I poured myself a cup of coffee, not even bothering to be quiet as I knew Harry wasn't in the flat. Because, just as he always did, he refused to even glance my way.
I don't blame him—especially not after his night terror just two nights ago.
I had been replaying the night's events over and over in my head. The repetitive screams he made: "No!" "Take me!" "Please" "Leave him alone!" "Take me!"
I had been struggling the past few days, trying to figure out who he was talking to, and more importantly, who he was talking about.
My logical guess boiled down to Ami Shane—the one person Harry had refused to talk about since I had first moved into the flat. But my biggest question was why? Why was Harry dreaming of Ami Shane? What was happening in his dream that he was willing to take Ami's place? It seemed like it was something painful—and what surprised me was that Harry was willing to go through whatever it was instead of Ami. It seemed like a sacrifice. I was always under the impression Harry didn't do things for others.
Then again, he did just have a night terror and cried in my arms two nights ago.
So really, I guess anything was possible when it came to Harry Styles.
I frowned and glanced at the newspaper that was lying on the counter. I'm not normally a newspaper type of person, but I picked it up anyway, glancing at the headlines.
Government in trouble?
Not much of a politics person, either.
I flipped to the entertainment page and smiled at some of the headlines I saw.
X Factor ready for a new season! Simon Cowell heard to be returning back to the judges table!
Little Mix's new album due out next week!
I smiled and turned the page, but frowned at the next headline I saw:
Is Harry Styles in trouble?
I frowned and lifted the newspaper more closely to my eyes, reading every word of the article.
Harry Styles, probably the most memorable member of One Direction, seems to be heading in a downwards spiral of doom.
Sources tell us that he has been showing up to the pub around the corner from the flat he shares with Louis Tomlinson every night for the past two weeks. Not getting along with your flatmate, eh Harry?
I rolled my eyes at the comment, snorting at how comically true it was, and continued reading:
It seems Harry stays at the local pub for hours, having drink after drink, until every night, without fail, the bartender cuts him off, and sends the teen boy home.
But what could be the cause of this? Why would Harry feel the need to get drunk every night? He has an amazing job, he's working with the best musicians in the world, he's doing what he loves every day, and he has the money to prove it.
The staff and I could only come up with one answer: Ami Shane.
Ami, the best friend to Harry, who died that terrible, fateful night those nine months ago. He and Harry were partners in crime, and now Harry doesn't have him anymore.
Well, here's to hoping Louis Tomlinson can sweep Harry off of his feet and bring him back to earth. We miss our cheeky Harry that we know and love!
-Anna Bailey, Journalist
I shoved the newspaper away from me, taking a long sip of my coffee before peeling my eyes away from it.
What a stupid article. How could they be so insensitive to Harry, who did just lose a very close person in his life? I was fuming about it, but yet…I was intrigued.
The journalist seemed to be on the same page as I was—Ami Shane's name kept popping up—in newspaper articles and from Liam—what was going on here?
I knew I had to find out more. As much as Harry irritated me to know end, I still couldn't help but want to help him. He needed someone to, and it seemed that everyone in the band—even Simon—had given up on him. But I hadn't. I still had a feeling I could get Harry to change his ways.
Maybe that was why Simon had me live with him…maybe he had known all along.
I stood up and began pacing, the thoughts racing through my head.
Ami had something to do with everything that was happening to Harry—maybe even the dream. And I knew that. But what could it be? What could have happened to Ami that would make Harry have a night terror?
I racked my brain for anything that people have mentioned about Ami. Anything at all that anyone has said about him, or inferred about him, or anything remotely close to that.
And all I got was that Harry refused to talk about him. Which was…odd to me.
Because he was one of the most famous singers on the planet—why didn't I know more about him?
And suddenly, like a wave crashing down on me, it hit me: I knew nothing about how Ami died.
In fact, I don't think anyone instead for those directly involved knew anything about it, either. Which was weird, because…he was fucking Ami Shane—his death was monumental, not only to the music industry but to his millions of fans around the world.
So…how did I not know? Granted, I was a casual fan of the band before I joined them, but his death made headlines, and yet no one spoke of the cause of his death?
I groaned and my laptop sitting at the end of the couch caught my eye. I dropped my coffee mug and stalked over to it, taking a seat on the couch and opening my laptop, moving my mouse and waiting for the screen to come to life.
I immediately opened my web browser and went to my favorite search engine, typing in three simple words:
Ami Shane's death.
Immediately, over 500,000 results came up. I clicked the first one and read over quickly what it said:
Ami Shane—dead by natural cause.
I shook my head. "Bullshit." I muttered to myself before clicking back and trying another link.
Ami Shane—death by natural cause…or something else?
The headline caught my attention, and even though the source was one of conspiracy theorists, I read it anyway, my hopes getting the better of me.
Ami Shane was young, healthy and incredibly talented—how could he have possibly died of natural causes, if there never was one to begin with?
"Good point." I said, crossing my arms and continuing:
Harry Styles was with Ami the night he died…did anyone take a moment to think the curly headed perfect boy may not be so perfect after all?
No one blames Harry for Ami's death, and in no way are we here at Celebrity Conspiracy saying he had direct hand in Ami's death, but we have to ask…could Harry Styles know more than he is letting on?
Stay tuned to our site for more updates on this conspiracy.
I exhaled the breath I didn't even realize I was holding and closed the web browser, making sure I deleted all of its history before shutting down my laptop. My heart beat wildly in my chest as I thought of that last article.
Could it be true? Could Harry really know something we all don't about Ami's death? If so…what is it?
My head snapped towards the front door as the knob jiggled, indicating Harry was about to walk in. I swallowed the deep lump in my throat as Harry finally entered the room, refusing to acknowledge my existence as he dropped his leather jacket on the banister and stormed up to his bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him.
If that were the case, I really wasn't sure if I wanted to know.
The rehearsal studio so far hadn't been too bad—mainly us five boys were just singing together and working my voice in with their already established harmonies.
But then Simon called and said he wanted more choreography.
…And that was stuff I knew I didn't sign up for. However, I knew that it was part of the job, so I stuck it out and by the end of each day; I was sweating bullets and cursing myself for not going to the gym as often as I should have.
On top of the extra dance rehearsals and voice lessons, the weight of finding out more about Ami and his death was a burden on my shoulders.
Let's just say…the week wasn't looking too good for me.
I had just gotten to the rehearsal studio, dreading what was to come. I walked through the door slowly, adjusting my bag on my shoulder when I heard laughter come from the studio. I stopped in my tracks and closed to door softly, making sure I still hadn't been heard. I looked through the door window and smiled at what I saw.
Niall was strumming his guitar lightly, and Zayn was singing something jokingly, causing Liam and even Harry to roll on the floor in laughter.
In all of the anger and terror and pain I had been experiencing the past few days, I had forgotten that in the midst of all of that, Harry and these boys had a strong bond already. Now, if that bond was stronger with or without Ami, I couldn't tell. But they were all still friends, nonetheless. I was ashamed at myself that I had forgotten that.
But it also gave me hope—Harry was capable of friendship, even with the terrible events that happened in his past, he was still able to maintain some sort of connection to these other guys.
So who was to say he couldn't do that with me?
I braced myself and walked into the room and noticed their laughter had died down, but they all still carried goofy grins on their faces. Even Harry did, though he turned away from me and started playing on his phone.
"Hey guys," I said, placing my bag on the floor.
"Hey, Lou!" Zayn said, standing up and wrapping an arm around my shoulders, guiding me to the group of boys huddled around Niall, "We were just playing around with some new chords. Did you want to sing your warm up song now?"
I shrugged and nodded, "Sure. Did you guys have anything in particular you wanted to hear?"
Zayn nodded, "Actually, yeah. You know It Will Rain, by Bruno Mars?"
"I love that song." I said, but I heard another voice collide with my own, saying the same words I was. I turned to Harry, who looked up from his cell phone. He stared at me with cold eyes, as if it were a bad thing we both happened to like the same song. However he rolled his eyes,
"What? Stop staring at me—all of you. It's a good song!" He exclaimed.
I gave him a weird look and Zayn eyed us both wearily, a small, knowing smile grazing his lips.
"Well," Zayn continued, "I think it would be the perfect song for you to do on tour. We are all allowed to do one cover on tour…what do you think?"
I shrugged, "I could give it a try." Zayn clapped his hands and Liam gripped my arm,
"I could do backup vocals for you, if you'd like."
"That'd be awesome!" I smiled. I turned to Niall and nodded to him, "You go this?" I asked, pointing to his guitar.
"No problem, mate." He said grinning from ear to ear.
I took a sip of a water bottle that was handed to me and glanced wearily at Harry again, who was now looking at me with a look of…surprise.
I swallowed nervously and heard Niall strum the chords to the first verse, and I began to sing:
If you ever leave me, baby,
Leave some morphine at my door
'Cause it would take a whole lot of medication
To realize what we used to have,
We don't have it anymore.
I looked at Liam, and he nodded for me to continue. His genuine glance eased my nerves a bit and I saw Harry out of the corner of my eye, bobbing his head to the tune Niall was playing, and I continued:
There's no religion that could save me
No matter how long my knees are on the floor
So keep in mind all the sacrifices I'm makin'
Will keep you by my side
And keep you from walkin' out the door.
Cause there'll be no sunlight
If I lose you, baby
There'll be no clear skies
If I lose you, baby
Just like the clouds
My eyes will do the same if you walk away
Everyday, it'll rain, rain, rain
I heard Liam's harmony in the background and I took the opportunity to glance at Zayn, who was smiling broadly. I was afraid to look in Harry's direction, but when I did, he was looking at me curiously, biting his lower lip. I swallowed thickly and finished the rest of the song without difficulty, earning a whoop and applause from the boys.
"Thanks, guys." I muttered to myself, though feeling quite proud of myself for nailing the song and getting the approval of the boys—even from Harry, who didn't shoot a dagger at me or curse under his breath as he prepared for his warm up song.
I sighed. It was better than nothing.
"What're you gunna sing, Harry?" Liam asked, taking a seat next to me.
The curly haired boy rolled his eyes and stood up, making sure to push past me as he walked over to Niall. He placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted his sunglasses off of his nose and onto the top of his head,
"The One That Got Away, by Katy Perry." I nodded in approval, but the other boys were incredibly silent at his statement. Liam was giving him a look of warning, but Zayn put a light hand on his arm, as if stopping him from saying something. Zayn spoke, an almost fake smile forming on his lips,
"Right. Alright Niall—you ready Harry?"
Harry shot Liam a look with narrowed eyes, but nodded at Zayn, "Yeah."
Niall began to strum the chords, and Harry started to sing.
Summer after high school, when we first met
We make-out in your Mustang to Radiohead
And on my eighteenth birthday,
we got matching tattoos
Used to steal your parents liquor
and climb to the roof
Talk about our future like we had a clue
Never planned that one day
I'd be losing you
In another life, I you would be my girl
We'd keep all our promises,
be us against the world
In another life, I would make you stay
So I don't have to say you were
the one that got away
the one that got away
I was unbelievably surprised by how…raw Harry's voice sounded. Not only that, but I was incredibly moved by how different he seemed to be when he sang. He almost sounded like a different person. No, he was a different person when he sang. All of the coldness and hardness he held when he wasn't singing…it was like it never existed when he sang. Everything came through when he sang—every emotion, every feeling. It was like his soul took over for him when he sang.
And it was a beautiful thing to see.
His singing was affecting me in ways I didn't even realize. It was like he was speaking to me—even though I knew that was the last thing he was trying to convey. To him, he was just singing. But to me, he was opening up a different side to him that I never expected to see.
And it was then that I knew—I knew what kind of a person Harry really was, or what kind of a person he could become again. I wanted to know this person; I wanted to see this person come back to life. I knew it could happen.
And then all of the sudden, I knew just the way to do it. It would be hard and totally out of my element—but it was worth it.
I had to act like Harry Styles.
"H—hey Harry." I greeted, walking up to him as everyone was leaving the studio to go home after the long day.
He ignored me and continued to stuff his bag with his belongings, but I continued talking anyway,
"You sounded really great in there. I was…really impressed." He was still choosing to ignore me, and I looked down at my feet, in my head knowing what I had to say, but feeling afraid to.
My plan was either going to go one of two ways—either horribly wrong, making me look like an asshole, or so perfectly well that it would shock the planet.
I was hoping for the latter. With that in mind, and my hopes being way too high for my own good, I did what I had to,
"You uh…wanna grab a drink later, or something?"
At this, finally, I earned some recognition from the bad boy. He laughed out loud and turned to me, a skeptical look on his face,
"You want to go for a drink?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow in humor.
"Yes?" I said, following him as he began to leave the studio. It was only us two left, so he shut the light off as we left.
"At a pub?" He laughed again.
I rolled my eyes, "Yes. Generally, that's where most people get drinks, don't they?"
He gave me wary eye, "You don't seem like the drinking type, preppy." We had reached outside of the studio, and were now waiting outside for our car to bring us back to our flat. The other three boys had gotten their own cars back to their places.
"Yeah, well, maybe I'd like to start."
He nodded as he took out a cigarette and gave me a look of approval, which I took as a very good sign.
"You buying?" He asked, clearly trying to take advantage—if it were a free drink, of course he would go, but I wasn't going to let my pride get in the way of my plan.
"I will if you decide to go."
He cocked his head amusingly and lit his cigarette, puffing out smoke in the opposite direction of me and then suddenly gave me a humorous look,
"Are you…are you hitting on me, preppy?"
It took me a moment to process his question. Was I hitting on him? What a stupid thing to ask, especially after him telling me I can't fall in love with him. If that were the case, why would I hit on him?
I shook my head, "No, I'm not."
He hummed and took another drag of his cigarette, a teasing smile still playing at his lips, "'Cause it's fine if you are, you know. I know I'm quite the attractive son of a bitch, I won't be offended—"
"Trust me, I'm not hitting on you." I said sternly, in my most convincing voice.
He laughed, "Touchy, aren't we?"
I shrugged and he nodded, dropping his cigarette to the floor and putting it out, "You said you're buying drinks?"
I nodded and stuffed my hands in my pockets as our car arrived,
"Alright, then I'm in." The car stopped in front of us and he jumped into it. I smiled softly to myself after him.
My plan was in full swing, and so far, it seemed to be working perfectly.
