friends at the Four Seasons

Great. You really should have seen it coming by now. The hotel was under the impression this was your honeymoon, after all.

“This balcony is sick!” You looked up and saw Kendra leaning on the glass wall, face turned up to the sun. You tossed the stupid card in the trash can on your way to join her. She was right- the view was absolutely breathtaking. There was pristine sand and cerulean ocean as far as the eye could see, the smell of salt and tropical flowers heavy in the air. You took a deep breath and stood next to Kendra.

“I’m sorry for being shitty to you,” you said softly.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I get it.” She nudged you with her shoulder. “But I hope you do realize I’m not going to let you mope while we’re somewhere this fucking beautiful.”

You laughed and nodded in silent acquiescence.

“Can I make a suggestion for our first order of business?” you asked with a playful turn of your lips. Kendra looked over with a raised eyebrow, urging you to go on. “I brought my medical card. Find a dispensary and order room service?”

“Ugh, so brilliant. Such a smart and thoughtful woman,” Kendra said, flashing you a devilish grin.

—-

It hadn’t taken much work to find a provisioning center near the hotel. You and Kendra made quick work of the trip and returned to the suite, ordering enough food to clean out the kitchen. The sun was long since down and you were laid out in the sun loungers on the balcony, pleasantly high with a belly full of food, just looking up at the sky with Kendra.

“It’s nice to see them for once,” you said.

“Hmm?”

“The stars. Don’t really get to see much of them back home. Only if you go out over the lake.”

“Yeah, it’s really relaxing,” she agreed before letting out a long yawn. “I’m sleepy. I’m gonna go lay down- you staying out here?”

“Just for a little bit longer.” Kendra looked at you as she stood up, biting her lip with uncertainty. “I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She laughed as she leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Just making sure. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night.” And with that, Kendra shut the balcony doors behind her, leaving you alone with the ocean breeze and half a blunt.

The world was quiet out here- nothing like the constant roar of the city. Lake View was a wonderful neighborhood and one you loved dearly. But there was something about only being able to listen to the breeze rustling palm leaves that put you at ease. You didn’t really consider yourself a beach kind of gal, but perhaps you could see yourself becoming one. After the last 72 or so hours, a little quiet felt pretty good. Serene, even. Maybe Kendra really was onto something when she begged you to come out here.

You lit the end and took another deep hit before closing your eyes and exhaling.

“Ah, one of my favorite smells.” Your eyes snapped open and you gasped, totally unaware that anyone else was anywhere near you. You clumsily tried to snuff out the blunt, knocking over the ashtray onto the marble floor with a loud crack. “Oh shit,” you coughed and looked around trying to find the voice that had just spoken.

“No need to stop on my accord.” The voice was deep and smooth, sultry even. There was a good chance you just made a total fool out of yourself while fumbling around in your inebriated state. You were still anxiously looking about when he added “On your left, darling.”

You spun and finally saw a feline smile on the face of a tall, undeniably gorgeous man standing on the balcony next to yours. He was tall and lean, all dark hair, beard, and eyes. Truthfully, he was textbook ‘your type’. But the minute that thought ran through your brain, you were already mentally berating yourself for even finding another person attractive just a day into what was supposed to be your honeymoon. He took a swig from a rocks glass and cocked an eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about the smell traveling,” you said sheepishly.

“Like I said, one of my favorite smells.” Like a good neighbor, you walked to the railing closest to him and offered out the blunt to him. “Sorry,” he said, raising a hand. Fuck, even his fingers were beautiful. “I’m down to only liquid vices these days, I’m afraid,” shaking around the ice in his glass for emphasis.

“Ok…” You weren’t entirely sure what that meant, but didn’t think it was appropriate to press a stranger for details.

“I’m Logan, nice to meet you,” he said and stuck out his hand far enough that you could just barely brush the tips of your fingers against his as you introduced yourself. It was a completely awkward gesture, which seemed to greatly amuse Logan.

“Likewise.” You put your feet back on solid ground and looked at Logan again.

“So, are you here in a suite by yourself or is there a mister or missus with you?”

“Real smooth,” you laughed.

“It’s just a question,” he said, tone laced with faux innocence.

You stopped short and considered dumping everything that happened on him right then. “I’m here with my best friend, actually,” you said tersely.

Logan narrowed his gaze as he looked you over. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I literally don’t know you, so yeah,” you laughed, trying hard to keep it casual.

“Maybe that’s true,” he shrugged, “But it’s written all over your face. It’s ok if you don’t want to tell me.” He took another drink. “I’ll tell you why I’m here.”

“Ok, lay it on me,” you said, almost baiting Logan, and leaned on the railing with your chin resting in your palm.

“I checked out of a rehab in Malibu last night. My shrink told me it’d be better for me if I slowly worked my way back into the real world and suggested I take a little to myself before getting back to work and my family. Life in general, I guess,” he shrugged.

You didn’t know the man, that was certain, but you didn’t expect him to say that. Or to be so honest. You were really starting to feel bad for getting high right next door to him. “Wow, I...I’m so sorry for smoking next to you.”

Logan just laughed and waved you off. “You have nothing to apologize for, darling. Besides, you literally didn’t know me, right?”

You rolled your eyes at him quoting your own words back at you. “Very funny.” You looked down for a minute before taking a long breath and exhaling. “And how’s the ‘time for yourself’ thing going? Is it scary,” you asked.

“So far, so good,” Logan said, clearly considering how it was actually going. “I’ve been clean for 94 days now, so my cravings aren’t as strong. I mean, I still want to use, don’t get me wrong. But it’s nowhere near as intense. And what’s not to like about being in paradise?” He was grinning, despite the weight of what he just told you. It was admirable, you thought.

“This was supposed to be my honeymoon,” you said abruptly. Why you decided to tell this stranger, you didn’t really know. But it felt like it would be ok to share it with Logan. Besides, you’d probably never see the dude again- who cares if he knew?

“Pardon me?”

“This,” you gestured broadly at your balcony and room, “I’m supposed to be enjoying my honeymoon right now. But as I already told you, I’m here with my best friend. Like, my actual best friend. Not the ‘oh I’m so glad I’m marrying my best friend’ best friend. And not a husband. Don’t have one of those.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said with a small frown.

“He packed up all his things, told me there was someone else, and left me two days before our wedding.” You let out a sad chuckle, using all your might to fight back the tears you knew wanted to form in your eyes. “So, yeah. Guess we’re both kind of bummers, huh?”

“For what it’s worth,” Logan started, leaning in closer over his ledge, “I think the guy’s a fucking douche bag for leaving you. I know we don’t know each other very well, but you seem delightful. Not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“You’re seriously going to hit on me when I just told you I was supposed to get married yesterday?” you scoffed.

“What am I supposed to say?” he asked, raising a perfect eyebrow and checking you out from head to toe. “If I see a beautiful woman, I think it’s my duty to share that with her.”

“You’re shameless,” you smiled and shook your head. It should have disgusted you. It should have turned you off and made you think Logan was a pig. But you couldn’t help but be just the smallest bit charmed. He was a flirt, and there was a little piece of you that was genuinely flattered.

“I’ve been called worse,” he laughed.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you said before looking back out over the ocean, hoping to hide the heat that was rising in your cheeks.

“My pleasure,” Logan said with a smile. “So, the asshole left you high and dry and you went on your honeymoon with your best friend anyways?”

“To be fair, it was her idea.” You tugged at the ends of your hair, suddenly nervous that Logan would judge you.

“I like her style.” He finished off his drink. “I can’t imagine there’s anyone else who deserves to be stoned in Hawaii more than you,” Logan grinned.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you groaned. “So fucking embarrassing.”

“Nah. It’s cute. You’re cute.” His voice was low and gravely, but playful. You felt a stirring in your stomach and knew you had to cut the conversation short while you were still ahead.

“It’s late, I should probably go to bed before Kendra thinks I’ve done something stupid.” You meant for it to be a joke, but you realized you really didn’t want to worry her more than you knew she already did.

“Wouldn’t want that,” he nodded.

“It was nice talking to you. Thanks for letting me dump all my baggage on you,” you said, a tiny smile forming on your lips.

“Any time, darling.”

“Maybe I’ll see you around?” As you said it, you realized you really hoped you would.

“I sure hope so,” he said with a smirk.

“Goodnight, Logan.” You bit gently on your bottom lip and finally pushed away from the railing.

“Sweet dreams.”

You let yourself back inside and quickly got ready for bed. Talking to someone removed from the whole ordeal felt nice- someone who didn’t ask a million questions so you could just process what happened in its simplest terms. And Logan had proven to be thoughtful and a good listener. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Logan was ungodly hot. No, you scolded yourself. No thinking about Logan or anyone else like that for a long, long time. Once you’d crawled under the covers, you couldn’t stop the weight of sleep tugging at your eyelids, bringing with it dreams of a dark eyed prince.

TAGGED: @fific7 @abroadcastofthemind @suchatinyinfinity

#logan #logan delos #logan x reader #logan delos x reader #ben barnes #westworld #logan westworld #logan fanfic #logan delos fanfic #westworld fanfic #ben barnes character fic #fttg #masterlist

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plvstcs · 3 years

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kristina beaumont is expected to meet up with her parents and many of their investors after an intel leak that left people with a bad taste in their mouths. the young woman was caught leaving a luxury rehabilitation center buried in last year around the time that her parents swore she was coming back from a spiritual journey where she traveled the world. now fans and investors alike are privy to their lie, and they’re wondering how far they’d go to cover up their only child’s mistakes. kristina showed up to the conference hall boldly, smiling and greeting everyone she saw as she walked up to the podium, even those that flashed unpleasant faces at her. she let her parents speak first, her father telling the audience that they were just trying to be good parents and they felt it wouldn’t have helped her for the public to be labeling her an addict or junkie when she was at a low point. when they gave their daughter the floor to speak, she took a deep breath and stepped up to the microphone.

“good morning, everyone! my name is kristina beaumont, and i made a mistake; well, a few, but mistakes nonetheless. two years ago, i was surrounding myself with people who didn’t have my best interest at heart. they would hang with me because of what i had or who my parents are, but growing up an only child, my friends were everything to me. i trusted them to take care of me the way i would them, but many times, i ended up wondering how i would get into certain situations. to be honest, i didn’t know i had a problem. when i was offered something, i would take it because i was amongst friends, i was just trying things. and then suddenly, i’d randomly think ‘oh this would be good right now’ while i was out running an errand or something, and i’d get some. and you know, it wasn’t hard to get. i thought i had it under control. i would only indulge maybe once a day, but as time progressed, it felt like i needed a hit. i did tell my friends about my concerns and how i didn’t feel right, but they insisted that i was just enjoying myself. they would bring up how for a lot of my childhood i felt like i couldn’t do what i wanted because of my parents’ reputation, and how they wouldn’t tell a soul. and they didn’t. so i slipped deeper and deeper into this.... skin that i didn’t recognize. i hated myself and who i’d become, but i felt like i couldn’t tell my parents. they were already worried about me, and i’d brushed them off and lashed out so many times to deflect. saying they needed to respect my privacy and that i felt suffocated. so of course they backed off. they trusted me to come to them if something was wrong, and i didn’t.”

she turned back to face KRYSTAL & GABE with tears in her eyes. “and i’m sorry for that.” she sniffed up her tears before facing the crowd once more.

“i just didn’t want to drag anybody down with me. i tried to manage it myself. i flushed everything, got rid of all the contacts, i even stopped going out with my friends. i completely isolated myself and said i was going to fix it alone. which, obviously, only made everyone around me worry more. i thought if i cut it off cold turkey that i would be fine. because i wasn’t an addict. i wouldn’t leave my bed for days at a time, and nobody knew why. and after a week, i remember waking up to two of my friends beside my bed, telling me i’d feel better if i drank the tea they’d made. so, after telling them no the first five times, i drank it.” she stared blankly out into the audience, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she recalled the event. “they told me they had my back, and they wanted me back to my old self. so i drank the tea so they would think everything was okay. but what i didn’t know was that they crushed up oxycodone and sprinkled it in the tea. when i finished that cup, i felt phenomenal. better than i’d felt in months ! for about five minutes. and then my body started shaking. i couldn’t see straight, but it felt like all of my blood was rushing to my head, and i fell back against the bed. my friends were freaked out, staring at each other in disbelief and arguing over who put how much into the drink quietly. i reached a hand out to them, trying to tell them to get my parents but i couldn’t muster up the strength to part my lips. next thing i knew, i was knocked out. i woke up in the family’s private clinic, and the tox screen picked up the oxy and of course my parents were worried... and also furious? they knew my friends drugged the tea, but they were threatening to sue and i couldn’t let them take all the blame for why i’d been so down and out. i had to let them know i was using. and after a lot of talking and tears, i was sent to passages in malibu, and for a year, i worked on my sobriety. my parents made sure that i had the best doctors, therapists, and the whole nine. and during that process, i had to come to terms with the fact that i was an addict. i was so scared of what everyone would think, what they would say about me. i didn’t want to leave during my last couple months because i just knew the outside world was going to brand me as some rich kid junkie who got bored and played in her parents’ medicine cabinet, but i had a problem. it was so refreshing and just... beautiful being able to get out of rehab and be normal. to everyone else, it just seems like ‘burying it’ but they wanted me to know that that stain on my life is not who i am. i am completely sober now, and i owe a lot of that to the true and unconditional love and care of my parents. they shouldn’t have to suffer because of my mistakes, they’ve worked too hard for that. and um, the beaumonts are donating $4million to faces and voices of recovery, a nonprofit that helps people rehabilitate from a variety of issues and seamlessly get them back on track. i will not be taking any questions at this time.”

@damnprivilegerp

#ャೃ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖇𝖎𝖊 ⁀➷ ᴅᴇᴠ

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thepointemaliburecoverycenter · 19 days

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luxuryrehab · 3 years

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We, Luxury Rehab provide luxurious and premium rehabilitation centers in California U.S. We offer the best rehab center to deliver privacy, exceptionality and treatment that works as per the need of the individuals. Exclusive amenities, personalized care, customized therapy, etc can help you to gain complete recovery from drug addiction and mental illnesses. Connect to us Right Now!

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carraraluxurydrugandalcoholrehab · 3 months

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At Carrara Luxury Drug & Alcohol Rehab, we redefine the standards of luxury addiction treatment. We provide a comprehensive range of services, including detoxification, individual and group therapy, holistic treatments, and aftercare planning. Each client receives a customized treatment plan to address their specific addiction and mental health issues.

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the--blackdahlia · 5 years

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Too Young to Fall in Love Chapter 21 (Dirt!Nikki x Reader)

Title: Too Young to Fall in Love 21

Summary: Nikki Sixx was a hard partying musician on the strip. He never expected to fall in love with anyone, until a girl knocked on his dressing room door looking for a ride home and took his breath away. Just like everything else Nikki did; the drugs, the money, the music; Nikki went hard with love. (Y/n) Bass never expected the bassist of Motley Crue to be the one to shake her calm and calculated life up. She had a plan. Graduate school, become an epic producer, and watch from behind the scenes as her brother’s band rose to fame. Nikki and (Y/n) were perfect for each other, too bad her brother, Tommy, didn’t think so.

Series warnings: Smut (18+ Please), drug use, language, referenced miscarriage, drug overdose, mentioned attempted suicide, out of character moments for everyone in the band, the timeline might be a little screwy but it’s fanfiction! I know nothing of music production and my medical knowledge is really screwy, so it won’t be accurate.

Nikki and (Y/n) were laying by each other in bed. They had left the party after comforting Cherise. They had wanted to go to the jail or hospital or wherever Vince was, but Vince had demanded that they not. Vanessa went anyway, more worried about Vince than she was letting on. So that led Nikki and (Y/n) to go home. No sex, nothing. Just laying there.

“I should’ve drove him.” (Y/n) whispered. “I told him to let me drive him. Maybe if I had...this wouldn’t have happened…”

“Nikki sat up and pulled her to him holding her close, “Or you would be in the hospital with him or worse….” he trailed off not wanting to think about it. “This was just an accident sweet girl that's all… and….” Nikki wasn't sure what to say.

“And what?” (Y/n) asked softly, tracing his tattoos.

“I can't lose you (Y/n), I… I don’t know I just… I can’t think about what could have happened.” he shifted slightly and laid back down pulling her to his chest. “Lets just get some sleep.” he traced circles on her arms and back just letting himself feel her in this moment now. No sex, no drugs, no Tommy, just them. It was just Nikki and (Y/n).

“I love you.” She yawned, finally closing her eyes in what seemed to be days. She rested in his arms, Nikki falling asleep.

****

A Few Months Later

The boys were busy recording their next album, dedicated to Razzle. Vince’s idea. While they were recording, (Y/n) had her own band to worry about. With their success of Ride the Lightning, they were not willing to share their producer, while the label was pushing more and more bands down her throat. But even with all that, she didn’t miss the track marks on Nikki’s arms, the bruises that looked like they were made by something squeezing it, or the little baggies that he would hide in his stage wardrobe from her.

They hadn’t seen much of each other over the past few months. Nikki would go out for long periods of time, and (Y/n) was starting to develop paranoia. She was sure he had found himself someone better, she just knew it. Tommy was right. If only she knew that the mysterious “woman” was named Heroin.

That’s why she was pacing her office, shaking. Her pills weren’t cutting it anymore. They weren’t helping her anymore. Tears were streaming down her face. The blinds were closed so no one could look in. She was sure everyone was too busy to check on her.

But there was a knock at her door then, followed by a familiar faced guitarist opening it.

“(Y/n)? Are you ok?” Mick said as he walked in.

“I...I don’t know.” Was all she said before her eyes rolled back in her head and she went to the floor, her head connecting just enough with her desk that there would be a bruise.

“Fuck! Someone call an ambulance!” he said as he held on to (Y/n). “Come one (Y/n/n), I got you. Micks got you hun.” Looking at (Y/n) in this state he looked around wondering where Nikki was. He should be here. But little did he know that Nikki was shooting himself up in one of the ready rooms.

Nikki had just come out of the room, feeling satisfied, yet empty. He went to the recording booth, but saw no one, not even his engineer. Metallica was just down the hallway, but even those assholes weren’t there. He made his way to the offices. (Y/n) wasn’t there, but there was a group of people in the hallway. Mick and Vince were there, but no Tommy.

“What’s going on? Did I miss a fire drill or somethin’?” Nikki chuckled, only to get Mick to punch him this time. “What the fuck Mick?!”

“Where the hell were you!” Mick growled.

“Having some fun.” He smirked. “What’s the big deal? Where’s (Y/n) and Tommy?”

“(Y/n) was just hauled off in an ambulance,” Mick shook his head. “She fainted and hit her head on her desk…. she was on something man… I know she was.”

“That’s impossible. She doesn’t take drugs and they would’ve called me if something happened.” Nikki said, nervously. “Is this a joke?”

“We were calling you, and how would you know! Half the time you’re so doped up you can;t even see straight!” Mick grabbed Nikki and slammed him against the wall. “If you stopped loving her let her go Nik.”

“I still love her!” Nikki pushed him away. “Do not fucking say I don’t! I would do anything for her!”

“Then why are you drugged up all the time to the point you can’t see that she is drowning Nik! She is young man, and I think you should have waited to propose to her… you guys aren't ready. I should know I’ve been through this before. I didn't want to say anything because I thought you two could handle it but….”

“I don’t want to be without her!” Nikki told him.

“But you are hurting her by being with her like this,” Mick tried to reason with him.

“What hospital is she at?” Nikki asked. “Did Tommy go with her?”

“I don’t know…” Mick said. “I think they took her to general.” Nikki went running.

“I better get there before Tommy tells her to leave me.” Nikki grumbled. Vince and Mick looked at each other, unsure of what to do now.

****

“T-Tommy?” (Y/n) asked when she woke up and saw her brother sitting at her bedside. She groaned softly at the pain in her head.

“Mick found you,” he said biting at his nail. His leg shaking from nervousness. “The doctors said you haven't been sleeping at all.”

“Too much to do. Need to keep busy so I don’t think about…” She cut herself off, tears filling her eyes. “T-bone, you were right.” She started to cry.

“Right about what?” Tommy knew what she was going to say. It hurt him but he had a feeling he knew what she was talking about. He pulled the chair closer to her and held her hand. “Shhhhh, don’t cry sis… please.”

“He’s either seeing someone else or something. He’s never home. He was supposed to meet me for lunch today. He just...he doesn’t love me anymore.” She sobbed. That’s when the door opened and Nikki came in.

“(Y/n) what happened?” he rushed in pushing Tommy aside and hugging (Y/n).

“Where were you?” Tommy growled.

Nikki grabbed his arm and shook his head. “Busy and none of your business.”

“It’s my business when my sister ends up in the hospital!” Tommy hissed.

“Please stop. My head hurts.” (Y/n) whimpered. Nikki saw the bruise on her forehead. “It’s my fault okay.” She offered them both a small smile.

“Nikki places a gentle kiss on her forehead, “are you ok? What happened?” NIkki ignored Tommy’s glares.

“Haven’t been sleeping very much. Guess I passed out.” She shrugged.

“Babe..” Nikki whispered. “You need a vacation. We can take a couple of days go to Malibu, just us.”

“Don’t you have your album to work on?” She asked. Her band was going on break to give her a few days. She didn’t want to mess things up for Nikki.

“Everything is on schedule hun,” Nikki assured her. “The songs are done and everything is set.” She leaned into his touch. It took everything Tommy had to not tell Nikki to fuck off. He wanted to protect his sister, but he didn’t want to hurt his best friend either.

“I guess I could use a couple days…” (Y/n) sighed, looking down at her ring.

“Good, we can start planning our big day,” he leaned in and kissed her. But he was feeling the itch to shoot up again. Looking at her he pushed it down. He couldn’t lose her.

“Ms. Bass,” The doctor said, coming in. “According to your record, we saw that you were admitted in the past for almost the same thing. Would you like us to recommend some rehabilitation centers for you? Overcoming addiction is a long process.”

“No, no.” She sighed. “I’m okay. I don’t need rehab.” Nikki and Tommy looked at each other.

“Ms. Bass, just look these over and consider it,” the doctor said before walking out.

“(Y/n)? Why did he suggest rehab? I thought you said you weren't sleeping?” NIkki felt his chest tighten.

“You were still taking speed, weren’t you?” Tommy asked. Nikki looked at the drummer. He knew she was taking something and didn’t tell him? Or try to stop her.

“I think the one I got was bad. I bought it from Vanessa’s current boyfriend’s bandmate. It made me feel weird. Sick. I didn’t like it.” (Y/n) explained. She didn’t know he had given her Ice, not speed.

“I’m going to kill him!” Nikki growled. “You promised you weren’t going to do anything like this (Y/n).”

“You weren’t home!” She cried. “I needed to stay awake!”

“I… sweet girl,” Nikki sat on the edge of her bed wiping away her tears. “You… why didn’t you talk to me?”

“She just told you. You’re never home.” Tommy growled. “What’s her name?”

“What are you talking about?” Nikki looked at him genuinely confused.

“The girl you’re cheating on my sister with. What’s her name?” Tommy said, eerily calm.

“There is not girl! I would never do that.” Nikki looked at (Y/n). “There is no one, I promise.”

“Then why did you forget our date today?” She asked, her voice so small, so full of pain.

“I was… I was high…” NIkki whispered. “I’m sorry I just, the label is rejecting some songs and I was trying to not panic and I needed an escape.” (Y/n) nodded.

“Maybe a few days off would be good for both of us.” She sighed. “What could it hurt?”

“Ok, we need a good break. A nice weekend in Malibu.” Nikki said as he held her close. “I’m sorry sweet girl.”

“I’m sorry too.” She held his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk

Motley Crue Tags: @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @livingdeadharley @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva

Nikki Sixx Tags: @daisystuffsstuff @unknownoblivion

Too Young to Fall in Love Tags: @kingbouji3 @leximus98 @thekidbakerinthetardis @crystalbaby12 @shawnsstxtches

#too young to fall in love #Motley Crue #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki x reader #the dirt #dirt!nikki sixx #dirt!nikki sixx x reader #dirt!nikki x reader #dirt!nikki #fanfiction

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years

Text

Part XI - The Untimely Downfall of Strangers

read parts 1-10 here

NOW - Day 1710

I could feel the warmth of his body in my sheets, and it took my brain a second to realize where I was, who he was, and what had happened. He was turned completely around--his back was to me as if there was still some sort of block between us.

This wasn’t one of those movie moments--you have sex, you wake up the next morning and everything is so romantic. Instead of that, I heard the buzzing of my phone and the sound of his breathing beside me.

Which terrified me and soothed me at the same time.

It’d been a while since I’d woken up next to him, and in a way, the warm sheets and his sounds of sleep felt comforting. But at the same time, in a brain that’s wired anxious and over thinks even the smallest things, the buzzing on the nightstand of Sinead’s phone call and realization that my ex-boyfriend was in bed beside me set off a few alarms. The call went to voicemail, I looked over my shoulder to see if Harry was awake.

He wasn’t.

I reached for the phone and pulled open a text to Sinead. Before I could even start typing, she sent a message.

Just came by and Harry’s car is in the driveway. Let me know if I should come back later.

Great. Good. Okay. So Sinead knew. There was that.

“Morning,” his voice sounded behind me--slow and deep and barely even awake. I dropped the phone on the sheets and shifted to get a good look at him.

“Hi, hey, what’s up?”

His lips pulled into a smirk--the scene in front of me felt similar to so many of my past mornings, only this time Harry’s hair wasn’t as long as mine. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. His eyes scanned my face and he raised his eyebrows a bit, somehow insinuating that he knew I was lying and that he didn’t want to fall back into that pattern. I cleared my throat. “Sinead called. She saw your car. I don’t know if anyone else did.”

He thought on this for a second, his eyebrows furrowing into one another as he plucked at his lower lip. He was propped up on an elbow, he let out a long breath that didn’t seem nervous or angry or anything. He was just thinking. “Do you not want people to know that we’re spending time together?”

I rolled my eyes a little bit. “Spending time together and having sex with your ex-boyfriend are two very different things.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It wasn’t that I wanted to keep this a secret. If anything, really, it was that I didn’t have the words to quite explain the last two weeks. In a matter of days, Harry had come full force back into my life and I was forced to take a hard look at the end of our relationship. He was finally back and things felt okay and I wanted to protect our relationship. We’d always had third parties sneaking a peek inside. All of that felt pretty overwhelming.

“Margot,” he said, pulling my attention back to him. “Can you think out loud?” He smiled up at me, causing my lips to pull upwards as I let out a laugh.

“I don’t even know where to start if anyone asks about us. And I don’t want a thousand other people in our business.”

He nodded, appreciating my words as he let his head fall back to the pillow. My bedroom--this room that we were in--had been free of Harry. When I bought this house last summer, I realized that it was likely to be the only place in my life that hadn’t been touched by him. The sheets, the couch downstairs, the front door.

None of that held true anymore. I didn’t really mind. It just felt strange.

“We don’t owe anyone an explanation. I mean, so people will find out. People have already seen a few photos.”

He was right--there’d been pictures of us at Geoffrey’s and at the release party and there was even one of us in his car the night we got In N’ Out. People had speculated, people had come up with their theories, but neither of us had said a word.

He’d long become the King of Promo--any question about me was answered with a swift and thoughtful diversion. He’d been asked a thousand times what happened to our relationship and I got to hide away in the woods of Tennessee and in the rocky hillside of Malibu. Now he was getting questions about it again--the break up, the time apart, had I heard the album?

“I guess I don’t know what to say because I don’t know what this means,” I motioned between us, to the non verbal agreement that apparently, this was a thing. When I kissed him on the couch through tears, when I finished my wine before bringing him upstairs, I somehow, some way, made a decision that this was certainly a thing.

“We’ve had sex before, Marg, it’s fine.”

“I know, I know,” I said, bringing a hand up to hide my eyes. “I guess, what I mean, is that I want to take it slow.”

Harry let out a laugh and smiled up at me under his eyelashes. “You? Take things slow? I would have never guessed.”

Sinead seemed to walk around like a deer in headlights when I opened the front door. Harry, who was in the kitchen fixing some pancakes, shot her an obnoxious grin over his shoulder.

She turned to me quickly, her eyes still wide and her face still pale. “Did you--did you have sex with him?”

I closed my eyes quickly, feeling more than uncomfortable at all the sex-talk I’d endured so far. Sinead was no stranger to the intimate details of my life--after all, she was the one who filled and picked up my birth control prescriptions and she regularly scheduled my gynecologist appointments.

“I don’t see why that matters,” I challenged her playfully, turning to lead her towards the kitchen. She followed behind, dropping her bag on the island as Harry poured batter into a pan. I would have been fine with cereal, but I guess getting laid made him feel generous.

“This is weird,” Sinead nodded confidently, causing Harry to look over his shoulder again with a pout. Her words were true, but her tone was playful.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He pulled his head back, pretending to be offended by her words--falling right back into their typical banter.

Sinead let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that this,” she motioned between the two of us, “hasn’t been a thing since 2015.”

“Alright, okay,” I held a hand up in protest, the sinking feeling in my chest getting the best of me. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it because that feels really stressful,” I said.

Sinead seemed to look from me and then to Harry--apparently me voicing my feelings was something they both weren’t too accustomed to.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod, the spatula in his hand. “Not a big deal,” he said. “Taking it slow.”

THEN - Day 1185

I hadn’t really noticed him at first--he was just a face in a group of people who seemed to watch my every move. I don’t know if they thought I was going to kill myself or try or maybe they were just wondering what on earth Margot Jones was doing in a rehab center in Tennessee--but he seemed to pay attention.

And I think that’s why this all started.

I think the way he seemed to watch me move through the dining hall and the way he seemed to offer me a smile whenever he crossed my path--it felt different than the others and it certainly felt different than Harry.

It’d been three weeks since I’d seen him. Three weeks since I’d heard from him, three weeks since he didn’t have any words for me.

With each day that passed I felt more alone, more annoyed, and more desperate.

Most of the other women on my floor seemed to ignore me--I think the weight of my name made them uncomfortable and unsure of how to interact with me. Almost as if my name made me less human.

I wasn’t all that surprised. I spent most of my time in groups or in therapy with Rita, and the time I wasn’t in either of those was normally spent in the group room by the window. Instead of spending time with the other patients, I felt more comfortable letting the silence sink in around me. After all, it’d been a few years since I’d really been alone.

He’d approached me from behind and at first I felt unsure. He worked here as a floor manager. He wasn’t a therapist, instead, he spent his time babysitting the group of us women who were deemed too broken for reality--was he allowed to talk to me one-on-one?

“Whatchya lookin’ at?”

I turned to face him--his eyes were blue and his hair was light, almost blond--more so now in the sun than I’d noticed before. The thought crossed my mind--what did he think of me? What did he think of my music? My reputation? I pushed it out of my head.

I let out a laugh when I realized that I didn’t have a good answer. “Nothing, I guess. Just looking.”

He nodded. He crossed his arms over his clipboard, his eyes out the window like mine had just been. He was in scrub pants and a t-shirt, I could see my name on his clipboard, next to the others who seemed to be avoiding me like I had something contagious.

Andrew--that’s what his name tag said, definitely no older than 25. He was quiet for a second, his eyes still on the trees at the edge of the field that seemed to surround the entire complex. “Is it weird to be here?”

I didn’t know what to make of his question at first. For a moment it felt like he was prying, maybe he’d get a payout for anything he could tell them about my life on the inside. When his eyes met mine, it didn’t feel that way.

Instead of looking like he had a reason to ask, he just looked curious. He watched me with soft eyes, and for the first time in a while, with someone other than my therapist, I felt like he actually wanted to hear what I had to say. Not because I was Margot Jones, because I was human.

“It’d be less weird if people didn’t look at me like an alien,” I shrugged a little, letting a laugh escape my lips.

He nodded--I don’t think it was a secret to anyone that the rest of the women seemed to keep away. Maybe they wondered if I was too broken for them.

“They probably just didn’t expect to meet a celebrity here,” he laughed quietly, his voice low enough so others couldn’t hear us.

“I bet you didn’t expect it either,” I corrected him, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“That’s fair,” he smiled. He walked to sit in the chair opposite me. “Any idea when you’re done?”

I ran a hand through my hair. Rita and I had been talking about next week, before the holidays--hopefully when the rest of the world would be too busy with Christmas shopping to notice that I’d returned from my time away.

“Before Christmas,” I told him. “Escape back to L.A. and hope no one noticed I was gone.”

He offered a sympathetic smile, but it didn’t sit right with me.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, watching as he shifted in his seat. He still held his clipboard in his hands, but he moved to sit next to me for a minute--careful of the distance between us.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “I just--I think people know.”

I sat with that for a second. People probably did know where I was. I mean, it was 2015. People had cameras and cellphones and twitter and facebook and my every move was pretty much tracked down by the second.

But the reality is that I was locked away, safe inside the walls of these buildings in which I now spent my time. I didn’t have access to a cell phone or the news or the internet. I could watch rerun episodes of COPS and I could maybe watch Ellen.

My seat in the day room was a lot different than the seat opposite Ellen in her studio.

“They probably do,” I nodded. “Fuck it, though.”

He laughed at this, a small smile pulling at his lips as he watched me--seemingly interested by my words and my thoughts and my mannerisms. I still couldn’t tell if it was because of my name or because of me, but his blue eyes made me hope it was the latter.

“Fuck what they think and fuck what they know and fuck H--” I cut myself off, I figured it was better to not name drop and accidentally let this kid--Andrew--know something about my previous relationship. Maybe his payout would double if he had any insider gossip about Harry as well.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just say fuck it,” he laughed, his eyes still on my face.

It was uncomfortable for a second--it felt like Nick and Sinead and Harry all watching me. It felt like he watched on to see what I’d say, what I’d do, if I’d break again.

But when I realized that everyone else had left the room, and when I realized that there wasn’t much more I could do to fuck things up, I decided that I might as well kiss him.

Maybe we both got something out of it. Maybe we both got something out of sneaking around for the last week I was there--locking lips and feeling our skin touch in dark closets or in empty rooms.

But I think--in all honesty--he filled a void that I knew was there from the start. He filled a void that was left by the person who’d tried his best to fill it before.

The thing that sucked was that neither of them really worked.

THEN - Day 1202

I sat on the floor of the living room where he first kissed me. In fact, Maya sat in the spot on the couch where it happened. Ben was beside me--still clad in his festive pajama pants that matched mine and Maya’s, a Christmas tradition since Maya could walk.

“Open that one next,” my mom handed a gift to Ben, her handwriting made it clear that it wasn’t from Santa, though she still wrote it on the tag of each box.

Ben shook it slightly, ripped at the paper, and smiled as he pulled out a pair of adidas sweatpants. Simple, yet exactly what he asked for.

Christmas hadn’t changed much--sure, the money I made helped us buy each other some nicer gifts--but it was still a day of family and food and presents.

This Christmas, though, was different. I still had the nail polish on my fingers that I’d painted in the group room the night before I left. I still had Rita’s face in my mind as she hugged me goodbye and promised to email.

I could still hear the yelling of the paparazzi that greeted me at LAX with their big lenses and cold hearts.

“Margot? Honey? You okay?” My mom’s voice was soft, and it took me a second to realize that they all had their eyes on me.

“Yeah,” I nodded quickly. “I’m good.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie--I wasn’t about to break down, if that’s what she meant. I was holding it together, holding together the reality that the entirety of my career was over.

Nick and Sinead and my mom had all agreed that I couldn’t work for a while. Apparently a stint in rehab suddenly turns you back into a child who’s capable of getting grounded. I didn’t know what would happen if I called Nick up, demanded he get me into a studio, on a talk show, anything. I was an adult, after all, I could decide to work if I wanted to. But in all honesty, I was too tired to put up a fight. And at least a small part of me felt like I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to answer their questions and fake another smile and give them things they didn’t deserve.

Maya looked at me with sympathy--she’d laid in bed with me the night I got home, helping me take down the photos of Harry that filled the frames on the surfaces in my bedroom.

“Let’s take a break,” my mom said. “I’ll check on the ham.”

I let out a sigh, watching as Maya reached for her phone and Ben stood to give Sara a call. I knew this game well--they were all walking on eggshells as if I was fragile enough to break at the slightest gust of wind. For a while I was, but it felt somewhat different now.

“We don’t need to do this,” I said, watching as Pete fiddled with the Apple TV that I’d gotten him. He looked up, his eyebrows raised as he waited for someone else to respond to me.

“What do you mean?” my mom asked, turning on her heel to face me once more.

I groaned--annoyed that I had to explain it, verbalize it, acknowledge that we were all doing the same exact thing as before.

“Today sucks, okay? My life sucks right now. But you don’t need to tiptoe around me.”

They all paused, somewhat frozen--and likely concerned that I’d truly lost it--until Maya spoke. “Have you heard from him?”

“No,” I said. “And you don’t need to ask anymore. It’s not going to happen.”

THEN - Day 1274

Sinead was behind me, both literally and figuratively. It was her idea, really, to move out. She stood with a clipboard in her hands--which was extremely characteristic of her--and watched as two men lugged a bed frame through the front door.

The house kind of fell into my lap. Sinead came by for lunch one day at my mom’s, everyone was out. Ben was back at college, Maya was at school. Pete was at work and my mom had gone out to see a friend. Sinead pushed a real estate booklet in front of me in the kitchen.

I’d always wanted to live in Malibu. I wanted a house with private beach access and a view of the ocean from the kitchen. Open floor concept. Dining room. Hardwood floors, granite countertops. Marble bathrooms.

Sinead had already seen it in person when she handed me the booklet.

“Y’okay?” She asked, holding her hand over her eyes to shield the sun. I watched, somewhat skeptically, as the men maneuvered large structures through the door and up the stairs.

This was a good idea.

I needed my own space. I needed room from Maya. I needed distance from my mom. I could swim and write and find new hobbies here.

Best of all, it had no traces of Harry.

The hardest part about being home were the pieces of himself he’d left at my mom’s. A sweatshirt in the bottom drawer, the toothbrush he’d kept in my bathroom. I’d lived in that house since I was 13--it was the first thing we bought when we moved from Raleigh. Yet somehow--though the span of the house had long outlasted Harry--he still inhabited every room in it.

His seat at the dining room table. The spot where he hung his car keys when he was in town. The soccer ball in the garage that he’d kick around with Ben in the summer. The side of my bed that he’d claimed as his own.

I nodded back at Sinead, forcing a smile. I was fine. I saved the crying for therapy and the anger for nighttime. I wasn’t writing much--I’d strum a chord and nothing would come out. Or worse, too much would come out. I’d cry and cry and soon my vision was too blurry to fret the strings and I’d give up.

I stared up at the white house--it was empty. It was big (four bedrooms, one would become a home studio) and had no memories and, I guess, that made it a clean slate. The idea of a clean slate almost felt disappointing. Having one meant I needed it.

NOW - Day 1712

Harry was the type of person who did everything with his whole heart--so when he started spending more time at my house, he really outdid himself. His car keys sat beside mine in the dish in the entryway, his jacket hung in the front closet. He even seemed to buy a few things to keep in the fridge when I wasn’t looking.

He was adamant about making the most of our time together before his departure--his untimely and somewhat cruel departure.

Of course, because there’d be no other way to rekindle an old flame, Harry was set to leave for tour an exact week after we slept together. I suddenly felt like we had a ticking clock hanging over our heads that threatened to undo all the work we’d done in the last two weeks.

So, naturally, I asked him to come to therapy with me.

“Like, couples counseling?” his brows were furrowed together as he sat at the island in my kitchen having a bowl of cereal. We’d decided that we’d shut ourselves in tonight--draw the curtains and pretend that the internet wasn't swirling with rumors whether or not we were back together.

The answer--according to the tabloids--was yes. The answer--according to us--was maybe.

Neither of us had addressed it or really told anyone much of anything, but the paparazzi were relentless and fans seemed to create their own theories of who the two smoothies Harry picked up this morning were for.

“Yeah--Amanda said it can’t be her, though. We’d have to find someone else.”

He thought on this for a second--he blinked a few times while taking a sip of the milk at the bottom of the bowl.

I didn’t know how he’d respond. Harry--as far as I knew--had never been to therapy. I didn’t even know if he knew what really happened inside. The night he came over for dinner--the night we slept together--I told him about Amanda’s office.

A room with green walls and a tan couch. Throw pillows and artwork on the wall that seemed to match her personality. It felt like a safe place to talk about everything that had happened.

Harry cleared his throat and looked over at me. “Yeah, I mean, if you think we should, let’s do it.”

I let out a breath, relieved that he was so agreeable. I leaned against the counter opposite him--we’d watched a movie and Nick had stopped by just to say hi. Now we were likely headed to bed--it was an unspoken agreement that Harry would stay the night until he left.

“Where do you find a therapist?” He scrunched his nose and seemed to look up at the ceiling.

I let out a laugh, which he returned as he stood and brought his bowl to the sink. “Amanda can probably recommend someone. I’ll email her.”

He turned around from the sink and walked up to me, the look on his face slightly apologetic. “I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say in response. It felt eerily similar--the forced goodbyes and the slipping feeling because neither of us knew what the future really held.

The last time we were in this spot, there wasn’t a future. I think we both knew that.

THEN - Day 1402

Maya was dying to be a senior in high school. I couldn’t blame her. She had a mother and a step-dad who were overbearing, an older brother who’d rub it in her face of how cool it was to live away from home, and a washed-up, older sister who used to be a popstar.

She was in a shitty mood most of the time. And maybe I was depressed.

Maybe I’d never be the person I was before Tennessee. Maybe this was my new normal--sitting on Maya’s bed as she tried to determine what clothes she wanted to keep and what she wanted to get rid of.

It was the dead of summer, and spending all of my time with a 17-year-old didn’t really do me much good. But Maya’s honesty and sarcasm were a welcome change from the previous world I lived in of people who walked on eggshells.

That was the good thing about Maya--I could always count on her to keep me grounded. When she was 13 years old, she told me to get my head out of my ass when the rumor that I’d gotten a nose job had me crying on the floor of my bathroom.

I had a garbage bag beside me as Maya dumped things inside. Contents of her drawers, clothes from her closet, pictures and mementos from her dresser. This was a big summer for her, she’d told me. Being a senior in high school meant you weren’t a kid anymore, and apparently, that meant she needed to deep clean her room.

Maybe I was depressed, and maybe I was bored, but I wasn’t really sad--and I certainly wasn’t really angry. I was more just existing. That’s how my days seemed to be now.

I’d heard their last album. The month I was in Tennessee I got to avoid it--pretend that there wasn’t an album out there in the world that seemed to hold pieces of our story. I had heard a few songs in passing over the summer a year ago, bits and pieces here and there as they recorded it and shaped it into what they wanted.

At Christmas, Maya told me that she liked it. I didn’t have the courage to listen.

So finally, last week, I decided that I’d listen to it in my car as Maya drove us around the hills of Malibu. I skipped the ones I knew, listened to the few that I didn’t. It almost felt like it wasn’t real--like I was on autopilot, not really taking in the words and the messages.

Instead, the music floated around me and when it was over, I unplugged Maya’s phone and offered to buy us lunch. Then we pretended it never happened.

It was all written before we broke up. It was written over the spring and summer, recorded throughout and crafted carefully as my life fell apart. I hoped I’d never hear it again.

That’s why, now, as Maya cleaned her own room, I decided to throw out most of my belongings that seemed tangled up in him. My clothes, my jewelry, my books, my pictures from tour, my One Direction merch.

I didn’t know who I was, really. And in some ways, that felt okay.

Maya was kneeling in front of her closet, sorting things into piles of what she’d donate and what she’d simply let go of. Another hot day in Los Angeles made us stay inside in the air conditioning, and apparently, cleaning out our closets was the most entertaining thing we could find.

I noticed that she had a stack of picture frames in front of her when I put my phone down, she picked up the first and then turned to me.

“These are yours,” she said simply. She turned it around, showing me a picture of Harry and I from 2014. We were on his bus, it was after a show one night in Texas. His arms were draped over my shoulders from behind and we both offered huge grins to the person behind the camera--likely Niall. It had originally been sent as a snapchat, I think. He mailed me 24 printed pictures of us from for our two year anniversary.

I leaned forward to reach for it, she handed it over to me and then stood up with the others in her arms, bringing them over to set them on the bed in front of me. She watched as I looked over them.

There was one of me and Niall and Maya, one of our family and Harry on Thanksgiving in 2013--another of me and Harry all dressed up in the front yard for the Billboard Music Awards in 2015. The absence of normal prom photos like most teenagers meant that my mom tried to take nice photos of us whenever she could.

“Why do you have these?” I asked, still confused as to why they’d been on the floor of her closet.

“You made me ‘get rid of them’ when you came home from Tennessee. I guess I never threw them out.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off of them--they seemed to serve as a sad reminder that it’d been a whole eight months since we’d spoken. A whole eight months since he walked out of my hotel room, and a whole eight months since he told me he loved me.

Maybe Maya had saved them in hopes that we’d get back together. Maybe she felt guilty throwing them out. Whatever reason she kept them didn’t matter, I picked them up in my arms and carried them back to her garbage bag.

“No point in reliving it, right?”

She offered me a small smile and shrugged. “As if you haven’t been reliving it every day.”

NOW - Day 1714

Harry sat on the couch to my right, close enough that our knees touched as Hillary--the woman Amanda had recommended--smiled politely at the two of us.

I wondered if she’d ever done any celebrity couples counseling before. It sounded like it could be the name of a bad reality show.

“So,” she spoke suddenly, her smile was sweet. “I think a good place to start is for both of you to tell me, in your own words, what brought you in.”

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes flashing to mine in an attempt to encourage me to speak. I figured--if only because I was the one to initiate this--that I should at least set the stage.

“Uh, sure, yeah,” I shrugged. “We met in 2012, and we started dating right away, really. And we dated for three years, and then we broke up.” I looked to Harry, almost to ensure he didn’t have anything to add. When he nodded, I continued.

“I wasn’t doing too well, like, the year leading up to our break up, and when we did, I went to treatment in Tennessee, and so we didn’t speak for a year and a half, and now we’re--” I cut myself off, wondering how to label the relationship between us.

The boy next to me on the couch was someone who had been my best friend, my confidant, and someone who I thought was the love of my life. As far as I was concerned, he still had the ability to be all of those things, but I wondered if labeling him as anything right now was appropriate.

“We’re trying to work things out,” he said.

Hillary nodded, her hair was tied up in a pony-tail and she seemed to focus intently on both of us as we spoke. She nodded slightly, “and was it a mutual decision to end the relationship?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No, I ended it,” I said quietly.

“Did you want the relationship to end?” She brought her eyes to Harry, who was now tracing a circle on the black denim of his pants.

He shifted uncomfortably and let out a small laugh. “No--I, uh, I would have stayed together, absolutely. But things weren’t really going well.”

“What do you mean they weren’t going well?”

Harry pursed his lips in thought and I checked the clock. Fifty-six minutes left.

“We were very distant, I think, and I knew that something was really...wrong with Margot--but I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Hillary nodded thoughtfully and turned her attention towards me. “Does that feel accurate to you, Margot? That you were distant?”

I nodded. “I think I felt distant from everyone and everything.”

“Did you tell Harry that?”

“No.”

Another nod from Hillary and another uncomfortable shift from Harry.

“So what are some goals in terms of being here, together? Have you talked at all about that amongst yourselves? Have you ever been to therapy before, Harry?”

He nodded and tugged at his lower lip, which caught me off guard.

“You have?” I asked him suddenly, the surprise evident in my voice.

“Yeah--I went a few times in December of that year. With you and Zayn and the band and everything, it felt like a good time.”

It wasn’t that I was totally shocked--I mean, Harry had always been one to reflect and want to talk about things. If anything, it was more the thought that I had fucked him up enough that he felt like he needed therapy.

“You look like you didn’t know that, Margot,” Hillary prodded, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

“We didn’t exactly talk for a while,” Harry shrugged simply, his words not meant to hurt, but they strung a bit as he ran a hand through his short hair. Translation: you don’t know things about my life because you left.

“You asked about goals,” I changed the subject, bringing my eyes back to Hillary. “I think for me it’s learning how to communicate better. I don’t think we ever did too well with that.”

Hillary nodded, moving her eyes to Harry to see if he had any input.

“I would agree with that. And I’m leaving soon--for tour--which feels like incredibly bad timing.”

“Most things are,” Hillary smiled sympathetically, her eyes darting between us.

Harry reached a hand out and placed it on my knee. “But I hope that we can handle it.”

THEN - Day 1449

“This place is huge,” Niall looked around the foyer, taking his sunglasses off of his face to admire the tall ceilings.

I shrugged nonchalantly--definitely proud of my house, but more excited to have one of my best friends in the same state for a minute. Niall and I would FaceTime, meet for lunch, text back and forth--all the while pretending that my relationship with his bandmate, his best friend, hadn’t gone south as the colder air came into New York that year.

“It’s beautiful, Marg. When did you move in?”

“I did it kind of slowly over the spring. Officially been here since March, really.”

He dropped his keys on the console table and then put his hands on his hips. “Does it feel better?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean--you know, new start, space from him?”

Fuck. If there was anyone who’d be able to see through me, it was Niall. Sure, Sinead and my mom and Maya and some other close enough people in my circle knew that buying a new house was a good way to find that space. It was a good way to start fresh, move away from the memories and towards a future that was--decidedly--Harry free.

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Still haven’t heard from him?”

“No, Niall.” I walked towards the kitchen and he followed me in. He took a seat at the island, watching as I took out some tea for him. “You don’t have to keep asking.”

“I’m just askin’ ‘cause he asks about you every time I talk to him. Asks what you’re up to and what you’re doin’. He’s just as much of a mess as he was at the end of the year.”

I was thankful to have my back to him--that way he didn’t see the fact that I had to pause and collect myself before responding. What was I supposed to say to that? Was I supposed to admit to Niall that I fucked up and that I missed him? Surely that wouldn’t change the last nine months.

“Sorry--m’not tryin’ t’be annoying. Just--” he trailed off, and when I turned around, he offered an apologetic smile.

“Just what?”

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. He’d been dying it for years, but it was less blonde now than it was in the band. “I just think you two can get through this.”

I braced myself on the counter, leaning forward to let him know I was serious. “He hasn’t called me, Niall. He can ask you as many questions as he wants--but if he really was curious, he’d ask me himself.”

I think he disagreed with me--the quick eye roll as he stood from the stool told me that he did. I turned back around to make the tea, hoping that one of us would find a new topic for our friendship.

Niall knew me just as well as Harry in some ways. And in others, he knew me better. He didn’t have the added stress of being my boyfriend, but he still got to see me at my worst and now he saw me in the current stage of rebuild. He stood by throughout all of it, which was more than I could say for Harry.

“Look at this, by the way,” he turned his phone to show me a picture of a blonde-haired baby. “Freddie’s almost 8 months.”

I smiled at the photo--I hadn’t met the baby, but I knew Niall had. “How’s Louis doing with it?”

He shrugged his shoulders and clicked his phone shut. “Dunno--alright I guess. Busy and whatnot. Have you spoken to him?”

I let out a quick laugh. NIall was the only one to actually keep in touch. Sure, Liam had reached out to wish me a Merry Christmas and a happy birthday after his initial text when I was in rehab, but Louis had only sent a “hope all is well x” text when I got back from Tennessee.

And I couldn’t be mad, really. They were his friends. I was lucky that Niall and I were still as close throughout all of it. He’d made it clear that he took my side--not because he hated Harry or anything like that--really it was because he knew I needed the help and he cared enough to make sure I got it.

He was the one to FaceTime me when I got home before Christmas and he was the one who talked to me late at night on the phone when I felt like my lungs were caving in without someone beside me in bed.

“I haven’t spoken to anyone but you, doofus. They all hate me.”

He smiled at this--likely somewhat smug about the fact that he’d always been my favorite. I wondered, though, if he felt at all bad for me. A lot of people decided a stint in rehab was too much to handle.

“They don’t hate you,” he shook his head, waving off my statement as if it were completely false. “Liam’s been with his mum and dad a lot, Louis has the baby, and I mean, Zayn hates all of us so--don’t wait around for him to call you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Zayn kind of did hate all of us. He’d been so quick to leave and so quick to take a strong stance against the band that I don’t think I ever expected to speak to him again--especially if I didn’t have Harry as a reason to do so.

Niall’s phone buzzed on the counter in between us, I looked down quickly to see an obnoxious picture of Harry light up the screen. His name scrolled across and seemed to stare up at me. Niall looked up at me quickly and seemed to hesitate.

“No, you--you can take it, if you want. It’s fine.”

“Nah, all good. He’s fine. Dunno what it’s about.”

“Niall, it’s fine. I’ll go outside.”

“It’s your house,” he reminded me.

“Then you go outside.”

“No, Margot, it’s fine. M’not gettin’ it.” He clicked the phone to silent and I watched as the screen went black.

It struck me as strange, really, that buttons on a phone stood between us. I could undo the days apart with one phone call or one text. A quick dial of the familiar number that I’d memorized so long ago--and his voice could be in my ear. The distance between us--the months of pretending like I didn’t miss him--would be gone. Undone as if there’d been a bow tied around our past lives. But then again, I couldn’t undo it at all.

NOW - Day 1718

It was his last night before he left to go back on tour. His last night of living in this private fantasy world with me--hidden away in Malibu as if we didn’t have the public to answer to. He’d wanted to go to a nice dinner, but instead, I suggested we bring a nice dinner to us.

He’d ordered a chef, let me pick out the menu, and so we sat on the deck of my house drinking pinot noir and a salad as we waited for the main dish.

He was excited for tour and I was excited for him--but we both seemed to dance around the topic that he was leaving and I was staying. A reversed version of the past. He got to run away this time--and I think both of us knew that if he wanted to, he could do just that.

I was hopeful that he wouldn’t, that he’d listen to the words that Hillary had said. That he’d take it seriously and come back in two weeks and we could meet with her again. I think it was important.

But my mind seemed stuck on words he’d said earlier as I slid the half eaten tomato on my plate towards the edge, watching as Harry pushed his sunglasses up on his nose.

Of course, due to the fact that we hadn’t been intimate in a year and a half, we both felt like we’d had catching up to do. Harry had sat on the couch as we watched TV and told me, you’re the only person who’s made me feel so at home.

I knew I wasn’t the only person Harry had slept with. I knew about the girl he dated in high school before the band, I knew about the two women he’d told me about during his first year in the public eye. And if that was all that had happened, that made me number four.

But now, with eighteen months between us, I didn’t know if there had been a five or a six or even a seven and eight.

The reality of my relationship with Harry was that there were always people throwing themselves at him. One of our first--and biggest--fights was about different meet and greet photos I’d seen of him kissing girls on the cheek. Call it stupid, but at 19, it made me feel terribly insecure to realize that there were tons of girls out there that didn’t really respect our relationship.

And maybe that was selfish of me--maybe it was asking too much of his fans to not want to touch him and hug him and press their lips to his skin. Maybe I was taking it personally and maybe I was overreacting. But one thing I’d learned in therapy was that if I felt it--it was there. There wasn’t really much use running from it.

Harry was only the second person I’d slept with. And it didn’t matter to me that our numbers didn’t match--what mattered was that we got to a point where I was the last person he slept with and vice versa.

He cleared his throat across the table. He could tell that I was thinking--and so far, we’d done a good job of trying to communicate more when I felt the need to pull back. That made sense, right? If the problem the last time around was that I was too in my head, maybe being more verbal would do the trick.

“Y’alright, love?” he picked up his wine glass and took a sip, smiling as the chef came to deliver our entrees.

I thanked him quickly, switching my salad plate for one that looked more satiating, but then brought my eyes back to Harry. “Uh--I just,” I blew a breath of air out of my lips, giving myself a silent pep talk to verbalize my emotions and fears--if only for the good of our relationship. “You made that comment earlier when we talked about,” I shrugged slightly, feeling awkward discussing our sex life with a chef and a few other catering staff within earshot.

“Having sex?” He asked, his voice somewhat hushed so as to not draw attention, but a playful smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, only making me more anxious and uncomfortable holding in the thought.

“Have you had sex with anyone since we broke up?”

He sat across from me, his face hesitant and his eyes were locked on mine as if the world had stopped turning. For a second, the only sound was a bird overhead and the water beneath us.

“Margot, I--” he let out a sigh, setting his fork down on the table. I couldn’t tell if he was mad--he didn’t look it. He looked tired and confused and unsure. “I was going to tell you. I thought maybe you...assumed because of the lyric.”

“The lyric?” I asked him, my voice barely coming out above a whisper--the reality settling into my bones that the answer was clearly yes.

He let out another sigh, breaking eye contact for a minute as he recited the words that he--apparently--knew so well. “Woke up the girl who looked just like you,” he didn’t finish the last line, but he didn’t need to.

I nodded, trying to process the flood of thoughts and feelings that seemed to clog my brain. Could I be mad at him for sleeping with someone when I’d been the one to leave? Could I be mad at him for trying to move on and forget about me?

I stood from the table, our uneaten plates and the half-drank wine glasses clinked when I slid my chair in with force. “I need a minute.”

“Margot,” he said my name again, this time with more anger. He stood from the chair and when I turned to face him again, he stalled. He looked like he wanted to move, to speak, but like he couldn’t find the words.

“I’m allowed be to upset by that.” I said the words confidently. I didn’t say if I deserved it, I didn’t say that he shouldn’t have done it--I said that I was allowed to be upset.

“At that point I thought you’d never come back,” he nodded, his voice more calm. “I thought that that--meaningless sex--would be the rest of my life. I didn’t know that this could be a thing and I didn’t know that you were even thinking about me.”

I shook my head, still unsure of what to say--so I said the truth. “I was thinking about you every day.”

He closed his eyes for a second, as if it would give him the retreat he needed. “I know that now.”

“Who was she?”

He broke eye contact at this, he reached a hand up to rub his neck and he pushed his lips out in thought. Was it someone I knew?

He shrugged and shook his head, bringing his eyes back up to mean mine again. “I think her name was Katie,” he said.

“You think?” My voice was more angry now, my heart beating faster as I thought about his legs intertwined with someone else’s. Did he kiss her forehead like he did with me? Did he give her the lazy smirk that always seemed to follow a mutual finish?

“She was someone in Jamaica, Margot, okay? I don’t know who she is and I only saw her once and I was incredibly drunk.” His arms lifted and then fall against his side in a show of emotion. “She was staying at a resort with friends and I never spoke to her again.” His voice was raw, and when he finished his sentence, he swallowed and licked his lips. “Did you sleep with anyone?”

“No,” I said quickly, my mind instantly retracing the steps from my room in Tennessee to the group room where I kissed Andrew. We didn’t have sex--in fact, we never moved beyond making out in a supply closet--but I didn’t feel the need to explain all of it to Harry in this moment.

He nodded, not pushing me any further. How was I supposed to have a romantic night with him now? How was I supposed to send him off on tour and feel like this was a good idea? How was I supposed to trust that each and every girl in the audience wasn’t an opportunity for him to put more distance between us.

And here I was--the girl who’d spent the last year and a half thinking she’d been the one to ruin everything. I was blaming myself for the downfall of our relationship and everything that seemed connected. Yet he’d been the one to put the nail in the coffin.

“Margot,” he took a step forward, causing me to look up at him hesitantly. “I’m sorry. I was hurt and confused and I was willing to do anything that would make me forget you.”

Maybe it was a stupid question to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Did it? Did you forget about me?”

He let out a sad laugh, his eyes on the deck beneath our feet. “No--that’s why it was so stupid. When I woke up in the morning and she was still there I went and cried in the bathroom. Then I got my shit together and told her to leave.”

A strange feeling of comfort washed over me with that--the thought and image of him feeling so empty and broken--just like I had been. But it didn’t fix it. It didn’t change the story and it certainly didn’t change the aching in my chest.

“I don’t want you to stay here tonight.”

“Margot,” he said my name in a sigh, his eyes searching my face desperately--begging me to take it back and not send him away and lock him out again. “What are you feeling? Please just tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m fucking angry!” I yelled now--unperturbed by the chef and the two servers who were loitering just inside my house. “That was always my fear, Harry. I was always worried that eventually you’d realize you had all these people willing to fuck you whenever you wanted that dealing with me and my brokenness would just get old. But it sounds like it did!”

“No, Margot, don’t turn it into that,” he said, his voice more angry and stern as he looked up at the sky. “You’re the one who walked out. You’re the one who gave up and left and you’re the one who backed out of this.”

I shook my head--I wasn’t willing to have the same conversation about how everything fell apart. We’d both lived it--we both knew what happened. But, when I brought my eyes back up to him, I suddenly felt like there was more to say. Like I had the words to explain how I’d been feeling in the summer of 2015 when everything around me seemed to be spiraling out of control.

“Because I was fucking terrified, Harry, okay? The band was splitting up and I was supposed to release another album and do another tour and there were still all these people in our business and all these girls who hated me for no reason and I was terrified that if I didn’t back out first, you would.”

He seemed to pull back, the anger on his face was gone and his expression softened, apparently this was news to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

I let out a sigh, feeling guilty for all the things I’d done wrong. The list only seemed to grow.

“Because I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

Harry hung his head and walked to sit back down at the table. He pushed his plate away from him, before reaching for the glass of wine and taking a sip. He swallowed, reached up to wipe at his lips, and then spoke.

“I would take it back, if I could. If I could go back in time I’d change a lot of things,” he laughed sarcastically. “But I would certainly change the fact that I had sex with someone in an attempt to get over you. But I was feeling pretty desperate.”

I took a deep breath, unsure of where to go from here. How was he supposed to get on a plane tomorrow and spend two weeks away from me? How were we supposed to keep in touch and decipher the past when his life was moving full steam ahead?

He looked up at me from his seat at the table. “I know you want to walk away right now. I know you’re angry and upset--but please, come and sit down.”

I stared at him--slightly bothered by the fact that he knew me well enough to know my exact thoughts.

“Don’t put up another wall,” he said, “we’ve got enough to take down.”

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