Heavy Heart

Daria was just returning from an afternoon working at Yellow Spoon, her limbs aching from making dozens of pastries and serving customers in between. She found her mom in the living room sorting through the mail in her work clothes covered in an apron, the scent of roasted ham filling the house. There was a huge heap already tossed into a recycling bin dragged from the kitchen, letters upon letters piled on top of the other household recyclables.

“What’s with all the mail?” Daria asked with a chuckle, approaching her mom.

“I’ve tried to unlist our address about a million times but the post office is having a hard time understanding the concept of ‘unlist our address,’” Georgia muttered with a sigh, pitching another letter into the bin.

“Where are they all coming from?” Daria questioned as peered inside, only to realize every single one was addressed to her.

“Harry has some pretty dedicated fans,” Georgia whistled lowly, setting side some of the mail that was actually useful to their family, bills and such. “I wouldn’t open any of it; the majority of them aren’t particularly nice.”

Daria’s heart sunk at the thought of the Directioners sending her hate mail, the proof of the punch right in front of her in her very own home. Did they have no limits whatsoever? Unfortunately, she knew the answer to that question without having to pursue it. She would never forget that night in France she had been so hatefully targeted outside the show. Despite it all, she managed to avoid them at all costs since – staying off the streets and Internet and most importantly out of the tabloids. But it seemed they’d finally taken it too far.

Georgia gave her daughter a sad, sympathetic smile, the same hazel eyes Daria inherited twinkling with an emotion Daria hadn’t seen on her before. But then again, Georgia had been full of surprises recently – complete with cooking meals, watching comedic movies and actually laughing, taking her daughter shopping and doing anything and everything to make Daria happy as she could be. She knew it was a losing game, but she would try anyway. Anything for Daria, now that her head was clear.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as she came across a letter in the pile. “This one is sent in high priority in a nice envelope. Seems legitimate. Do you know a Delevingne?”

Daria’s blood ran cold. Cara. She’d seen her and Harry out at Harrod’s on the front cover of Us, rumors of a budding relationship in bold letters underneath their figures. Daria’s name was mentioned beneath, but she’d turned away in time to keep her sanity.

“Yeah, I do.”

She took the letter from her mom and turned to go up the stairs, twined with evergreen garland and fairy lights, to her room to read it in peace and quiet. Her mind could only imagine the contents, torturing her quietly with it’s thick, cardstock quality.

“Daria!” her mother called after her when she was half way up the stairs. “What do you want for dinner tomorrow?”

Tomorrow was Christmas. A holiday her mother loved once and then lost sight of, and was now falling in love with again. In a few hours, Jeff would come over for Christmas Eve dinner and the three of them would eat together, and Daria would laugh and be happy the way her mother deserved on her first real Christmas in eleven years.

“I’m sure whatever you have planned is fine Mom,” she called back teasingly, knowing that her mother surely already had planned out every detail.

A laugh came from the kitchen, along with the timer on the ham. “I was thinking braised beef and mashed potatoes. Is that okay?”

She’d had that at Anne and Robin’s the day the news came out about her and Harry. It felt like someone had swiftly kicked her right in her gut.

“Yeah, that sounds fine.”

As she got to her room, she returned her thoughts to the letter. It seemed like a cruel Christmas gift for Cara to send her a letter – probably only to rub it in that she had won Harry and Daria was left behind like trail of other girls who had gotten their hearts broken the same way. She sighed. Maybe they deserved each other, Cara and Harry. They both were wicked people.

Sitting on the same bed she’d slept in since she was a little girl, she slid a finger through the heavy paper to reveal the contents. Inside were two folded notes, one marked Read First in a professional, jagged scrawl – not what she was expecting of Cara – and the other wrinkled like it had once been crumpled and someone had attempted to make it smooth once more. Behind them was a mixed CD, labeled with her name in Harry’s handwriting. She took the one with the label in her hands and unfolded it, only to find the same scrawling handwriting on the inside.

Daria,
He’ll kill me for doing this, but I can’t stand watching him be so sad. I found these in the bin at his house. Just so you know, I was rooting for you two the whole time. I’m sorry if it came off otherwise.


With a sigh and a shake of her head, she pressed the paper to her face. She’d been wrong about Cara that whole time, making an ass of herself for acting like such a fool. She’d yet to discover the contents of the other, more creased piece of paper, but with Cara’s apology it became clear – her anxiety had bested her yet again. Daria knew better than to believe that Harry would trust someone who only wanted them apart, but she let her head get to her, the way she always let her head get to her.

With a shaking resolve, she took the other paper in her hands and revealed the words in Harry’s familiar hand. Most of the words had a definite strike through them; like he’d written them down and regretted the way they came out.

Daria,
I can’t find the words to explain what I’m feeling – what I’ve been feeling ever since you left. I made this to show because I don’t think I could ever use my words to truly express to you everything that’s going on. And we both know that music is the best way I communicate. So I hope you can understand.

fuck this I’m an idiot. she’s a rare catch and I’m a shitty fisherman

Before Daria even had a chance to react, there was a knock at her door. Her mother entered with another envelope and the house phone, a small smile on her face.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Georgia said meekly. “I just found this in a pile I thought was junk mail. And someone just called for you but something happened on their end. I think they’ll try and call back soon so I’ll just leave the phone with you, okay?”

Daria extended her hands to receive what her mother was giving her, only to see the University of Birmingham crest on the cover of the envelope, emblazoned with the word ‘Congratulations!’ in large letters. It was addressed to her name. She double checked. Still to her.

She’d gotten in.

“Just so you know,” her mom murmured from the door. “I won’t be mad.”

Daria sat slack-jawed with the envelope and telephone in her hands, watching as her mother slipped coyly through the door. She had her mom’s permission to go back to Birmingham – something she hadn’t dreamed of happening in a thousand years. But she’d already accepted the fate that she would be staying in Middletown, the sudden option of returning to England nearly tearing her apart inside. All the emotions she had just experienced reading Harry’s thrown out letter were overwhelming her like a tidal wave, drowning her with indecision and confusion. Who even was she anymore?

At that moment, the phone rang in her hand. The caller ID displayed a number she knew well, one that had normally called her British phone. Immediately her fingers went to answer the call, bringing the phone to her ear straight afterwards.

“Liv!” she exclaimed in excitement, though she’d just talked to her a few days before when she’d called to check up. “Happy Christmas!”

“Daria, hi, same to you,” Liv said, the line crackling with her breath. “Look, I really don’t have time for pleasantries-“

“Can you just wait a minute?!” Daria exclaimed, her voice a little nervous. “I have exciting news.”

And before Olivia could even answer, Daria continued, “I got accepted back to Birmingham! Permanently!”

Olivia squealed on the other end of the line, proving her excitement. “Oh my goodness! We have to talk about it later, okay? Right now, you need to turn on your radio.”

“What?” Daria questioned, taken aback.

“Harry is on Z100 in New York right now and it’s streaming live online,” Olivia clarified in a pressing tone. “He’s talking about you.”

Immediately, Daria dropped the phone in her hand and ran to her laptop, logging onto the Z100 website and pressing play on the live stream. Her skin prickled at the thought of the boys’ proximity – the New York City based station only two hours away. She’d nearly forgotten they were coming to the States to promote their album, but at the sound of Zayn’s saying her name it all came flooding back to her.

“Daria, if you’re out there, please listen to him,” Zayn’s voice called out to her. She ran back across the room to the phone to have Olivia by her side, only to find the line was dead. She was going to have to do this by herself.

“Alright Harry,” the host intoned. “It’s all yours.”

The sound of Harry clearing his throat in the microphone brought her to tears, even before he was able to speak. She was so busy blocking out how much she had missed him with how angry she was with him that when he was finally right at her fingertips, she absolutely crumbled.

“Daria,” he murmured into the microphone, the beautiful way her name sounded when he said it making her knees weak. His voice broke at the end, like the heavy weight of tears was right there riding on his words. He took a moment to collect himself, leaving silence on the air. She collapsed back onto the bed to listen to him, her eyes locked onto the computer screen as though she could see him and he could see her, too.

“Daria,” he started again. “I know that everything is wrong. I know that I messed this all up… that I ruined the best thing in my life… that it’s all my fault.”

Her breath was catching in her lungs as she tried to keep up with his words, her heart racing in her chest like it depended on it – if it slowed, surely she would collapse.

“I keep calling your phone and it says it’s been disconnected, and it’s driving me crazy not being able to reach you, not being able to hear your voice,” he continued. “I wrote you a letter and the words kept coming out all wrong.”

Her tears turned into broken sobs, flowing freely down her face now in the presence of just her and Harry. Though thousands, if not millions, were listening, it felt as though it was just the two of them in her room, nothing else present but their energy.

“I need to fix this. I need to fix what happened between us because it’s all wrong. Things aren’t supposed to be like this. We’re supposed to be together, and I hope you still agree. I can’t fix things until you talk to me. So please call.”

“Daria Holmes, if you’re out there, it’s my Christmas wish to have you back. Because when I’m with you, everything makes sense. Because… damn it, I can’t believe I’m about to say this on the radio... because… I love you.”

Because I love you.

The voice of the DJ was blurred by the emotion walloping her at full force. He said it back. He said those words she had once been so afraid to say, the words he was so afraid of saying back. Harry’s voice came back once more, causing her to snap back to attention.

“Here’s our new single, I’ll Be Home for Christmas. This one’s for you Daria.”

Her favorite song. Her dad’s favorite song.

Everything around her fell to pieces as she sobbed to the sound of the voices of the boys she loved so dearly – of the boy she loved so dearly. He was there with her in the room, singing to her with tender words and grazing touches. Everything was too much for her, the weight of the world nearly crushing her against her bedframe. She’d gone from zero to one hundred in sixty seconds flat and it was all she could do to keep from retching all over the floor.

The doorbell rang, announcing Jeff’s arrival for dinner. She numbly picked at her ham and asparagus, eyes sore from crying so hard. Though her mom and their guest stared at her with questioning eyes, she said nothing. What was there to say? Daria could hardly even think, could hardly even process, much less open her mouth to speak. Harry loved her. Harry Styles loved her.

He loved her. She loved him. They loved each other. He’d broken her heart.

That night she fell asleep to Harry’s mix tape the second time around, trying to figure out what he meant by all of it. And before she took her last conscious breath, she decided she needed more time to think about it. Because even if he loved her, the sting of his words still burned at her skin. And she wasn’t sure if his love could repair the wounds he gave her just a handful of days ago. She wasn’t sure at all.