Wanderlust

Arriving home from my studio time fresh from my breakfast with Kara, it was fair to say that I was running extremely high on emotions. Even if I had managed to belt out lyrics like 'smoke coming out of my ears' and 'fire burning up in here', I still felt the underlying burden of unresolved issues.

And so, with a restless slumber of tossing and turning and waking from dreams where a ten foot tall Kara had stepped on me with her gigantic stiletto heal, I awoke in no better a mood than the one I had fallen asleep with.

It was near lunch time when I emerged from my bedroom, bleary eyed and craving a fix only strong coffee could bring me. The house was its usual quiet, the only sound being that of my own feet padding across the floor boards. Outside, the weather held about as much promise as it usually did; overcast with hints of rain. I sighed at the site of it.

"Ah, you're awake."

I jumped on the spot at the sound of my brother entering the room. I had assumed he was out, as he usually was, and yet there he stood, about as disheveled as I was myself, all sweatpants and t-shirt.

"Yeah..." I muttered, flicking the switch of the kettle and bringing down a mug from the top cabinet. "I, uh, thought I'd spend the day in bed. Movies and that."

I hadn't officially decided, nor considered, spending my day in bed, but William was looking at me with what I could only decipher as disapproval, and so I felt like an explanation would calm the accusation behind his dark blue eyes.

"In bed?" He asked, walking around the stone counter and producing a mug for himself. "Not out? At the studio, or anything? An interview? Appearance?"

My mind went blank. Was he hinting that I had forgotten something? Did I have an interview? I was almost positive I had a clean slate until the following Thursday when I was due for the Vogue spread.

"No... No, I don't think so. Do I have something booked?"

If I had ever seen the look on William's face before, I had subconsciously suppressed the memory of it - and for good reason. His eyes narrowed on me with such detest, I was half sure he was looking at someone behind me, someone worth giving a look so cold and seething.

"Because I would know that, wouldn't I? I would be on top of that, because that's what you're here - in London - for, right? I mean, you should have something booked today, honestly, but you don't. You're not doing anything, are you?"

It felt, in all honestly, like someone had thrown a punch right at my chest. Not in the metaphoric 'heart wrench' kind of way, but in the most literal way possible. It felt like an ache had started in my chest and was threatening to spread to my throat, wanting me to cry. I wouldn't, though. I wasn't going to cry because my older brother was being, in the most ordinary sense of the word, mean.

"What are you trying to say, William?"

The kettle beside us was long forgotten, its protruding smoke barely registering to me as Will crossed his arms across his chest and settled his hip against the counter.

"I'm saying, Lucy, that I think you need to spend a little less time getting yourself in the papers, and a little more time actually working. Stop parading around like a groupie and be the actual artist."

It was the kind of anger where I could have thrown up, where I wanted to throw something across the room and scream directly into William's ear, just to hurt his hearing. To honestly suggest that I was too busy sleeping with boys, I couldn't fathom the thoughts running through his mind.

"How would you know what work I'm doing when you're literally never around? Aren't you my assistant? Aren't you supposed to help me?"

I couldn't tell how loud my voice was reaching, because a strange ringing had occurred in my ears. William only appeared to be further furied by my argument.

"Oh, because that's what I am to you, isn't it? A helper. Your little lap dog. I'm your brother!"

He paused, and a silence hung over us for merely a few seconds before his next words caused that same punch-to-the-chest feeling.

"Mum and dad would be sick at what you've become."

Before I could even think to retaliate, the hesitant sounds of footsteps stopped me. Both William and I glanced to the doorway of his bedroom where a small, brightly red haired girl was tiptoeing toward us. Of course, she looked familiar, but I couldn't put a name to her face for the life of me.

"S-sorry to interrupt."

It was the girl from Will and I's night out, so long ago. The one he had been hiding; the one who had, apparently, stayed the night last night.

William stepped forward, completely forgetting our conversation and rounding the counter once again to place a hand on the small girl's shoulder.

"Don't worry about it, Lila, I was just coming back."

He attempted to lead them back to his room, not bothering to look back at myself still standing in the kitchen, however Lila had other ideas. She stood rooted to the spot with her large brown eyes focused on me.

"I'm Lila. You might not remember from a while back..."

She had an accent that reminded me of Zayn Malik, kind of lazy at the end of each word and very quiet.

"Yeah, of course. I remember. Nice to see you again." I said awkwardly, fully aware that she had heard Will and I's spat.

Lila looked as though she wanted to say more, but William tugged at the large t-shirt she was wearing and pulled her back into his room where he kicked the door firmly closed.

I heaved a breath that felt awfully close to a sob and ventured back into my room, coffee-less and entirely upset. I could only think of one person in this country who could lift me from this rut, but I didn't want to add to William's accusations.

Did I look like a groupie because I was friends with other musicians? This whole thing sounded terribly familiar, and that was because it was familiar. Everything Will had said to me was something I could have torn from a trashy magazine. Was the media getting to his head? Was he falling for the lies instead of staying on my side?

I couldn't stand another second of laying on my bed, tormenting myself with endless questions that I would never find answers for. I stood up and decided that fresh, lonely air was what I needed. Just the English daytime and no company would clear my head.

I dressed quickly, lazily. A sweater, pants, I wasn't quite sure. However, I did make sure I had a beanie and scarf practically swallowing my face. There was no way I was being recognised today.

I exited my room, phone and keys in hand, and headed for the front door.

Passing by William's room, I found it incredibly hard not to hear the loud, booming voice of an angry brother.

"I can't believe her! She has been an absolute idiot lately..."

I felt my left eye twitch at my suppression to throw open the door and physically hurt my brother.

"I know, Will, I know. I told you, she's not worth it. Didn't I tell you she's using you? It's very obvious, babe. She doesn't deserve you at all. All she does is hang around that band when she should be working for you guys. I mean, she didn't come here just to get a bad reputation..."

I could hardly believe my ears, at both Lila's muffled words as well as William's quiet "I know."

This girl was blatantly bad mouthing in my own home. And, worse still, my own brother was agreeing with her.



I couldn't help myself. And that was entirely the problem. I couldn't walk around Southern England and not feel helplessly sorry for myself.

Purely on foot, I managed my way down town and straight onto the doorstep of Harry Styles.

Harry had, for me, become a sort of replacement Paloma. Of course, I had considered making the overseas call to Sydney for my best friend, but the time zones were not in my favour. And so, Harry was my next best bet. Regardless of our weird, friendly, hinting tension, Harry was a listener. I had discovered that on our first date. He sat before you with a concentration that said 'I'm listening, I care', and I appreciated that like nothing else.

It only occurred to me that it wasn't only he who lived in this flat, and that certainly anyone could answer the door before me, once I had knocked on it.

I was considering backing away when suddenly the door was jerked open and a head of unruly curls was thrust into my view.

"Lucy!" He exclaimed, his voice rasping with strain. "What a beautiful surpr--"

He had stopped short, his large smile faltering. I had started crying. I could have kicked myself; crying on the boy's doorstep - what a fool.

His eyes deepened in concern, almost sadness, which made me sob harder. I was a mess, undoubtedly. Still wrapped in the wool of scarf and beanie, I must have been a site, bawling beneath my layers.

Ushering me inside quickly, Harry began unwrapping my large scarf and plucked the beanie off of my head, tossing them aside. I couldn't help it, I fell into him. My face hit the contour of his shoulder so suddenly it startled him, but his arms were fast around me in a comforting embrace.

And, while I sobbed into the boy I was positive I had feelings for, I was very thankful that, at the least, I could call him a friend.