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floralguccistyles · 5 years

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one: live long and prosper

The tech crew at Outset Studios now had a drinking game. Every time I was asked about Harry Styles, they took a shot.

It wasn’t a very uncommon thing for them to stumble out of the building at three in the morning, very very drunk.

At the beginning of my career, this hadn’t happened much. I started Alien Crossing, my uni podcast, in a tiny little studio that London Metropolitan University had in their theater’s basement. I had about five downloads a week, and most of my listeners assumed that I had been born and raised in London. I let them believe it. It wasn’t that I was lying to them, per say, but I had no desire to be connected to Holmes Chapel. The only thing back home that I liked were my parents, and they had already made peace with the fact that if they wanted to see me, they should come visit me in London because I refused to step foot back in Cheshire.

Five downloads turned into twenty, twenty turned into ninety, ninety turned into two hundred and fourteen, and my numbers continued to grow. With the growth of my downloads also came the growth of background knowledge of my person. Including my middle name, my birthday, my parents’ names, and where I was born and raised.

The questions about growing up in the same town as one-fifth of the biggest boyband in the world started to come in around that time. And their number only grew when I graduated from university and my podcast was picked up by Outset Studios, which had a significantly larger number of listeners than London Metropolitan University did.

The tech crew who now took shots whenever Harry was mentioned had once been impressed with the knowledge that I knew Harry Styles. It didn’t last long. Whenever he was mentioned, Jeremiah that worked sound rolled his eyes and whispered something to Veronica, his assistant. I could never hear his whispers, but I knew they at least weren’t directed at me. He always gave me apologetic smiles when Harry was brought up. Veronica had once nearly squealed every time the One Direction member was mentioned, but now she just let out an annoyed breath and gulped down coffee to keep from screaming at whoever sent in emails about him.

They had traded in coffee for something stronger when my podcasts hit two thousand downloads.

I watched them now, pouring what looked like whiskey into shot glasses before clinking them together and pouring them down the hatch, so to speak. I wished they at least had the decency to pour me a shot as well. I hated getting asked about Harry just as much as they did.

Technically, the questions about Harry were partially my fault. On Alien Crossing, I was a big advocate of talking to the guest in question as well as answering fan emails. Jeremiah liked to tell me AC was more of a radio show-slash-podcast, but I really just liked interacting with my fellow nerds. The emails I used to receive were actual questions about whatever topic I was blabbering about that week, but since people had found out that I was born in Holmes Chapel, I got questions such as “what was it like growing up with Harry Styles?”

Which was precisely why Jeremiah and Veronica were drinking now.

Karris Vincent, my guest of the week who had been discussing the importance of sci-fi novels and her upcoming book Among Us, saw the look on my face and wrinkled her nose at me in solidarity, as if to apologize for the email glaring from the computer screen in front of me. I saw her eyeing the bottle of whiskey Veronica and Jeremiah were drinking with incredulity, but Jeremiah made a gesture to convey that he would explain the reason behind it later.

“Karris, do you have anyone famous from the town you grew up in?” I asked, purposefully avoiding the question for as long as I could. I had a scheduled fifteen minutes left of AC and I would spend the next fourteen minutes and forty-five seconds not discussing Harry Styles.

“Yes, actually, Lena Headey,” Karris supplied helpfully. My eyes went wide at the mention of the Game of Thrones star and Karris nodded excitedly. “I actually ran into her once when I was younger. It was when 300 was super popular.” The look on my face must have conveyed my jealousy, for Karris let out a soft laugh. “I can see the heart eyes you’re making right now.”

“It’s because Petra’s a nerd at heart,” Jeremiah supplied helpfully, his voice coming through on the headphones.

There was once a time where being called a nerd would have offended me, but it didn’t anymore. Mostly because I knew Jeremiah’s jab was done in kindness and friendship, but also because I’d long since stopped caring what people thought of me. I loved what I loved and I wasn’t going to be ashamed for it. Besides, with the popularity of Alien Crossing, nerds all around the world were listening to me nerding out and actually enjoying it.

“Lena Headey is just the perfect specimen, really,” I added, shrugging my shoulders though my listeners wouldn’t be able to see it. “I’m a huge fan of both Game of Thrones and 300. It’s my brand.”

We chatted for a few more minutes about Karris and her experience with celebrities when I caught Veronica’s gaze. It was an expression that let me know it was time to answer the question about Harry Styles. Bile didn’t physically rise in my throat, but in my mind it did.

“Getting back on topic, I never really interacted with Harry when we were in school. We had our different friend groups. But it’s always nice to see some rep from Holmes Chapel.” Lies, lies, and more lies. If I were to tell the truth about what growing up with Harry Styles was like, I’d have teenage girls all around the world clutching their metaphorical pearls. “Karris, thank you so much for coming to nerd out with us.”

She laughed in that airy tone I’d been listening to for the past hour. It wasn’t annoying by any means, but I’d wondered more than once for the past sixty minutes if it was a real laugh. “Thanks for allowing me to nerd out with you guys.”

“Keep a look out for Among Us if you like aliens, romance, and government conspiracies. This is Petra Gallego signing off. Live long and prosper, my young padawans.”

That had become my official sign off. In my first ever episode of AC at Outset Studios, I had been so nervous that I had jumbled the two phrases together. I slammed my head on the desk afterwards. But people seemed to enjoy it. They liked quirky things like that. Jeremiah and Veronica rolled their eyes every time I said it, but they had advised me to keep it simply because it was like a signature now.

Karris carefully peeled the headphones off the side of her pretty brunette hair, done up in a fancy braid that would have taken me hours to complete. “That was really fun, Petra. Thanks for having me.”

“Of course! My only payment is a signed copy of Among Us.”

She blushed, waving me off. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t want it.”

“No, she absolutely does. Aliens and romance? That’s like a nerdgasm for Petra,” Veronica called out from the sound booth, offering me a glass of whatever whiskey they had been drinking. I quickly shot it back, ignoring the burning sensation and instead focusing on the fact that I didn’t have to think about Harry Styles for at least the next week.

“Oh yeah, I meant to ask. What’s with the whiskey?” Karris asked.

“It’s a drinking game we have. Whenever Petra is asked about Harry Styles, we take a shot. Want one?” Jeremiah offered, holding out an empty shot glass. I wondered briefly how many glasses they kept in the sound booth.

“I’m good, thanks though. I noticed you looked a little off when he was brought up. Did you guys date when you were younger or something?”

I snorted. Definitely or something. The idea that Harry Styles would actually willingly date me was laughable. Considering the last words he’d ever said to me before he’d fucked off to X-Factor were “get your head out of your ass and grow up, Gallego” when his friend had taken my copy of Lord of the Rings and thrown it on the wet ground. The words were in response to my reaction, which was to promptly burst into tears.

Still, I had to give credit where credit was due. He’d never done something as vicious as throwing my book into a puddle, so he wasn’t a complete monster. It was a compilation of different things that made Harry Styles public enemy number one. Sure, he’d never been physical with his distaste towards me, but words affected me more than actions. Words seemed sneaky and fake. At least his friend who had ruined my book left no room for interpretation.

It was also because he was famous and I had to hear about him. All. The. Time.

Selfishly, I had hoped that when One Direction took their break, I could escape him. For a while I did. He was rarely sighted out (which I learned later was because he was working on his solo album) and my emails had dwindled until only interest in my podcast remained. And then his solo record had come out and everyone and their mother wanted it and wanted to know what I thought about it.

And yeah, okay, the music wasn’t bad. But even his name left a sour taste in my mouth.

“Or something,” I answered Karris, shrugging my shoulders. I took a look at the watch on my wrist and winced. “Shit, Karris, sorry. I know you’ve got an early flight to catch.”

The one drawback of Alien Crossing was the time in which we recorded it. Outset didn’t have a studio available until one in the morning, which was the slot I’d been given. By the time the guest and I got settled and actually recorded the podcast, it was about three in the morning. I was used to it, simply because I’d been doing it for so long now; I was even prone to coming to the studio in my pajamas. I knew Karris probably wasn’t used to the late nights.

“Don’t apologize. It’s another platform for me to advertise the book. And you warned me about the time, so it isn’t your fault.” She cracked her neck to the side in a move that made me incredibly jealous. I wish I could do that. “Plus, I’ve got a great neck pillow and a ten hour flight ahead of me.”

The idea of going to bed sounded heavenly. However, I knew I needed to stay behind to help Jeremiah with some editing. There usually wasn’t much, but we listened through the full podcast to make sure the sound wasn’t weird in some places, or that the conversation flowed. “That sounds great,” I mumbled, unable to keep the jealousy out of my voice.

She laughed another light, airy laugh.

“I went ahead and called you an Uber, Karris,” Veronica said, giving the pretty brunette a smile. If I hadn’t known her well, I would have thought she was flirting. Veronica had a naturally sultry face, with pouty lips and hooded eyes. I also knew she was in a serious, monogamous, nearly five-year relationship with her biology lab partner from her first year at uni. I had only met Veronica’s girlfriend once, but it was obvious they were very much in love.

“Thanks. Can I take a water bottle for the road?”

After Karris was situated and the 2003 silver Toyota Camry had picked her up, Veronica gave Jeremiah and me a sleepy goodbye with a promise to text the both of us when she got home safely. Then the two of us made our way back into Outset.

“Sorry about another Harry question,” Jeremiah stated as he held the door open for me. I shrugged him off, beelining a route to the comfy chair in the soundroom. It was old, worn leather, the kind you just sunk right into. I wanted to get a similar one for the studio, but since I didn’t actually own the place where we recorded, I figured that would be a little inappropriate.

“It won’t matter in about fifteen seconds when you offer me another shot of whiskey.” He gave me a wry smile but nevertheless poured me another glass. I tilted my head back and let the liquid slide down my throat.

“You know, you never told me what happened between you two anyway,” he mentioned, sitting in a chair across from me.

“Not much to tell.”

He snorted. “I don’t believe that for a minute, but I won’t push it if you don’t want to talk about it.”

That’s why I liked Jeremiah and Veronica. My parents, though I loved them, wanted to know every detail of everything going on in my life. When I was getting bullied in secondary school, they had wanted to know what my bullies had said to me, verbatim. That’s how I could think of a solution, they used to say, as if it was my responsibility that my schoolmates were pricks. Jeremiah and Veronica didn’t push anything if they could tell I didn’t want to discuss it.

“I shouldn’t let the emails about him get to me as much as they do, but…” I trailed off. I knew exactly why they got to me. It wasn’t because he had made my life miserable or because I hated him. It was because, deep down past my new life motto of self-love, I was still protective of what I loved as if someone were going to ridicule me. I wanted emails from fellow nerds about the four hour extended version of The Fellowship of the Ring or comic book aficionados who were subscribed to Marvel’s website like I was. I didn’t want emails about Harry Styles because I wanted what I loved to matter.

“But they do,” Jeremiah continued, nodding his head. “I get it. You built up AC by yourself. You don’t want the focus to be on someone you grew up with.”

“Exactly.” I was glad Jeremiah could put words to my jumbled mix of thoughts. He was good at stuff like that. Many a time he had been my unofficial therapist, especially on the weeks when appointments with my real therapist had to be cancelled.

“We could always stop doing the email bit, Pet. As a podcast, you know you aren’t required to.”

I had thought of this on many occasions, whenever my inbox was filled with questions like what toothpaste Harry Styles used. But for every ten emails about Harry, there was one email gushing over how they binged all of Star Trek and wanted my opinion on certain plot points. And for me, that one email was worth it. If I could give validation to a fellow nerd, that was what I was going to do.

“I know, but did you hear the email about the girl who visited Roswell? She was so excited to see the site of the UFO crash. If I stop doing emails, we won’t get good content like that. I can’t connect to people listening with just guests.”

“Pet, they debunked the Roswell UFO crash in the seventies.”

“I know, but it’s still interesting to hear conspiracy theories.”

Jeremiah sighed the sigh of a babysitter putting up with an energetic child. The analogy described our relationship pretty well. He was prone to bursts of childish ideas, but for the most part he was the level headed one out of the two of us. Veronica was the most responsible of the three of us, but that was because by the time she made it into the studio she was half asleep and couldn’t form speech.

“Whatever,” he dismissed, waving his hand in the air, “let’s get to editing.”

It took about forty minutes since the podcast we had just recorded had gone fairly smoothly. There was a weird pause when I read the email about growing up with Harry, but Jeremiah cut the weird silence with the press of a button. After we were done, we both took another shot of whiskey despite knowing we’d both probably wake up with headaches.

“You’re not driving home, right?” he asked, grabbing his coat. He was dressed like a normal adult person would be, in jeans and a graphic shirt. I, on the other hand, was in pajama pants depicting pandas at the beach and a long grey thermal shirt. I had taken off my slippers before Karris had come into the studio, but they were resting by my main setup.

“Nah, I’ll probably Uber it. Zach getting you?”

Zach was Jeremiah’s younger brother. He was in his first year at uni and in exchange for using Jeremiah’s car whenever he wanted, he had to pick up Jeremiah from the studio whenever Jeremiah had too much to drink. Which was pretty often. Overall, I didn’t envy Zach his responsibilities.

Jeremiah nodded. “I texted him a bit ago. Should be on his way. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will. I might stay here for a couple more minutes and jot down some ideas for future episodes. We’ve only got until June scheduled.”

His inky black brows rose. “Yeah, Pet, because it’s January. I think you’ll be fine if you took the night off from planning.”

“You say that, but June will be here before we know it and then you’ll be forced to come up with ideas and guests and you don’t need that kind of responsibility.”

He glared before shrugging. “All else fails, I’ll just ask Harry Styles to be a guest.” He had only a second to dodge the pen I sent flying at his head as a deep cackle left his mouth. “Only kidding. I’d prefer to keep all my limbs and appendages.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Plopping a sleepy and quick kiss to the top of my head, he waved me off. “See you next week, Pet. Don’t stay here too late, yeah?”

“I won’t. Say hi to Zach to me.”

I heard the door close behind him and through the glass of the sound booth watched him walk out of the studio. I curled my knees up to my chest and balanced my notebook on the knee, debating on who I could get in the studio next. We had some pretty cool guests scheduled, including a science fiction professor that traveled and taught some classes at different universities. My dream was to get Peter Jackson in the studio eventually, but I knew that it was impossible— and I would probably have a heart attack if I was in the vicinity of Peter Jackson.

I jotted down a couple of ideas before I seriously considered Jeremiah’s words. Every so often I debated on swallowing my pride and reaching out to Harry to ask if he would ever be interested in being on Alien Crossing. From what I had seen in interviews over the years, he seemed to have changed for the better. But whenever I started planning out how I would possibly ask him, I remembered that it didn’t matter if he had changed for the better. He had made my life miserable. And I didn’t know if I wanted him in my sacred place. Besides, interviews weren’t always candid and unfiltered. He probably had coaching on what to say to not ruin his image. Who knew if his kindness and maturity was real?

My phone pinged with a notification as I ran my hands through my hair. I lifted it briefly, seeing Jeremiah’s name across the screen.

Got home safely. If you’re still at the studio, I’m gonna kill you. Zach says hi.

I smiled to myself. Jeremiah was a rare diamond in the rough. When I had started at Outset, I had been terrified. Sure, people listened to my podcast at uni because there was a big population of arts and humanities students. They liked reading and watching films. At Outset, I was surrounded by radio shows and mainstream ideas. I was worried that no one would care about things like how it was a shame Firefly only got one season.

Then Jeremiah had come, like a guardian angel sent directly for me. I had been wearing a Harry Potter shirt and he had asked what house I was in. The nonchalant and non-judgemental way he had casually asked the question nearly made me cry. Then, when I had answered that I had been sorted Ravenclaw on Pottermore but was a self-identified Hufflepuff, he had lamented over the fact that he so clearly belonged in Slytherin but had gotten Gryffindor.

Veronica and I had gotten off to a rockier start simply because she wasn’t into any of the same stuff I was into. She liked current pop culture and shopped at Harrods. She owned perfume by Yves Saint Laurent. She was the opposite of me in every way. But she had gotten used to my random fits of nerdiness and had been kind, kinder than anyone had been in a long time. And then, when my first Outset Studios Christmas rolled around, she had gotten me a box set of The Hobbit movies (I already owned them, but it was very sweet of her) and a Harry Potter sock advent calendar. And when we had come back from the holiday, she offhandedly mentioned that she caught the first two Harry Potter films on their annual Christmastime marathon and wanted to watch the rest of them. She had even let Jeremiah and I sign her up for a Pottermore account to sort her.

She was a Hufflepuff. Naturally.

I’m calling an Uber now, Dad, I responded. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, since I opened the Uber app and was prepared to get a car when I remembered the question about Harry Styles. Followed by a remembrance that there was still half a bottle of whiskey and I had a perfectly empty shot glass.

Get your head out of your ass and grow up, Gallego.

Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t think of Harry much. I didn’t want to focus on him. I prided myself on being a fairly positive person. Usually, I could brush off the emails about him. But something was stirring in my stomach tonight, and the taunts and jokes at my expense came rushing back like a flood.

Knowing I was going to have a killer headache in the morning but finding that I didn’t much care, I took another shot.

And then I ordered a 2017 white Nissan Sentra driven by a woman named Clarissa for the ride home, forcing all thoughts of Harry Styles out of my head until next week, when I would inevitably be asked about him again.

My therapist, a lovely woman named Doctor Thorne, suggested that I relieve stress through physical activity. We had tried simple touches at first, lightly running one or two fingers over my lips to spread parasympathetic fibers to my nervous system. Then, we had tried simple breathing techniques. But I didn’t have the attention span to keep my breathing even. So, we had come to the conclusion that yoga might be beneficial.

Usually it was. Except for when I was stuck in a position I couldn’t get out of.

“Petra, your pigeon pose is atrocious,” Melody mentioned from beside me. Her pigeon pose, naturally, was flawless.

“My body wasn’t meant to bend this way,” I whispered angrily. And it truly wasn’t. My legs were too short to reach my arms properly in the position I was supposed to be in. Melody had the long, gangly limbs needed for this particular pose.

“Shh,” someone hissed from in front of us. Melody and I immediately exchanged a look and tried to keep from laughing.

If Jeremiah and Veronica were my work best friends, Melody was my best friend in every other aspect. We had met at Dr. Thorne’s office when she was coming out of the office and Dr. Thorne had asked me if she could run to the bathroom before our session started. Melody was an impulsive sharer, which was how five minutes later I had her entire life story and her phone number in my phone, in case I “ever wanted to chat.”

We had met for coffee a week later.

Since then, Melody and I had latched onto one another. She didn’t have many friends and hated her roommates because they always left their flat messy. I didn’t have many friends and lived in a one bedroom that was barely big enough for me but the rent was low. It was a pretty beneficial relationship for the both of us, since we had a convenient friend to invite places and she crashed on my couch when her roommates were being especially shitty.

“Slowly come out of the pigeon pose,” our yoga instructor commanded from the front of the room. Melody and I always strategically grabbed a place in the back because we got away with talking. Sometimes. By the glare on the woman’s face in front of us, we weren’t getting away with it at the current moment. “And then let the top half of your body lower to the mat to transition into the cobra pose.”

This pose was one I could do at least. But I was stuck in the pigeon pose. Melody reached over and pressed up on my back to get me the momentum I needed to lean forward. I sent her a grateful grin.

Since Dr. Thorne had recommended yoga four months ago, I had tried to get to a class at least once a week. Melody wasn’t seeking stress relief, but she didn’t mind yoga as a form of exercise considering she hated going to the gym. Soon enough, weekly yoga became our thing. We tried to do it twice a week, once in an actual studio and then once at home, but our home yoga sessions usually turned into us drinking wine and watching the telly.

“Great. I can’t do this pose,” Melody grumbled under her breath. Since the cobra pose involved pushing out the chest and tilting the head back, I understood why she had trouble with it. Melody had back problems because her tits were massive. Whenever I lamented the fact that I wasn’t blessed in the chest region, she was quick to put me in my place. And considering she was only twenty-four with the back problems of a seventy-year-old woman, there was some truth to her scoldings.

“Don’t do it if you’re going to hurt yourself,” I stated in a hushed tone. I knew she wouldn’t listen. Melody, along with being an over-sharer and having massive tits, was also incredibly stubborn.

“Fuck you, I’m fine,” she whispered back, grunting in annoyance when her back let out a loud crack.

“Shh!”

“You want to try doing this pose with these tits, lady?” Melody was quick to reply, narrowing her eyes. The woman in front of us looked slightly offended and shocked, like she couldn’t believe how vulgar Melody was being. I didn’t think it was one of the most vulgar things that had left Melody’s mouth, but I was probably just desensitized.

Still, it was effective. The woman didn’t shush us for the rest of the yoga class.

“Every time we come here I hate myself more than I did before,” Melody mentioned as we made our way to the women’s room. I usually liked to wait to get home to take my showers, but since Melody’s roommates were notorious for taking showers that were two hours long, her shower at home was more than likely occupied. So I sat on the bench in the ladies room while Melody took a quick shower.

I didn’t mind yoga. Sure, I wish I could relieve stress by sitting on the couch and doing nothing, but it was better than cardio. If Dr. Thorne had suggested cardio for my stress, I might have had to find a new therapist. “It isn’t so bad,” I called out, a little louder than normal since I knew firsthand how loud the showers at the gym were.

“Yeah, because you don’t have boobs the size of a small country.” A sudden waft of the body wash I knew Melody used hit me in the face like a fist. She always used too much. “We heading back to your place after this?”

“If you want. I’ve got to sort through some emails for AC and contact a couple of guests to confirm, but then afterwards we can get some food and watch the telly.”

Melody and I didn’t like the same shows. At all. But we were selfless with one another because our friendship was important to the both of us, and so we took turns choosing what show we would watch. Last week had been my turn, so I knew I was bound to end up watching reruns of Gossip Girl tonight. I didn’t hate the shows Melody watched, but there was only so much gossip, money, and toxic relationships I could take before I begged her to turn it off.

“Oh yeah. Who’s in the studio next week?”

She was also very diligent with inquiring about how AC was going. She worked as a data analyst at The Associates Global. I still didn’t know exactly what her job entailed, but she was quick to offer information whenever I had questions. Melody thought my job was the coolest thing since sliced bread considering she didn’t know podcasts were a thing. She had been an avid audiobook listener before I converted her. Now, I couldn’t get her to stop listening to podcasts.

“Rick Baker. He’s an incredible special effects makeup artist. He did the makeup for An American Werewolf in London.” Melody emerged from the shower, clad in a tiny baby blue towel. She had a brow raised. I knew this meant that she had no idea what that movie was and was wondering if he’d done work in a movie she’d know. “He also did the makeup for Jim Carrey’s Grinch.”

“Oh how fun,” she mentioned excitedly. “If he has time and the two of you aren’t super tired, you should have him give you some pointers.”

Because I was me and my mind was an endless black hole of nerd questions and aspirations, I had dabbled previously in special effects makeup. I wasn’t terrible at it. I had made Melody look like a mermaid last Halloween, complete with bright pink and purple scales all over her body. I was nowhere near a professional though.

“Maybe I will.” Melody quickly changed into a clean version of the outfit she’d gone to yoga in— leggings and a tank top. Since it was January, however, she also had thrown a cardigan on over her shoulders. No matter how hot yoga had made us, the second we stepped out into the London weather, we would regret not having on long sleeves. “But for now all I can think about is curling up on my couch and eating Chinese food until my stomach protests.”

“We’re awful yoga people. We should be getting green smoothies at a juice bar right now.”

I raised a brow. “Do you want to go get green smoothies at a juice bar?”

“God no.”

The gym where we did our yoga was in Croydon, so it was only a twenty-three minute bus ride to my flat back in Merton. Merton hadn’t been my first choice for a flat location in London, but Outset was a ten minute walk from the flat that I had found for a decent enough price. Melody usually ordered an Uber back to her place in Wimbledon or sometimes took the bus if she had time to deal with public transit. Since I didn’t have a car, she was stuck doing the bus with me if she wanted to go back to my place.

Luckily for me (because I was so lazy) my flat didn’t require me to climb up any stairs. I don’t know how’d I’d gotten lucky with that one, but when the landlady had told me, I jumped at the opportunity to move in. It was also perfect for days like today, when Melody and I had sweat our asses off at yoga and my legs felt like jelly. I didn’t think given my current state I could climb any stairs.

“Make yourself at home. I can’t do anything until I shower,” I announced when I let Melody and I into my flat. It was a tiny, pathetic little thing, but I didn’t mind. I didn’t need much. Most of the equipment I needed for AC was either kept at the studio or Jeremiah let me store it in his flat. Melody immediately flopped onto my couch and groaned.

“I’m not moving for the next hour and a half. Want me to order the Chinese?”

“You’re my savior.”

I heard Melody’s laugh as I made my way to my bathroom. My sweaty clothes were immediately thrown into my hamper, which was really just an extra cupboard that I hadn’t found a use for. I ended up shoving a laundry basket underneath it and deemed it to be my dirty clothes hamper. Ignoring the growing pile of clothes to sit in said hamper, I turned the shower on and let the water run for a minute. It took a little while for it to heat up to the scalding temperature I wanted.

My parents had complained when I was younger about how hot my showers were. It hadn’t been a serious problem before, only mildly annoying when they tried to go into the bathroom afterwards and they were sweating by the time they had come out. It had only started worrying them when I once had the water up so hot that I had passed out. Granted, I hadn’t eaten that entire day either, so it was a combination of both. But since that moment they had limited the temperature of the water or the amount of time I spent in a scalding shower. When I moved to uni, the showers had shit water pressure and wouldn’t get to the burning temperature I wanted. These two facts meant that since I was in my own flat, I could burn my body to my heart’s content. Which was exactly what I did when I stepped under the stream.

I had minimal bath products in my shower. There was a generic face wash, vanilla scented body wash, and a shampoo/conditioner set I had picked up at the TK Maxx by the studio. It annoyed Melody, who was a firm believer in having seven products in her skin care routine, but the four products I owned had served me well so I wasn’t going to change them up for the heck of it.

The hot water would have been enough to lure me into an hour long shower if it wasn’t for the growling of my stomach. I sighed, lamenting the warmth my shower offered when I cut off the stream and stepped onto my bath mat, wrapping myself in a bright red towel I was pretty sure I had gotten as a house-warming gift from my mother.

“We’re watching Gossip Girl!” Melody announced, probably hearing the bathroom door open when I stepped out.

I didn’t bother replying. She knew how I felt about the show. Instead I walked to my closet and changed into thick leggings and a jumper I’d owned since secondary school. In fact, I was pretty sure Harry had made fun of this exact jumper once long ago. It was a pretty pastel green, plastered with the words “gravity...always bringing me down.” It was one of my favorites, despite the fact that I had wanted to burn it when Harry and his friends had made fun of it one day. It had hung in my closet, forgotten and lonely, until a couple of months after he had left for the X-Factor and I had bravely worn it once more.

Padding out to the living room, Melody offered me the mug of tea she had made for me and I took it gratefully, even if it burned my fingers. My laptop was on my couch from last night, when I had gotten home from the studio and sent a couple of confirmation emails to guests that would be here for AC later this month. Setting my feet on the coffee table in front of me, I opened up the laptop and clicked around until I got to AC’s official email.

Most of them were encouraging. They were excited for upcoming guests and the hour-long podcast I had planned to discuss the Marvel Cinematic Universe thus far and how I thought Endgame would end. That week would be fun, considering I had a sketch artist that worked with Marvel on one of the Captain America comics. It was one I had yet to read, but I already had it in my list on Marvel Comics official website, which I paid for monthly. It was an edition of Captain America that had Sam Wilson as Cap, and I was excited to see how he did as America’s symbol.

Some of them were about Harry and for more information on what growing up with him was like, but I ignored those. Like I always did. I tried to reply back to emails that we didn’t get to read on the podcast, but the ones about Harry were always left opened and read, never to be brought up again. These particular emails were about the question I had been asked on the last episode of AC, which was whether Harry had many girlfriends in secondary school.

As I was scrolling and Melody was complaining about something playing out on the telly, I noticed an email from someone with a Harry email name. These weren’t uncommon. Usually Jeremiah and Veronica looked at them if they wanted to have a laugh. But this wasn’t from a normal gmail or yahoo account.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Petra,

I caught your last episode of Alien Crossing and listened to it on a trip I took over the weekend. It was, for lack of a better term, amazing. I never knew how much work went into the production crew of a big sci-fi film. The lads and I had large crews when we filmed music videos, but it was nothing like your guest last week was describing. It was really interesting.

I’ll be in your area in two weeks. I don’t know if you’d want to, but I was wondering if you’d want to get together? Maybe get a bite to eat or something to drink? Haven’t seen you since secondary school and would like to catch up.

Hope to see you soon,

Harry

“Holy shit,” I mumbled under my breath, my eyes locked on the words on my screen. It could have been a joke. It probably was a joke. It was probably someone pretending to be Harry. Because the Harry I knew wouldn’t have been so courteous and kind in an email to me.

“I know, right! Can’t believe Chuck sold her for a fucking hotel!”

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