Still the One

Harry’s Point of View

‘Lib,’ I sigh heavily into the phone, getting her voicemail yet again. My palms felt sweaty as I waited for that annoying ass beep, automatically allowing the endless possibilities of why she hasn’t answer her phone seep into my mind. ‘I have to admit that that I’m getting a bit worried. I understand that you’re busy with classes and Glamour, but it’s not like you to not talk to me all day. I mean unless you’re mad at me. Last we talked we were on pretty good terms. Great actually. I’m guessing that you’re sound asleep by now so I won’t call again for a few hours. I just wanted to check in while on my break and I wanted to hear your voice. Please, call me when you get a chance or text me so that I know you’re alright. Okay? I love you.’ I speak faster than I ever have in my life, to get it all out before the machine could cut me off.

It was already past four in the afternoon in LA and I had been on set since five this morning. I spent most of that time bobbing up and down in the water like some kind of buoy. You’re complaining. Thousands of people would love to come and take your spot right now. Hundreds of thousands as Libby suggested before I left. I remind myself placing my eyes on the script in front of me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make the words stick. I swear that the thick script had been taunting me all day. I couldn’t concentrate on the tiny lines. Endless pages of them. Not right now. I fight the urge to call her again before I was called back out to set. When I finished, I made myself go out with some of the guys from set for dinner. Back at my hotel, a couple of fans squeal with excitement as I briefly stop to take selfies with all of them. The moment I wake up the next morning, I decided to check my phone again for any sort of response from Libby. Nothing.

Elizabeth I swear to God if you don’t answer soon I’m sending someone over there to check on you.

I even squeezed in an Elizabeth – knowing just how much she despises her full name. That’s how much I wanted to get my point across. I guess someone could argue that I was being overbearing or dramatic but we never went a full day and a half without talking, even if it was just for five minutes. I decided that if she didn’t check in by tonight, I would call up Sam or someone to swing by the house to see if everything’s okay. The phone beside me lets a loud ring causing me to tense up. ‘Hello?’

‘Mr. Styles, your car is out front sir.’

‘Thank you, I’ll be down in five minutes.’ I hang up to throw my essentials into my backpack before locking the door to head to set.

Libby’s Point of View

My phone lets out a short ding causing me to end the intense staring contest I had going on with the wall. I pull my throw blanket over my body tightly as I reach over, bringing the screen to my eyes. Harry. A couple of texts. Three missed calls. Two voicemails.

Elizabeth I swear to God if you don’t answer soon I’m sending someone over there to check on you.

He’s never called me Elizabeth, not since the day we first met. I place my thumbs on the row of letters only to take them off again. I didn’t know what to say or where to start. I felt so stupid. So naïve. I should’ve told Harry the moment I got that uneasy feeling from Mr. Jacobs. My stomach tightens with nerves as I try to imagine what Harry would even say. I set my phone aside, wanting to call Harry’s bluff for the moment. I knew he’d send Paul, Andy, or any of the other security guards first thing in the morning. I shake my head repeatedly, fighting back the oncoming tears for the umpteenth time since I got back from uni yesterday. I wish I could forget it but I just keep replaying it all over and over again. It was burned in my mind.

10:45. Right on time. I could hear Mr. Jacobs laughing loudly from his office. I couldn’t quite make out what they were talking about but it was clearly amusing. A single white piece of paper was taped on the glass door saying In Session. I check the time again, still 10:45. It reminded me of the one saying about a phone that doesn’t ring if you’re watching it. That’s not it. What’s the saying? I found myself intrigued trying to remember it, my dad said it all the time when I was a teenager. ‘Next.’ Mr. Jacobs calls, not bothering to come to the door. I make a mental note to remember the saying before standing to my feet. A guy from class throws his backpack over his broad shoulder as he side-steps past me. ‘Ah Miss. White.’ Mr. Jacobs comments from his fancy, leather chair. His thighs were obnoxiously spaced far away from each other as possible. He looked like he was at the gym doing some ridiculously extreme leg workout. ‘Please sit.’ I hold my breath as I never take my eyes off of him. I nearly fall over trying to sit in the chair without actually looking at it. He catches my ongoing stare before intertwining his ankles while running a hand through his hair. ‘How are you today?’

‘I’m fine, just a little tired.’ I shrug glancing around his office, somehow it looked so much smaller than it did before. I had only been in once to get a paper he left behind.

‘Honestly, this is simply just a formality for you. You are amongst the naturally, gifted writers in class. I think that if you just keep doing what you’re doing you could easily make it out of my course with a solid A.’

‘Thank you.’ I chime awkwardly, suddenly interest in the loose fabricate on my sweater’s sleeve.

‘During the Glamour event, you disappeared so quickly within all the madness I was unable to pass a bit of information over to you.’ He starts flipping through the mass of papers on his desk, ‘A buddy of mine over at Blair’s Publishing says they’re currently in the market for a handful of interns. You have heard of Blair’s Publishing, haven’t you?’ I was suddenly offended by his condescending tone. It was almost like he was about mansplain something to me.

‘I don’t believe there’s any English major that hasn’t heard of Blair’s Publishing, sir.’ I reply with nervous laughter. Blair’s Publishing was one of the most prestigious publishing houses that printed some of the biggest novels out today. They had several offices all over Europe. Throughout my four years at uni, I’ve heard horror stories about Blair’s Publishing. Apparently, they have a reputation of chewing up bright-eyed writers and spitting them out onto the harsh streets of reality in a matter of four weeks. However, the lucky ones that made it out alive, go on to do impressive things.

‘I think that you should look into it. If you ever want to be taken seriously as the wonderful writer you are, you have to distance yourself from that gossip magazine that posts full page columns on whether stripes are in this season or not.’ He speaks with a cocky laugh that sends chills down my spine, ‘No offense, of course. I respect Jackie and what she has done but making all of that money by debating Who Wore It Best? – I must say that I worry about the future of writing honestly.’

I open my mouth to close it again. Somehow, he knew just what to say and when to say it to render me defenseless. Part of me thinks he actually enjoys it. I wonder if he gets his kicks by watching me squirm. ‘You know, he’s a really good friend of mine and I could easily put in a good word for you, just to give you that edge.’ Mr. Jacobs speaks as he slides his chair towards me before I could properly process what’s happening. ‘Think about your future and who you want to be in ten years down the road.’ He places the paper onto my my lap before letting his hand shamelessly ease its way onto my thigh. His fingers go up and down hauntingly.

‘What are you doing?’ I interject, standing to my feet forcibly. ‘You’re my professor.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought that you wanted to make it as a successful writer in London. It’s all about compromise and sacrifice.’ He speaks, clearly taken aback by my outburst, ‘I just want to help you make yourself better. Let me help you.’ With that his hand is on my shoulder as he aggressively towers over me, ‘I’ve seen the way you girls watch me during class. We’re both adults so why don’t we just be mature about this situation?’

‘You’re a piece of shit.’ I scoff, slapping his hand away from me as I rush to get my bag from the floor.

‘I thought you were an English student who wanted to be successful.’ Mr. Jacobs calls as I push past some girl waiting to get into his office next. Her dark eyes cautiously stare at the door and back to me.

‘If I were you, I would stand as far away from that creep as possible.’ I mutter, not caring how hard I shoved open the door.

The moment I make it to my car, I crumble. My leg and shoulder burned with his touch. I wanted to take these clothes to the nearest bin and burn them along with Mr. Jacobs. On the drive home, my mind races with a thousand thoughts per second wondering what I could’ve done differently. Did I smile a little too much? Did I seem a little too interested in his random stories he rambled on about in class? Did my eyes linger for a little too long? My hands shook against the steering wheel. Immediately I hurry up the stairs and practically tear my clothes off of my skin. I turn on nothing but the hot water as I stare at my reflection. My skin stings from the water but it wasn’t worse than his slimy, invasive fingers. I see that Harry’s calling but I ignore it, I couldn’t talk to him in this state. He’d read me like an open book the second that I say hello.

I pull my phone back out in front of me staring at the latest text from Harry. I couldn’t face Paul or Andy right now. Slowly, my fingers tap away at the screen as I finally send him a response.

I’m sorry for worrying you. Can you call me whenever you get a chance?

And now I wait.