Two Way Street

No one was talking to me.

The entire hotel suite was silent, besides the occasional mutter between the other boys, usually to ask where someone put the milk or something else inconsequential. But there was no serious conversation. And there was no conversation at all with me.

They all hated me for doing what I did to Mara. Not that I blamed them. I hated myself, too.

Louis’ words kept echoing in my head, the sentence that came out of his mouth when he told me just how badly my actions had messed up Mara. How could I have possibly thought what I was doing was the right thing? What the hell was wrong with me?

The practice of ignoring me really started when Harry left for the UK on emergency leave, as if everyone realized that I was no fun to be around at the same time. No one really knew what his emergency was, or whether there was an emergency at all, but I hoped he checked in on Mara, even if it was only for a couple minutes. Because there was no way my curiosity would be well-received.

I was the bad guy for the first time in my life. I was the one that everyone looked at with shifty, anger-filled eyes, the one that was getting the social backlash.

There were so many times I fought with myself over calling Mara and apologizing, saying that I’d been wrong, that I was just being an arsehole. But something in my gut told me that Mara would think I was just saying so to make her feel better or that I pitied her. It wasn’t the truth, but people weren’t always rational.

I curled up in my bedroom in the hotel suite, under the blankets, my laptop resting on my stomach. Since I wasn’t able to have conversations with anyone, I’d taken to watching Criminal Minds on my laptop, since I’d heard such great things about it. It certainly didn’t disappoint me, and some of the storylines were so intense that they were able to suck in all my attention, temporarily relieving me of the plaguing thoughts about Mara.

The concerts were the toughest, though. In our suite and on the tour bus, we were allowed to ignore each other without fear of the truth escaping. But on stage, we had to turn into actors, continuing to share looks with one another, make jokes, laugh: all things that were absent in private.

I cracked my knuckles as I started the next episode of Criminal Minds, hoping it was a really good one. And then, my mobile sounded, signaling that I had a new text.

Figuring that it was mum, I reached for it and opened the message, glancing down for only a second to see what it said.

But instead of seeing Mum’s name, I saw Harry’s. Shes really messed up mate.

I swallowed anxiously before answering. Then won’t she freak out that you’re texting me right now?

She passed out while we were watching television last night, and she still hasn’t gotten up.

She’s alive right?!

Of course she is Im not that dumb.

I let out a sigh of relief before figuring out what I was going to write as a reply. I really am sorry for what I did. I made the biggest mistake ever by breaking up with her.

I know that but she doesn’t. And Louis thinks its your biggest mistake ever for a diffrent reason. He hates you by the way. He was plotting your murder with me last night.

I figured. I just feel like this is going to do some really dramatic things that it shouldn’t.

Like end the badn?
Band*

Yeah, just like that.

I really hope your not right.

Me, too.

After that, his texts stopped coming, so I put my phone back on the side table and tried to get re-immersed in the show in front of me. But no matter how hard I tried, how narrowed my eyes got to focus without distractions, my mind kept drifting back to the looming possibility of the band ending over Mara’s and my breakup.

The exact thing she had so feared when the possibility of getting together was introduced.

* * *

The concert that night had been enjoyable for everyone in the audience, but it was exhausting for us. Putting on those smiles, explaining that Harry was having family troubles back in England, so he couldn’t be there, and then pretending it didn’t bother us when a significant amount of people left the stadium after hearing the news.

What was the point of spending all that money to come and see just Harry? And even if they did, why would they waste that much money by leaving? It didn’t make any sense to me, and I was sure it hurt the other boys, too.

I collapsed in my bed on the tour bus, while the other boys gathered in the back room to play videogames and complain about what a prick I was. Not that I really disagreed with them, but whatever.

It took a while to fall asleep, thanks to my racing thoughts and the adrenaline from the concert continuing the pump through my veins, but somewhere along the line, I finally slipped out of consciousness.

I walked into a flat I immediately recognized as Harry’s, throwing the door open and looking around. It was much messier than usual, things strewn about, alcohol bottles littering the floors.

“This is all your fault,” Harry accused from his place on the couch. As my eyes met his, he started to scowl, taking a large gulp from the bottle of bourbon in his hands. “If you hadn’t done that, this wouldn’t have happened."

“Done what?” I gasped. “What wouldn’t have happened?”

“You know. You bloody know.”

And with that, he disappeared, leaving me alone in the room with a mess so awful that Louis would feel desperate to clean it up.

Without dwelling on Harry’s disintegration, I continued through the house, stepping into the grand bathroom. Everything was detailed perfectly, the white walls and floor, the gold accents, the skylight that shined rare sunlight in the room to light it.

But marring the serene cleanness was a body in the middle of the floor. My first instinct was to lean down and shake her shoulder, urging her awake. The bathroom was no place for sleeping.

And then the blood appeared, pooling around her torso, arms, and face, ruining the perfect paleness of her skin. Her eyes, glazed over, were staring off into space.

“Mara?” I breathed, leaning down next to her, putting a hand in her hair.

“All your fault,” Harry grumbled from the doorway. “It’s all your fucking fault.”

I gasped back to life, blinking away the tears, grasping frantically for breath as I jumped out of my bed and hurried into the kitchen area, where my phone was waiting for me. Without taking a second to think if it was logical, I found Mara’s name and dialed her number.

The second the ringing stopped, I started pleading into the phone, “Mara, can you hear me? Mara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do what I did. I’m the lowest shithead in the world, and I would understand if you never forgave me, but I’m just…”

And then I heard the click.