HARRY'S POV


MARCH

"For fuck's sake!" I scream into my empty living room.

I rip the page from the notebook far too violently and scrunch it up, adding it to the growing piles around me.

I run my hands over my face and through my hair, tugging at the roots to distract me from the temptation of smashing my Gibson guitar into the floorboards.

I have been trying to write for the new record since I got back from tour and so far all I have is a couple of bullshit lyrics to a half formed melody that's not anywhere near good enough to begin with.

I had told myself I was mentally exhausted from touring when I got back, too drained and overstimulated to write anything decent, but it's been months and I still have nothing. No ideas, no inspiration, fucking nothing.

My manager John and his assistant Adriana were going to be here any minute and it was only adding to the pressure. I knew what they were going to say and I didn't want to bloody hear it.

I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear the doorbell ring, hoping if I stay quiet they will just go away.

"Harry?" Liv says softly, peering her head into the room from the hallway. 

"I'm going let them in ok?" She tells me cautiously and I roll my eyes.

I feel guilty for treating her so badly lately, especially in the last month.

I've been taking all my anger at myself out on her, screaming at her about insignificant things like closing a cupboard door too loud and picking fights about everything from what takeout to order to how she stacks the dishwasher.

At the start she fought back, telling me I was being an arsehole and giving it back to me just as hard.

She had pad into the living room late one night with a cup of tea in an attempt to comfort me or reassure me or something.  I had been sitting in the same spot all day, all week, all month, trying desperately to unlock the cage over my mind.

She put the cup down gently on the table next to me, it was her favourite mug, one she used every day.   She told me she bought it as a souvenir in Spain when her and Emma had gone there in celebration of finishing school.


She always joked about how it was hers and I wasn't allowed to use it in case I broke it and the gesture of her bringing it to me now was not unnoticed.

The look of pity on her face stirred something inside me. I was tired, physically and mentally.

"I don't fucking want your pity, Liv." I spat back at her hurt face.

"It's not pity, Harry." She said softly.

"I don't fucking want it!" I screamed unnecessarily and without thinking got up, taking the white mug with a matador on it with me and threw it forcefully into the sink.

The shattering of porcelain ripped through the air and I stormed, without remorse, past her.  My shoulder brushed hers on the way out of the kitchen, and I tried desperately not to look at the devastation on her face from losing something she could never replace.

Ever since then she's been tiptoeing around me like a sleeping baby, ready to wake and throw a tantrum, and when I shout and rant about anything and everything she just calmly accepts it and tries to remove herself from the firing line.

"Tell them to fuck off." I mumble and I hear her sigh as she opens the door.

"He's just through there," I hear her tell them and she turns to walk back into her bedroom where she has been hiding from my exploding temper for weeks.

I stand to greet them and grind my teeth together when I see they are both dressed unusually casual in blue jeans, t-shirts and sneakers. I know this their pathetic strategy to make me feel less threatened by whatever the hell they are about to tell me.

"Hey Harry, working hard on the new material I see!" John says in an overly cheery voice as he regards the paper strewn all over the floor and coffee table.

I try not to roll my eyes and I mumble something about trying as they sit down on the couch and gesture for me to take a seat opposite.

"So, we've spoken with the label execs again this morning and they have growing concerns about getting your new material recorded." John begins, Adriana is looking at me like I'm a fucking lost puppy, in her hand is a copy of some bullshit self help book about spiritual nonsense and I swear if she tries again to make me read it, I will lose it. 

She's a beautiful girl, there's no denying it and on the road she had been a great companion. I had told her about Liv and how fucked up things got in New York and she would try and give me advice from her new-age spiritually books she was always reading on planes, promising me that if I read them they would change my life.

We had an awkward conversation one night after she made it very clear her feelings for me were more than friendly and I had to explain to her all over again who my heart belonged to.

"They said they would reschedule next weeks studio time in for mid-June but that's it."  I hear John continue.  

"They are really not willing to push this out any further, Harry. They want to keep the momentum going from the last album and benefit from your recent press from Kristie and Sasha a few weeks ago, she caused quite a stir with your fan base and she's a popular face with the young kids after her campaigns with- ."

I snort, cutting him off, I can't believe we are discussing the fact my album sales are dependant on some model I slept with weeks ago.

"Look, we can see you're struggling and it's perfectly normal after such a successful album to feel pressure. We want you to help you, we have a couple of workshops and a retreat that might help with the writer's block, maybe even get another couple of guys in to collaborate with you."

"What!" I say getting to my feet, "No fucking way! That's not how I work John, I told you guys this from the beginning!" I shout running my hand through my hair.

"I know Harry, but maybe it's not working for you this time? It's an opportunity to try something different." John says sternly and I've heard enough.

"I'm not going to any fucking find-your-inner-peace retreat and I'm definitely not writing this album with someone who doesn't know the first thing about me! Tell the label to shove it. You can see yourselves out." I yell, too angry to regret anything and storm off, slamming my bedroom door for effect.

I reach for the first thing I can get my hands on and pick up the wooden photo frame with my family in it off my desk and throw it against the wall, shattering the glass and splitting the frame at the corners.

My second album had been a world-wide number one record, producing three top 10 hits in 63 countries around the world and changing my entire life.

I had been playing dive bars two years prior while promoting my debut EP with an independent label and working a call centre job during the day to be able to play two or three shows a week to anyone who would listen.

I got lucky one night when I decided to play some new material I had been working on and a rep from a major international label just happened to be in the audience and heard potential.

Within a matter of months I was signed to Halo Records and when the first load of money had come in before I had even recorded a sound I knew this was going to be big.

I recorded one of the songs the scout had heard and the feedback was positive and instant as the label sent it to radio and press and I met with John on the advice of the record label.

I wrote the rest of the album alarmingly fast, high most of the time and revelling in my new found fame and money.  Women were becoming easy and disposable and the caliber of both drugs and girls were getting higher and higher.

The album came out three months later and shot to the top of the charts. Money kept coming in and girls kept lining up but it wasn't until tragedy struck that I decided I was on a slippery slope to throwing this opportunity away.

My mum had called me at 2am L.A time, I was coked out of my brain and had two women in my bed that I hadn't even bothered to ask their names.

I had rejected the call twice before I answered, Mum's tears and shaky voice pulling me out of bed and onto the quite solitude of the hotel room balcony.  She reluctantly told me about my grandfather dying suddenly of a heart attack and the news hit me so hard I was wondering if I was facing the same fate then and there.

The man who taught me how to play guitar, who encouraged me to sing, who I dedicated my first two albums to, had died and I was on the other side of the world, surrounded by strangers and so high I could barely construct a sentence of comfort to my grieving mother.

I packed my bags that night and went home, vowing that if I wanted to keep making music and be in this industry I needed to make changes, immediately.

If I close my eyes I can still hear his voice. 

"Be brilliant, lad."  He would tell me and he was possibly the only person who made me believe I could be. 

"Harry?" Liv calls softly through the door.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand as she enters the room.

"What?" I answer coldly looking down at the sheets.

"I just heard them leave." She says and takes a seat next to me.

I hear her holding her breath for me to take my anger out at her and the thought brings fresh tears to my eyes as I start to sob into my hands at the overwhelming feelings of fear and failure.

"Just leave me alone, Liv." I splutter.

"Never." I hear her say as she wraps her arms around me.

I debate fighting her off, telling her to get out, but the loneliness I feel wins out as I turn my body and weep into her shoulder.

No matter how hard I've pushed her away over the last month, said awful things, made living here a complete nightmare for her, she is still here for me.

"I'm sorry," I gasp through my tears.

"It's ok, It's going to be ok."