Tangled in the Great Escape

The dark haired girl underneath him squirmed, releasing a high pitched whimper and he almost stopped moving his hands entirely. From afar, she hadn't looked like Marvel, but underneath the dim lights that poured in through the window and even with the effects of whatever it was that he had taken earlier, Harry realized that they were similar; auburn hair and pale skin. Even their moans were alike in sound, but this girls- was it Jenn? Jay?- sounded too airy, almost fake. Fucking idiot, he mentally reprimanded himself, gently removing his hands from her body. The look that crossed her face was a mix between incredulous and angered. Discreetly, he wiped two of his fingers on the bedding before dragging his hands through the mess of curls that he called hair.

"What the fuck?" Her voice, however, as it fell on his now sober ears, wasn't remotely mistakable for Marvels, seeing as this girl didn't have a thick Yorkshire accent, and it was just a light and low and too much like all of his fans' voices.

"You can get yourself off, right? At least then you won't have to fake it."

Harry's actions were uncharacteristic and he even realized it once the words passed his lips. He could almost hear someone chiding him for it. He stood, adjusting his shirt and picking up the coat he had on before. Jade (that's what it was) yelled a flurry of curses at him, but every word was shot at deaf ears. The hotel was on the nicer side or Miami Beach. Tour was about to start and the other boys had all agreed that Harry needed to cool down before the mass chaos of the arena tour started. Louis had warned him prior to that, saying that "cooling down doesn't mean finding a new toy." None of them needed that again.

He all but ran down the hall and out to the elevators as the building seemed to spin around him. The lights were too bright and he could feel the rush of air through his lungs and the phantom voice of Marvel Saylor ringing in his ears as he pulled his phone out of his coat pocket. The LEDs of the screen were blurred and he felt like someone injected pure death into his veins. He unlocked the screen and quickly punched in Louis number with shaking fingertips. Three rings in, it cut to a robotic voice-mail recording. With a surge of something similar to anxiety, Harry quickly hung up before it could start recording. He had no idea where the boys were and the elevator doors weren't opening fast enough. As the doors swiftly parted, Harry found himself involuntarily clenching his jaw and he could hear her voice in his ear, like a little alarm going off.


"It'll make yeh clench yeh're back teeth once it starts ta kick in; tha' s'why the ravers have the little pacifiers that light up, so they don' grind 'em ta dust." Marvel's abnormally elated voice was loud in Harry's ear over the shitty guitar of the band playing in the crowded bar they were in. Harry almost smiled at the way she was letting herself talk. In the few conversations that they had prior to this encounter, her voice was obviously northern -maybe Sheffield?- but layered with the distinguishable American tones, like she had spent so much time trying to hide it, but it never really worked.

The sudden flashback was enough to startle him into a deep state of paranoia. It kept happening and everything is all wrong. Paranoia wasn't the "eyes in the dark", it was the ever lingering feeling that there was always someone with a disapproving stare watching him, sneering remarks of disgust. He hadn't felt like that until he inhaled that first line of powdered happiness. There wasn't a face or voice, just a devil on his shoulder. Maybe it was his mum, who wanted him to get better, but feared for him. Maybe it was management who covered up his tracks after he landed himself in the back of an ambulance, or the paps, who caught him popping red and white across a paper plate still stained with grease. It always changed and today it was someone he didn't know, but the fear was imminent in the mental whispers that filtered through his thoughts.

The elevator doors closed with a 'ding' and Harry jumped. At the same time, his phone, still clenched in his hands, started buzzing. Louis' name flashed on the screen and with shaking fingers, he answered.

"Hey, I just called you." By then, he had mastered covering up the after-effects vocally. It was only later when approached that the others realized that he wasn't actually sober.

"Yeah, I accidentally declined, we're stuck in traffic right now. Where are you, I can-" There was a bit of rustling in the background, along with a few voices that were altered by the connection. The doors of the elevator slid open onto the ground floor. Harry walked out, pressed the phone into his shoulder with his head and trying to calm his racing mind in the his friend's absent voice. "Yeah, just tell me where you are."

Harry sighed. "To be honest, I'm not really sure where the hell I am. It's..It's near the end of the beach I-I'm not," he dragged a hand through his hair. He felt incompetent. He was standing in the middle of the lobby and what little people were there were staring, some even had their phones out, but none made an attempt to go up to him. "I think it's The Dream, just.. h-hurry, alright? I just want to fuckin' sleep."

The tone of Harry's voice worried Louis. The younger boy sounded scared and absent and it was something too familiar.

"Harry, are you alright?" He asked, voice low enough so that the other boys, still mildly drunk, wouldn't hear him.

"Y-yeah, of course." The words were too rushed to be convincing, but Louis passed it off, making a mental note to talk to him about it in the morning. "I'm gonna go." Harry added in before the line clicked off.

-

The hotel room was too cold. Marcus had made sure that it was cool enough to subdue the irritable heat of a Florida summer. To Marvel, the heat was satisfying, but Marcus was born and raised in the depths of the world and she wasn't. The A/C was cranked up too high and the white blankets were too thin. It reminded her of snow.

Marcus' lean figure was leaning against the glass window overlooking the ocean and most of the city beneath. Every wavering light of a cruise ship leaving from the nearby port and the lights of the city were distorted by the splashes of rain on the glass. The simple sight brought a tough of serenity to the hectic-ness of the situation they were in.

Marvel, admittedly, had a taste for guys of the exact opposite of Marcus. He was striking: all angles casting shadows on olive-toned skin with eyes that made him look innocently sleepy, when in reality, he was the opposite.

His personality, however, was a whole other story. He was stoic and smart. In a way, he was there to keep Marvel from doing anything stupid, so, whenever they went out, girls would flirt mercilessly, but he would always remain impassive and cold. But to a rare few, he was kind, so long as these people were kind to the girl in his care. In his mind, the tour was a hazard. He and (unbeknownst to Marvel) Louis had worked so hard on getting her clean. The worry of arrangements for rehab, hospital bills and the fear of a funeral home followed him.

The story in how she ended up there, watching this idol of a man in an extravagant hotel and shivering beneath the sheets, was something that she still didn't understand. She had told Modest! that she didn't want anything to do with them anymore and two of the five members had made it blatantly clear that she was something of a liability to them, but she still landed herself a spot on the tour. Marvel had no vendetta against the boys of One Direction, but they held something against her. It wasn't totally in spite of her actions, but a precaution of care for their blood brother. That was why she felt the sting of guilt, as unforgiving as the pills she used to eat.

"Go back to sleep, Marvel." Marcus drawled. How did he even know she was awake?

"Go back to bed and turn the fuckin' A/C up and I jus' might." she snapped groggily. He coughed out a laugh and moved the curtains back. Marvel pulled some of the massive blanket over her head, waiting for the beeping from Marcus' toying with the machinery to stop, which it did, soon after.

"Seven AM wake up call tomorrow, it's a two hour drive to the venue and you haven't even met the opener," he said as he passed her bed. A groan left the massive lump on the bed. "Get to sleep."

-

Marvel awoke the next morning to sounds of someone knocking on the door. Opening her eyes a bit, she saw that Marcus was already dressed and up answering the door. A mug of coffee, still steaming, was placed at the edge of the nightstand, catching her eye. She sat up and pulled the warm cup into her hands. The room was still freezing cold. There was a kid who couldn't have been any older than 17 at the door talking to Marcus. He was tall, blonde, and looked fatigued. They talked in hushed, yet chipper tones, oblivious to the fact that the girl was awake. The word 'girlfriend' was said by the boy, and Marcus laughed, shaking his head. "I'd appreciate it if you both could talk 'bout me without acting like I'm still asleep," Marvel said, bringing her cup to her lips. French Vanilla Dunkin Donuts coffee; she recognized the smell before the dark liquid burned her tongue.

"Well then get up, would you?" Marcus replied exasperatedly. They were going to be late, that's why the kid was there. The kid was familiar. At one of the meetings in which the crew and bands had gotten together, the boy was there with the rest of his band, the openers. They were a little quartet from Australia, fresh out of high school. Luke was his name, but the other three hadn't introduced themselves. Marvel was supposed to be there; she would be working with them on a more intimate level.

As the girl all but stomped into the bathroom, Marcus caught the way that the teen in front of him went slightly slack-jawed when he looked at her and as much as this boys leering had bothered him and amused him, he had every right to have that reaction. Every day, she was starting to turn more and more heads as her body filled out and regained it's cool, peach color.

And, god, how terrifying it was. Every look at her brought back the flashbacks. The memories of her skin-and-bone figure, her sallow skin and how her inner arm was bruised in yellows, browns, blacks, and purples. Every time she muttered something, he could only remember how she sounded when she was high. The pill high voice was so different from her heroin highs and each come-down was so diverse that every word was articulated in altered manner. Those were the most chilling because all Marcus could remember was the way her mouth formed and said the word "promise".

The older man stepped in front of Luke's view, giving him a look. "You'll have plenty more times to get a good look at her, kid. Now's not one of them." Luke nodded and lifted his hand into a wave, flushing slightly pink and trotting off to his room.

Marvel didn't have time for a shower and she knew it. She knew that she wasn't prepared for this, hell, she was on the verge of a full blown panic attack and there was not a single thing that she could do about it. As quickly as she could, she brushed her teeth and did her make-up, disregarding the slight curl of her hair. Thankfully, Marcus had thrown together an outfit for her and placed it in the bathroom, so she threw that on too.

The shock set in when she reached for the doorknob. The sting of stomach acid rising in her throat brought tears to her eyes and it took everything for her to swallow it down when she started to wheeze out breaths. Every muscle in her body tensed and there was a phantom pinch in her arm. No, no, no,no.... With a 'thud', she sunk down, letting the door support her body. Within seconds, Marcus was pulling the door open.

The look of unmasked terror in her eyes was unmistakable. Her chest heaved and her eyes widened. This is what he was afraid of. Marcus got down onto his knees to get at eye level with her, trying to keep down his panic. He locked eyes with the girl, who looked so vulnerable, and grabbed her hand.

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me. You're alright, it's gonna be okay, just look at me," he said, making sure that she wasn't looking anywhere but him. This procedure was routine, but she was getting so much better at coping by herself. "You know how to breathe. I'l do it with you, just breathe." And they did. In for four, hold of two, out for six. Repeat.

"Marcus, I don't think I can do this." Her voice wavered. She sounded so hopeless. Marcus shook his head and got up to rummage through his small toiletry bag. He pulled out an orange pill bottle and shook one of the oddly shaped pills out and poured out some water into the small plastic cups that were next to the sink. He leaned back down to Marvel and handed her both.

"Emergencies only, alright? Don't get too reliant." She looked at the small, white pill. Oh, how she loathed the little 'A' that seemed to laugh at her, reminding her of how pathetic she really was. Ativan; her favorite. She knocked it back hesitantly, forcing a smile onto her face. To her, this defined how the tour was going to go, and she hated it even more than she had before.