Blue

After I’d nearly shot heroin into my vein with a dirty needle, I couldn’t handle facing Vi—or anyone else for that matter. I locked myself in my attic bedroom, wallowing in the shame of everything that had happened. The only person I confided in was Liam but, even with him, I didn’t tell him how bad it was. And it was bad. I stopped eating.

Then I threw up for nine days straight.

It was to the point where I could barely stand up. I physically couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just laid in bed, miserable, and cried. I slept most of the time but if I wasn’t sleeping, I was just lying under the covers with my eyes closed. I just didn’t care anymore. I didn’t want to stand up, I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Eventually, I stopped responding to Liam’s texts.

I didn’t actually get scared until I realized exactly how much I wanted to die.

It wasn’t even just that I wanted to die, but I found myself planning it out: hang myself with a belt over the exposed ceiling beams, slit my wrists with a razor blade, overdose on sleeping pills. I knew when the house was deserted. I knew when I could do it. The thought terrified me.

I forced myself to scoot into an upward, sitting position, and reached to the cigarette pack on my nightstand. What I wanted was to talk to Harry; to just spill out everything that had been going through my mind and how all this shit made me feel. He didn’t have to love me again. But I wanted to hear his voice again, even if it was just one more time. Not YouTube Harry or stupid interview, media trained Harry. I wanted the real Harry.

And the shitty thing was, I knew I wasn’t going to get it.

My hands were shaking. I could barely get the lighter to the cigarette; between the shaking and how exhausted I felt, it was almost impossible to light the damn thing. Why was I so jittery? It felt like I was on speed—not that I actually knew what that was like—or had drunk an entire case of Red Bull. I had to concentrate like I was threading a needle, just to get the lighter to touch the end of the cigarette. It seemed like a victory when it lit and I took a deep drag—

--and immediately threw up.

I dragged my wrist over my mouth to wipe away the spit. It was physically painful to wretch and heave. My stomach was empty so there was nothing to actually expel from my stomach. Nausea washed over me like someone slipped a hot blanket over my shoulders. I was so tired, all my brain could focus on was the sudden, overwhelming desire to just lay down and sleep. Just pass out. The feeling rolled down my chest and to the pit of my stomach, rolling and twisting and lurching. I just wanted to lay down. Sleep; that must be all I need.

And all of a sudden, I didn’t want to die anymore. I was terrified. My heart was pounding like I’d just run a marathon. I was sweaty and had a strange, fluttery feeling in my chest. The frantic lub-dub of my heart slowed slightly, seemed for a split second like it stopped, and then rocketed forward almost faster than it had before. I couldn’t even count my pulse rate.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and jumped up. Someone was home—I’d heard Ben and Foster roughhousing earlier—and I needed help. I didn’t want to say it, I didn’t want to admit it. But my pulse was racing, I was sweating; my entire body felt like it was floating above the floor. Something was wrong.

The room tipped and spun suddenly; my vision turned black around the edges like I was staring into a tunnel. My knees gave out underneath me and I pitched forward, falling, tumbling; it felt like forever.

I hit the floor hard. My vision lit up like I was staring into a sparkler—

--and then everything went black.

…..It seemed like I slept for hours. I was jolted out of pleasant slumber by a constant slap to my face. I flailed my hand at the feeling, pushing the invading hand away. “That fucking hurts.”

“Well, you’re not dead, so that’s a good start.” Ben was staring at me, his face only inches away from mine. “I broke your door. You shouldn’t keep that locked.”

“Ben.” I grabbed his arm and dug my fingers into his sleeves. “Ben…I’m fucked up. I…shit, I don’t even want to say this.”

And I couldn’t say it. I burst into tears. “Ben…Ben, I need help. I can’t do this by myself.”

“I know, kiddo. I know.” He leaned down and squeezed me gently. “I called the paramedics.”

“No!” I tried to jump up but, in my exhaustion, I only managed to flop around like a fish. “I can’t go to the hospital. People will know. I can’t let people know that I did this to myself because of him.”

“Delaney, no, he doesn’t get to have that kind of power over you. You know you can’t go on like this.”

I sobbed, clutching at his arm with hardly any strength in my fingers. “I want to die.”

He pulled me into his arms and held me against him, gently rocking me back and forth. “Laney, we love you. You can’t do this to yourself. I don’t care what kind of fucking asshole he is, but he wouldn’t want you to do this either. We need to get you to the hospital.”

I nodded, tears streaming down my face. My entire undergraduate career had been spent learning psychology and warning signs for people who are on the verge of breaking. I knew what to look for in people with problems. But I never saw it in myself until it was too late.

My body was shaking again, either from sheet exhaustion or from the fact that I was probably on the verge of collapse. Somewhere in the back of my head, I remembered my Psych 101 professor saying, “The truly crazy are the ones who think they are completely sane.”

That was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.

****

The hospital was stupid. I was irritated beyond function after being in the emergency room for less than twenty minutes. Ben had run his mouth to the paramedics that I was suicidal, so I got a room in the mental ward rather fast after that. I tried to assure them that I was completely rational but they didn’t believe it for a minute. All of a sudden I had a nurse in my room every five seconds, a sign on the door declaring me as unstable (I wasn’t actually sure it said that, but I was no doubt coded somewhere as being a walking suicidal ideation), and a room with no sheets or sharp objects I could hurt myself with. Yippee.

The only thing that kept me from being put in a straightjacket and locked in a padded room was the fact that, medically, I was a hot mess. I was in and out of my rational mind when the nurse reviewed everything with me, but I had a massive list of diagnosis: I was dehydrated, my electrolytes were so jacked out of balance that my heart rate and pulse had skyrocketed, I fractured my wrist when I collapsed on the floor, and, they were classifying me as anorexic, since someone (thanks again, Ben) told them I hadn’t been eating. My weight had dropped down to under 100 pounds. That fact rattled me: for my height and normal weight, I’d lost close to twenty pounds.

And I had no insurance and no money to pay for any of this.

I was hooked up to monitors for blood pressure, pulse/oxygen levels, and heart rate, plus I had in an IV giving me nonstop fluids. My right wrist was in a hot pink, fiberglass cast. Plus, since I’d smashed my face on the floor, I had a bloody, fat lip and a headache.

Jesus Christ.

I exhaled deeply. This sucked. Why did everything have to suck? It had been three days of sitting in my hospital bed, getting poked and prodded and having tests done. I lost all my shame pretty fast and didn’t care all that much about my ass constantly poking out through my hospital gown. The nurses were pretty cool, I guess, but the doctor in charge of my “case” seemed to be pissed off at everything. Maybe he thought I was weak. I probably was. If he wanted to talk about it with me, I was perfectly fine agreeing with him.

The only good thing about being locked in a mental ward is that the only people who can come and see you, are the people you actually want to see. Vi and Ben came to visit me every day—Ben was actually there twice a day. I wasn’t allowed to have my cell phone (they expected me to cut my jugular with it or something) so they were my only contact to the outside world.

Vi slapped a copy of a tattoo magazine down on my lap and then perched on the edge of the bed. “Do they let you have paper in here or what?”

“Yeah, my night nurse snagged me a cross word puzzle book from the gift shop last night. I had to swear I wouldn’t jam the pages down my throat or anything.” I set the magazine on my roller desk. “They’re less suspicious of me than they were earlier, but, as you can clearly see, they watch me from the nurse’s station. Just in case.”

She ran her fingers through her long, blonde ponytail. “So, how are you doing?”

“I’m good. I mean, as good as can be expected. The doctor said I won’t need surgery on my wrist, so that’s good. Just a simple fracture.” I shrugged. “And…well, they still think I’m nuts. I have a counselor in here every day. Once I gain weight and get a medical clearance, they’re talking about sending me over to the mental health hospital. See if I need medicated or whatever.”

She looked uncomfortable. “Ben said your mom hasn’t been here.”

“Well, no. Mainly because she’s on my ‘not allowed to visit the lunatic’ list.”

“You’re not a lunatic.”

“I’m pretty close.”

“You might be interested to know that the magazine who published the picture of you and Louis settled out of court. They admitted the pictures were taken out of context and that, in actuality, when viewed in the series of pictures that were taken, you tripped and he caught you.”

“Well, it’s a fucking miracle. Who would have thought I wasn’t actually a liar?” I rolled my eyes. “Fucking good for Louis. Have people stopped calling me a whore yet?”

“Yeah. Twitter had this massive shift in opinion, where all these people who were defending Harry are now defending you.”

“Too little, too late.” I shrugged, as if it didn’t mean anything to me. It did, though. That was vindication for part of the shit I’d had to deal with. They admitted the picture and the “Laney Cheats with Louis!” headline were completely made up. It felt good. So I wasn’t a whore. Well, I was still kind of a whore. I had actually fucked Louis (twice) and let him go down on me (once) and had made out with Liam (for a really long time) and let him put in hands in my pants (also for a really long time). In the end, it probably didn’t matter. I didn’t feel bad about it. Not all that bad, anyway. When all that shit went down, it was well after Harry and I had split. Boo fucking hoo.

I tried to smile at Vi. “Well, now we can put the past behind us, yeah? I can go on with my life. I’m thinking of putting an end to the blue hair. What do you think?”

“I think you’re trying to be happy and you’re not.”

I sighed, staring at the stupid IV still in my stupid hand. The top of my hand was black and blue, not to mention horribly sore, from the IV being there and…I just hated it. You’d think I’d be hydrated soon. Or eventually. “I’ve accepted what happened. I know I can’t change it.”

“Then what is all this about? Because you got dumped?”

“No. I mean…I don’t know.” I shrugged. “No, you know what? It’s time for me to stop lying to myself. I am devastated that I lost him…I thought we were going to get married. But…I try so hard, Vi, to keep control over everything in my life. I like to think I’m a free spirit, but I’m not. When we broke up, it was like I was falling. And then school getting fucked up and losing my job and feeling like shit….I just sank back down into this dark place I haven’t been in since…well, since Mark.”

She nodded. “And now? What are you going to do?”

“Get better, I guess. Move on?” I shrugged. “I guess I’ll try and find a job and just…exist until I can register for the spring semester. What else do I have?”

“Typically I’d say you have your health, but that seems pretty iffy right now.”

“But, hey, I’ve been puking so much that I haven’t wanted to smoke. I actually threw up after I tried to smoke before my spectacular crash and burn.” I managed to smile—a real smile—at her. “So, yay for that!”

“Yeah, remind me to get you a major award or something. Like that time you got me the ‘I pooped today’ ribbon after I had that bout with intestinal issues?”

“That was a fantastic ribbon, you have to admit.”

She laughed and patted my thigh. “Look, I have to go. My mom’s having another one of her ‘rah rah’ days at the senior center and somehow I got roped into calling bingo from two to four this afternoon. I’m thrilled.”

“Don’t have all the big fun at once.” I smiled again. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“I watched a 93 year old man throw a punch at an 87 year old man last time, all over the affections of the Widow Spencer, who cusses like a sailor and hard of hearing. It was magical.” She leaned over and hugged me gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Stay out of trouble.”

Once she left, I idly flipped through the tattoo magazine. Welcome to the afternoon doldrums. There was nothing good on television, dinner was still hours away, and there was nothing to do. At least the magazine was marginally interesting. Maybe I’d do another crossword puzzle later.

The excitement was dizzying. Said no one ever.

After I read an actually really decent article about a tattoo shop raising money for wounded veterans and offering tattoos to injured vets from Iraq/Afghanistan and decided what my life needed was a sternum tattoo, a nurse walked into the room and smiled at me. “Hi there, Laney.”

“Hi.” I nodded towards the magazine. “I hope this isn’t considered, like contraband or something.”

“I’ll let it slide.” She stuck a thermometer in my mouth and, once it beeped, made a mark on my chart. “Your vitals look good today.”

“Lunch was good. They snagged me two bananas with my tuna fish sandwich instead of one and, I’ll be honest, it was damn exciting.”

She laughed. I liked Ruth. She was kind and honest and actually seemed to like what she did for a living. “Your blood pressure is down which is also a good thing.”

“Bananas are pretty awesome.”

“Anything you need? More water or another ginger ale?”

“I’ll always take a ginger ale.”

“You got it, missy.” She hesitated for a second, taking her time adjusting the IV. “So, you have a visitor who isn’t on your list.”

“Is it my mom? Because if it is, you can tell her that I’m asleep. Or dead, whichever you prefer.”

“No, it’s guy. I’m sorry, I didn’t get his name—one of the other girls talked to him. It’s not Ben, it’s another young man. I’d say younger than Ben, if I had to guess.”

“It’s probably my brother, Foster. He was threatening to bring a chess board over and mock my piss poor chess playing abilities.” I tossed the magazine back on the roller table. “You can send him in. He’s cool.”

She nodded. “Sure thing, Miss Laney. You keep up what you’re doing—you look great today.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” I shook my hair free from a ponytail and gathered it up into a bun. “Can I bribe someone to get me some mascara? Or eyeliner? That’d be great.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I wiggled my toes, staring at the gross, chipped polish on my nails. My legs needed shaved, I’d stab someone in the face for a legit pair of jeans instead of dumb hospital gown. Boy, today was turning out to be a festival of fun: Ben visited earlier and said he’d be back after dinner, Vi came and brought me a magazine. Now Foster was here to defeat me at chess? Hot dog.

I heard the clomp of footsteps at the threshold, uncertainly stepping into the room. It wasn’t the soft tread of the nurses shoes so, it had to be Foster. Although, his usually wore tennis shoes too, so it was weird it sounded like that. I looked up.

It was Harry.

I stared at him, with this horrible unsure feeling of not knowing how I should actually feel. I was actually half tempted to look at the monitor’s next to my bed just to make sure I hadn’t actually stroked out or something. I had no clue what to say.

His green eyes were red rimmed, as if he’d been crying. After several moments of looking at me, he shifted uncomfortably and ran his fingers through his long hair. “Laney.”

“Hi Harry.” My voice sounded weaker than it had in days. I cleared my throat. “What…um…what are you doing here?”

“Your brother texted Liam and told him what happened. Liam told me and I got here as fast as I could. I walked out of the recording studio to get to you.” His voice waivered at the end and my heart lurched. I could see the pain in his eyes, the furrow in his brow from worry.

I tried to ignore it. “You can sit down, if you want.”

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed, his eyes immediately fixing on mine. He looked as handsome as he always did: ripped, black skinny jeans, his favorite beige boots, and a simple Rolling Stones t-shirt. My fingers ached to touch him. I had to physically clasp my hands to keep from reaching out to him. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Laney…I’m so, so sorry.”

“No, it’s not…um…well, it’s not completely your fault.” I shrugged, self-consciously running my fingers through my hair. I’d been in the hospital for a week; I was sure I looked like shit. The IV tugged on my hand and I gasped, momentarily horrified I’d pulled it out. “I’m just a mess. This isn’t the first time I’ve had my sanity questioned. It just snowballed out of control…a….um, well a lot.”

He reached his hand out uncertainly, running his fingertip over the bruise on my hand. His eyes filled with tears. “Oh, baby girl.”

“That? It’s worse than it looks, it’s just IV fluids because I was dehydrated. They had to stick me a few times because my veins were collapsed. It’s just sore.” I had to look away from him, the devastation on his face enough to make my eyes burn with tears.

I heard him suck in another breath through his teeth and I looked up; his cheeks were wet with the trails of his tears. He let his hair flop down in his face and then shoved it back with his hand, looking away from me for a moment. “Laney, this is my fault. I did this to you.”

“To be fair, Harry, I did this to myself.”

“You didn’t deserve how I treated you; all you asked was for an honest conversation and I just brushed you aside like you didn’t matter. But you do matter, Laney, you matter more than anything in this world to me.” His cheeks reddened and his brow creased in a deep frown—he was fighting back tears. “I don’t expect you to excuse what I did to you…the things I said. All I ask is that you can, maybe, forgive me for what happened.”

I was losing the battle against my tears. “Harry…of course I can forgive you. But…”

Tears streamed down his face. “But what?”

“Harry,” I burst into tears. I didn’t even have a functional hand to cover up my ugly cry face, which only made me cry harder, “I slept with Louis. After I walked out, I called Liam and I ended up over at Louis room and one thing led to another…but I knew what I was doing. I fucked Louis twice and I fooled around with Liam.”

“Baby, I know.”

I sniffled, trying to breathe evenly and calmly so no monitors started beeping or setting off an alarm, bringing in a herd of nurses. “You know?”

“Louis told me. Then there was the lawsuit and all this paparazzi speculation about where you’d gone and why.” He dragged his hand across his eyes. “And I was mad at first…but, ehm…sweet girl, it doesn’t matter to me. Liam told me how hard you cried and how lost you looked…I’m so sorry that I broke your heart. Sorry doesn’t even come close to how I feel. I hurt you,” he dipped his head down, again letting his hair flop down over his face, “and I can’t forgive myself for that.”

I started crying again. This was a fucked up mess. We’d both made mistakes, yes, and we’d hurt each other. But my soul craved him, I desperately needed him in my life. Even if we couldn’t salvage what we had, I couldn’t lose him. “Please…please don’t leave m-me, Harry.”

He sprung up from his perch on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around me, cradling me against him. I buried my face against his shoulder. I couldn’t stop crying; I couldn’t get close enough to him.

I could feel his body tremble slightly as he cried. His lips pressed against my temple and softly, in that delicious, raspy voice, he murmured, “Do you think you could ever love me again?”

“Hazza,” I nuzzled my face against his cheek, our faces pressed together and our tears mixing, “I never stopped.”

Tears flooded down his cheeks and he sucked in a sharp breath, holding me to him. For the first time in weeks, I felt whole again. Maybe we’d taken each other for granted, maybe it had gotten too comfortable. We’d needed to fall apart to realize just how much we needed each other.

He pulled back slightly, flashing me his beautiful, lopsided smile. “Can we just start over? I don’t expect you to forget what happened, I don’t, but… can’t promise I can be perfect, but I can do better.”

I nodded. “I could use a clean state.”

He smiled again and reached his hand out to me. “I’m Harry…ehm…Harry Styles? Of One Direction?”

I giggled, slipping my hand into his. “I’m Laney Lee of the bridal party.” I could feel tears pricking the back of my eyes. “Which, incidentally rhymes.”

His smiled wavered as another tear slid down his cheek. “Well, Miss Laney Lee. I’m madly in love with you.”

I couldn’t stand it anymore; I pressed my hands to his cheeks and kissed him. It was shy and sweet at first, but after a moment his lips urged mine apart and the kiss deepened. His tongue lapped against mine but it was still gentle, as if he was savoring every second of the kiss.

When the kiss ended, with that satisfying, sensual smack, he pressed his forehead to mine. “I feel like my soul is complete again.”

I smiled at him, gently pressing my lips to his again. “Me too.”

He fished around in his pocket for a moment and then pulled out the blue diamond ring. “I love you, Laney. I almost ruined everything between us and…gorgeous girl, I can’t live without you. Do you…do you want to be mine again?”

I nodded, half crying, half laughing. He lifted up my stupid IV riddled hand and gently pressed his lips to my ring finger before siding on the ring. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Hazza.” I scooted over and patted the narrow space next to me. “Hold me?”

“Absolutely.” He swung his legs up onto the bed and laid down next me, easing me down into his arms.

I snuggled against him and awkwardly shoved my casted arm between us. “So, this will be in our way for the next four to six weeks.”

“Can I draw on it?”

“I’d expect to less.” I twirled one of his curls around my finger. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, Laney love. Will you…when you can, I mean, come home with me? Back to London; we’ll just take time for us. We’ll stay at my place, we’ll order in. I’ll take you shopping.”

“Yes to going home with you, no to shopping.” “Come on, love, I want to get you in a tight Gucci dress.” He smiled, running his fingers down my jawline. “Something that looks stunning with a pink cast.”

“Just so you can take the dress off me, of course.”

“Of course.” He slid his hand to my waist. “I missed that too.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and rested my head against his chest. “I did too, Hazza. You have no idea.”

“Mmm…baby girl.”

“Just pull your pants down a little and let me see.” I lifted my head up and pouted. “It would make me feel better.”

He laughed, the smile reaching his eyes and deepening his dimple. “I think the nurses out there are watching us.”

“That’s been my guess, too, since I first got here. Let’s give them a show.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, just snuggled together on the bed and touching. My IV got in the way of any proper hand holding, but he held me against him and gently caressed my cheek with his thumb. I felt safe. I felt more real than I had in weeks. Everything was for the most part back to how should have been in the first place. Everything except… “

You didn’t like, beat the shit out of Louis, did you?”

He chuckled. “No. Well, I was close to it when he admitted what happened between you two. Niallar and Liam held me back. But, I mean, I get it now. I saw the pictures—all of them. You tripped and he kept you from smashing your beautiful face on the ground. I just wish I’d listened to you in the first place.”

“I do think he was hitting on me on the waterslide.”

“Probably. He’s lusted after you since we got together.” He hesitated. “Was he…um…”

“No. You make love to me so much better than he ever could. Besides, I made him wear a condom. Everything just felt…sticky after that.”

He grinned and then turned serious. “Laney love…one of the things I regret most was calling you a hookup and…a whore. I can’t…Jesus, I was a dick.”

“I said horrible things too.” I brushed his hair back from his face. “Once I get these monitors off me, what to you say we make it up to each other?”

“Absolutely.” He brushed his mouth against mine. “Gorgeous girl.”

A knock on the door startled us; we both sat up at like we’d just been caught actually having sex. Well, he sat up fast. He kind of had to pull me up into a sitting position.

Doctor…whatever his name was, Gordon or Greer or Geitz or something, strolled into the room, my chart tucked neatly under his arm. “Hello, Laney. And company.”

“Hey hey hey.” I smiled broadly at him, slipping my hand into Harry’s. “It was a pretty sweet lunch they served today, so I’m pretty much living the dream.”

The doctor looked from me to Harry, his lips twitching up into a faint smile. “It’s good to see you looking so well, Miss Lee. I haven’t seen a smile that dazzling since you were admitted.”

I looked at Harry; he winked at me. “I…well, I’m feeling much better right now.”

“You should. I’ve been reviewing your chart—“ he paused and looked at Harry again. “I can review this with you later if you want, Delaney. It’s your personal health information.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. He’s my boyfriend.”

Harry’s smile was so dazzling that I almost burst into tears again. He squeezed my hand.

The doctor nodded. “So, you’re doing well. Your electrolytes are back in balance, labs look good. We’ve been monitoring your pulse and heart rate for several days now and it looks like everything is normal. No more palpitations, no more tachycardia. Hydration is good.”

“Can we get rid of the IV now?” I asked, cocking my head to my bruised hand. “It hurts so bad that I’m ready to pull it out myself.”

He chuckled. “We can have the nurse remove it, yes.”

“Awesome. So, can I go home?”

“Hydration is within normal limits and you’ve gained about five pounds, so that’s good.” He flipped through my chart. “Everything looks good with the baby’s heart rate, so, certainly. I’d say that you’re doing well enough that medically we can discharge you. It’s up to behavioral health, of course, if—“

“Wait.” I held my casted arm up in the air. “What do you mean baby’s heartrate? What baby?”

He flipped back a page. “Your baby’s heart rate. You’re pregnant.”

Notes

Comments? Anyone?