It's Complicated

Maybe Harry made a mistake.

As he paced back and forth across his living room, he felt like he did. Giving Maria an ultimatum may have been too harsh. Why hadn’t he listened to her concerns more closely, tried to figure out if there was something more underneath her constant front of being obsessed with the way she looked?

Because there had to be something more. No matter how insecure a girl was, if she looked like Maria, she had to know that she was beautiful when she looked in the mirror. The fact that Maria constantly stressed about her appearance, refused to go out in public without complete makeup, and had to pre-plan her outfits let Harry know that she was unsure of herself, but he just couldn’t understand.

He gnawed on his lip and stared at his mobile. It was just sitting there on the coffee table, looking entirely innocent. It had been two hours since Maria had stormed out the door, thoroughly convinced that she wanted nothing more than to get an abortion and destroy the child that Harry was so ready to raise. Harry wanted to call her, to apologize, to get her back into the apartment.

But he knew Maria wouldn’t answer. She was probably still seething, making the appointment to kill the baby, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. She clearly wouldn’t listen to reason, even when he told her how much he genuinely loved her, no matter what. She had already made up her mind, decided that no force in the world could change her decision, and that was it.

Harry struggled not to cry as he settled down on the couch and hid his face in his hands. As long as he could remember, he’d wanted to be a father. Kids just brought him a sense of joy inside his soul that nothing could match. And as chance would have it, Maria got pregnant from a single mistake they’d made, and a baby had fallen into his lap.

Granted, at first, he hadn’t been thrilled. Maria was young, after all. But the more he thought about it, the more excited he became. Even if he had to be the one to get up in the middle of the night and give the baby a bottle, change his diaper, clean him up after he spit up, it would be worth it. He wanted so desperately to watch his child grow up, teach him how to sing, how to respect women, how to throw a baseball.

Harry wasn’t sure why he felt so strongly that the baby was a boy, but there was just a feeling in his gut that told him so. Not that he would have been disappointed with a girl. He’d always make sure that her boyfriends were the purest, most respectable men in England, and if they proved otherwise, they’d have to answer to Harry.

The thought of having the opportunity ripped out of his hands made his stomach churn, so he lied down and took a couple of deep breaths, trying not to get so worked up. It’s only a bunch of cells, he told himself. It’s not a baby.

But it was a baby. It was Harry’s baby. Half of him. And he had absolutely no say whatsoever in what happened with him.

Harry pulled the fleece blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped himself in it like a cocoon, half burying his face in the warmth. And once he was entirely covered, he reached for the remote control and turned on the telly, flipping through the channels until he found an old Friends re-run that he hadn’t seen in a while.

Though the jokes didn’t make him feel any sense of joy, and he really just wanted to stare at a wall and cry, at least the voices made him feel a little less alone. He missed the almost-constant banter with Maria, the tiny arguments they had in their day-to-day routine, the smell of her perfume that he couldn’t seem to figure out wafting around the flat.

And soon, he found a wave of exhaustion pass over him, his body figuring that inactivity meant that it was time to go to sleep, and he welcomed the unconsciousness.

He couldn’t have been more thankful that he couldn’t remember a single dream he’d had all night.



But in the morning, he was a mess. He had half a mind to call the boys and say that there was no way he could show up for recording. His throat was raw and scratchy, probably from crying in his sleep, and there was no way any voice that came out of him would be a good one.

But he didn’t want to show weakness. He figured that Maria had gone to Jess’ house for shelter, and if she was there, that meant Louis knew about the whole situation. If Harry called in sick, then Louis would know that he was just actually being a baby, and the whole group of them would probably journey to his flat and stage an intervention. And if there was one thing he was not in the mood for, it was for all of his friends to approach him and yell about how he shouldn’t let his relationship define him.

Not that he felt like he was. He was just under the weather about the fact that they’d broken up for good after a year of fighting when so much was on the line.

Despite his nagging negative thoughts, Harry forced himself off the couch, ignoring his bones cracking and muscles constricting in protest, and got ready to go to the studio.

After he was showered and dressed, he made himself a cup of coffee and hit the London streets, sipping slowly so he didn’t burn himself, ducking in an attempt to keep his face relatively protected from the pounding rain.

He was the last to arrive to the studio, Niall already recording the backup vocals for a song, the rest of the boys hanging out and chatting about whatever. Louis looked bright and cheerful, even more so than usual, and Harry wondered briefly whether Jess broke the news or not.

But the second Harry shut the door behind him, the boys became aware of his entrance and toward him, their faces taking on masks of concern.

“How are you feeling?” Zayn asked gently, trying not to turn Harry into a bitter, sobbing mess.

The curly-haired boy merely shrugged his shoulders as he sat down next to Liam. Liam was safe. Louis would ask too many questions in an attempt to get Harry to talk about the situation, and Zayn would give him continuous sympathetic glances, too afraid to ask anything of substance. But Liam would act like everything was normal, since he was typically uncomfortable with the negative feelings of anyone else.

“I’m fine,” Harry finally replied with a flat tone. Anyone with a brain knew that he was lying, but Harry didn’t have the energy to spill his guts right then and there. Not when he knew subconsciously that Maria was at the clinic right then, positioning herself to let some nurse destroy the last piece of proof that the two of them had ever loved each other. Getting rid of the last bit of memory she would ever have of him.

He felt a knot form in his throat thinking about it, but he took a large gulp of his coffee to cover it up.

Acknowledging the fact that Harry wouldn’t say anything more on the subject, they resumed their previous subject, talking in low, fast voices to keep from distracting the man controlling the editing aspect of Niall’s part and giving him pointers.

After they’d been sitting there for a while, Harry got the nearly overwhelming urge to ask Louis how Maria was doing, but he bit it back. The last thing he needed was for Louis to go to Maria and say that Harry seemed like he missed her. He had to pretend that their breakup didn’t hurt him that deeply, since he was sure that she got over it the second she stepped into that corridor outside their flat. She never felt much of anything, and he was sure that she was doing her best to make it stay that way.

He mentally kicked himself for loving her so much. How could he possibly feel so strongly about someone who tried to keep herself as robotic as possible? Her attitude was always cold and snappy, she’d never said that she loved Harry, and, besides anger and the very occasional smile, he never saw any emotion from her at all.

He wanted to find a fast, easy way to get over her, but he knew going out to a bar and picking up a random girl wouldn’t do that for him. The only way to recover from his heartbreak was to take things slowly and build himself back up. If it meant months of pain and staying away from women, then that was what he had to do.

And he made a promise to himself, right then and there, that he would stick by his plan, no matter what. Even if he saw Maria having sex with a guy on top of a bar next week, he would still make sure that he was totally and completely over her before he even looked at another girl. It was the only way he could be fair to any future girlfriend he might have and himself.