The Game of Views

ツ Louis’ POV ツ

“I swear I saw her again!” I shout at Harry.

He readjusts on one of the locker room benches. His elbows come to his knees and he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply. I can tell he’s about to try to talk me into the reality he thinks I’m out of.

“You’ve been on about this for a year. You’ve seen her once, Lou, just once. You barely even saw her mate! You said it was a glimpse. And all of this pining for her? Thought you didn’t believe in love at first sight,” god he talks miserably slow, “What makes you think you saw her anyways?”

I frown at him and turn my back. The lads have been telling me for months that I’m lovesick and only missing Eleanor. Of course I miss her, but yet I only miss the thought of having someone to care for. El and I weren’t right together. When I saw that girl last year, she immediately called it off, tearfully. She said it was for the better and we could still be friends. And awkwardly, we were for a month or two, until she overheard me talking about that girl. I haven’t heard from her since.

“I know it was her Harry,” I say quietly.

I hear him sigh. He sighs a lot these days. And shrugs, he shrugs a lot too. Recently all he’s been doing is worry about me. When we finish a tour and have time off, Harry always gets into this phase. I try to give him every reason not to, but I know talking about this girl worries him the most.

“Maybe it was. Maybe you’ll meet her and find out she’s actually some slag that’s made her way about England,” he growls, standing up.

“Harry!” I whine.

“Don’t, Lou. I’m done listening to you complain about this mystery bint. Done Louis,” Harry says spitefully.

He brushes past me and leaves me alone in the locker room. The door slams causing an echo to ring out. I bite my lip and turn to my locker. Grabbing a sweatshirt, I throw it on angrily. I cross the locker room slowly, easing on my left knee. I limp to the trainers’ alone.

-----

John, the head trainer for Doncaster, is yapping orders at someone on the phone. I slide by him and hop onto the padded table. He snorts into the receiver and slams the phone into its cradle.

“Tomlinson, what can I do for you?” He asks playfully, with a wink.

“It’s my bloody knee again. I gave it a proper practice today and now it’s not happy with me,” I recite, rubbing it.

He examines it in five seconds and opens a drawer in the table. Handing me a tub of Bengay, John gives me a look.

“Yeah, yeah. Got it John, only for my knee, no other body parts,” I smirk at him.

“Smart lad. I’m sure I’ll have to warn the new trainer about you men and Bengay,” he chuckles and wheels away on his chair.

My eyebrows come together and I blink.

“New trainer?” I ask breathlessly, confused at my own reaction to this.

“Oh yeah, real tough bird too. She’s got quite the reputation,” he reports, already buried in some paperwork, “Apparently you lot are gonna have a lot more fitness to catch on with. And she’ll be with me until she takes my place.”

I knew Johnny was retiring, but the fact that he’s got a woman replacing him is new information. I picture her with dark brown hair tied into a pony tail, pointy eyebrows, and an age of mid 50s. This woman towering over me with arms thicker than my legs is all I can see now. I shudder.

“Righto John-o. Well I’m off,” I say abruptly, and leave the room, more or less noticed.

-----

There’s a serious bliss to knowing you’re alone. Well, I guess I’m not alone considering the pub is of people. Friday nights are busy in Doncaster, so blending in hasn’t been hardly mad. I snuck by my bodyguards with precision and so far I haven’t crossed a single screaming girl. But I’ve been trying to get knackered so maybe I’m just being oblivious.

“Tommo you tricky fellow, you shouldn’t be here I presume,” a voice says next to me.

I throw my hands into the air with happiness.

“Stanley! My babe,” I cry, gesturing to the bartender to bring a drink for him.

“Oi, it’s good, we’re leaving,” he returns and slides the bartender some bills.

My smile drops. Well that was quick. Stan’s come to ruin my fun, sodder. I bet Harry had something to do with it.

“You looked buzzed as shit, brother,” he laughs, stepping closer to me.

I’m pissed as he pulls me down from the bar stool like I way as much as a stuffed animal. I pinch my shoulders and put my grumpy face on, but I don’t say a word. I know better than to pitch a fit with this many people about.

Time flies when your drunk, or rather it just blurs past you. Stan’s already got me to the street.

“Truthfully Louis, Harry called me,” he admits, “You’ve got everyone worried.”

“Why? Because I’ve turned into a beautiful lad? I can’t help my looks Stan,” I retort.

“Shut up Lou. This ghost girl you've been on about and Harry was peaked when he couldn’t find you,” he replies, genuinely angry with me.

I hate hearing this over and over. I hate hearing that she doesn’t exist and that I’m just looking for a girl. It starts to convince your brain that maybe everyone else is right. Yet, something deep down holds on to her and convinces you otherwise.

“I’m sick of it Stan! I’m sick of listening to you all. Stop telling me she doesn’t exist and that I’m sodding crazy, I’m not a damn lovesick puppy for god’s sake,” I belt at him.

He’s stopped dead in his tracks amongst the people zipping by us in the streets. Stan’s eyebrows have drooped downwards in concern. It hurts to see. I look past him into the window of a shop. In the reflection I see the life in the streets. Everyone appears to be wearing hoods, hats, and ear muffs. It is a chilling night after all. Somehow, a pin-straight pony tail of blonde catches my eye.

I whip around on my heels. A tall woman, in cream coloured boot heels and a black trench coat stands at the door of the pub I was just in. She’s looking down at something on her cell phone. I can’t see her face in detail and there’s nothing distinguishable I can see, except her hair. She looks fit, even from across the street.

“Shit, Louis we have to go,” Stan says urgently, grabbing my forearm.

The woman looks up suddenly. The girls near her are evacuating the space around her. There’s a lot of people moving away from her now, kind of like they’re coming across the street. Her eyes trail the mob, until they land directly upon me or Stan, hopefully me.

“Christ, Tommo your fans are fucking coming,” he complains.

Now I understand: I’ve been recognized. But I also recognize that girl. She squints her eyes and blinks twice. Then she makes a face that I can’t figure out, and enters the pub.

“Son of a bitch, Stan that’s her,” I breathe.

“Thank the queen, haul ass Paul, the fangirls are coming,” Stan jokes.

Paul takes one good look at me.

“Ben and Matt have been looking everywhere for you,” he states and then with a tone of sheer disappointment, “Bastard, you were drinking.”

“Brilliant,” I say and clap for him.

He punches me in the chest, I cringe into myself. Dizziness has set into my brain and stomach finally. I hadn’t noticed the van pull up behind me as I was too busy hallucinating over that girl. Paul drags me in, without even trying. I forget the night and pass out in Stan’s lap.