She stared at the article silently. From her demeanour, she might have almost got away with appearing calm. But inside, it was a whole other story. Panic was rising in her brain, desperately drowning out any logic or stable thoughts.

It was news. Breaking news. And everyone knew.

Like an addict who couldn't push past the temptation of the drug, Wednesday scanned through the article. She knew it wouldn't be good or make her feel better, but she didn't care. The sensible part of her brain wasn't in control anymore.

For now, it was pure fear at the helm.

'Harry Styles and Wednesday Green caught the attention of onlookers as they cosied up to one another and kissed in a nightclub in Amsterdam, the current stop on his worldwide Love on Tour route.

The singer, 26, and his drummer, 26, didn't seem to mind who saw them as they passionately kissed and conversed, before leaving the nightclub hand in hand with one another.

Sources say that the couple looked 'completely enamoured by each other' as they visited the Dutch capital establishment in the early hours of Tuesday, amid claims they were holding hands 'the entire time'.

It comes after Wednesday was observed to have quit Harry's musical band at the start of the year, sparking concerns that the childhood friends had fallen out. However, that certainly does not seem to be the case from these photos.'

Wednesday felt woozy as she scanned through the rest of the vitriol, closing the article as she tried to stop her own lip from wobbling.

"Shower's ready," Harry called from the bathroom, but it barely registered.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was opening Twitter back up, feeling like a lamb at the slaughter. Shakily, she went to the trending topics, praying it wouldn't be there. Praying that somehow, maybe, it wasn't as widespread as it seemed. But she was wrong.

There it was, at the top of the list. Her name. Worldwide trending. 20 thousand tweets.

The thing about social media is that humans are addicted to the negative comments. No matter how many positive comments, no matter how many times people are kind—negativity reigns. It fuels the insecurities already within us or creates entirely new ones, sewing seeds of doubt and self-hate. There could be only one negative comment amongst an endless stream of good ones, but that will be the only one the person it is directed at cares about. Hate is a powerful force, one that is insidious in working its way into your mind and tainting everything good.

Wednesday was completely aware of this. Hell, she'd had countless therapy sessions about self-image and her core belief. But that was only in theory. In a time where she'd not faced any extra scrutiny. Now, seeing her name trending worldwide, that core belief that lingered inside of her was screaming for her to read them all. Every single tweet.

It stole away any strength she had to put the phone down, step away from the situation with a level head. And so, despite knowing it would do her no good, she let that belief steer her actions, and clicked onto the trend.

She was greeted with a cesspit of tweets. From fans, media outlets, update accounts. Even the occasional verified twitter user. All with an opinion on those photos. Those fucking photos.

It didn't take long to find the first bad tweet. In fact, it took roughly 3 seconds of scrolling.

Wednesday has really been out here PLOTTING all these years lmao got to give it to her, she really stuck it out to secure the bag

Another, a second later.

okay but that's so unprofessional from them? I feel like I expected better from both Wednesday and Harry but I guess not

And another.

I told yall Wednesday wasn't to be trusted

It was endless discourse on a topic they had no understanding of. Theories were rife, arguments structured like full essays.

It was a friendly kiss. It was PR. It was a cover up. She had an ulterior motive. He was comforting her. It wasn't professional. She was a gold-digger. It was shocking he would kiss someone so normal looking?!

The sound of those tweets was deafening as her heart thumped against her chest violently, like it was trying to escape the increasingly volatile environment within her.

"Did you hear me? The shower's ready," Harry repeated, appearing in the doorway to the bathroom.

For the first time, she looked away from the phone and over at him. She tried to remember how to speak as her mouth parted, eyes glossy. But her face must have alerted him that something was wrong without her needing to say a word.

"What's wrong? You look pale," he said, stepping closer as his brows drew together in concern.

She swallowed back the rising sick, feeling like her entire body was in fight or flight mode. And she desperately wanted to fly away from this whole situation to somewhere she could never be found again.

Her lips trembled as she managed to form a sentence.

"They know about us," she said quietly, her voice quivering with anxiety.

Harry's lips pulled up in a confused stare.

"What do you mean 'they know about us'? Who?"

She looked back down to the phone, seeing the cascades of articles and opinions. Raising her arm to him with the phone in it, she looked at him.

"Everyone."

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at the screen, until realisation crossed his features. He swallowed, releasing a long breathe.

"Shit," he said into the air.

Wednesday couldn't even answer him. She'd already brought the phone back to her view, fingers in control as her eyes scanned again. It was endless. And she didn't know whether she wanted to cry, hide or tell everyone to fuck off. Somehow, it felt like a combination of all three.

When Harry had stepped into this life, she'd not asked for the speculation that came with being his friend. Didn't ask for the rumours that came with working with him. But, after a while, she'd come to live with them. Accepted that that was the price you paid for being friends with someone as well-known as him. Eventually, when they realised she wasn't anyone of extreme importance or worthy of a story, the attention had subsided down to whispers. Slight echoes of noise she could ignore.

But now, they had a motive. A reason to bay for her blood. She wasn't Wednesday Green anymore, the girl who played drums and enjoyed jogging and painting and watching New Girl whenever she was sad.

She was Harry's new love interest. The gold-digger. The PR stunt.

The threat.

She'd worked so hard. So hard for the past few months to reclaim control over her own body and her perception of herself. She'd been broken down and built back up, her walls smashed down to expose the most vulnerable parts of her soul. It had been a long, tiring process that was far from over, but she'd made progress.

For a moment, she'd even felt something like happiness.

The one thing she hadn't been prepared for though, hadn't wagered on, was having the control snatched from her. In one quick swipe, it had been taken from her and discarded. How could she be in control of herself when the world was now telling her exactly who she was?

She felt cheated. Cheated out of happiness, cheated out of security, cheated out of the right to control her own narrative. She'd pictured the moment they were ready to let the world know about them. Inform people on their terms when the time was right.

Only she didn't get that now. It had been stolen from her. From them.

"When I get to the arena, I'll contact Jeff. I'm sure he's probably already handling the PR about the story," Harry sighed, walking around the bed. He looked down to her with concern. "Hey, how are you feeling? It's going to be okay."

For the first time since the realisation, she let his words sink in. And with knitted brows, she looked up to him.

"No, it's not," she said, in an incredulous tone. "What part of this is okay?"

"I know it seems like it's the worst thing in the world at the minute, but trust me, it'll die down in a few days," he said, sitting down on the bed next to her.

He tried to rub her arm soothingly, but she pulled away, throwing the phone down and standing up.

"For you, maybe," she said, playing with her fingers as she began to pull at the skin.

She felt like the walls of her mind were closing in. Claustrophobic with her own thoughts.

"What do you mean?" he asked, watching her pace back and forth with a slightly confused expression.

"I mean that you're a man Harry! It dies down for you in a few days because that's what always happens." Her eyes were wide as she talked to him, pure fear flashing through them. "Women don't get that same luxury. We don't get to walk away from constant scrutiny. And that's what the media, the internet does. Picks apart women for simply existing in the same space as people like you."

Harry licked his lips nervously. "People like me?"

Wednesday could see the hint of hurt in his face as he waited for her to speak. She wanted to cry and tell him that none of this was his fault. That it wasn't him she was upset at. But she also couldn't deny the point she was making.

"Celebrities," she breathed out, her lips shaky.

Realisation hit his face as he looked down, nodding.

"I know how the media operates, Wednesday. I've done this for long enough to know the effect it has."

She couldn't help but feel he was missing the point she was trying to make.

"I know you do. But even with all the shit you've gone through, you're still just Harry Styles. You're not so-and-so's ex. That's the difference Harry. You get to walk away from relationships with your reputation in-tact. How many of the people you've dated get to say the same?" she cried.

"But I don't have any control over that," he replied firmly.

"I know that. I'm just saying that's a fact," Wednesday replied, running her hand through her hair frustratedly. "They've already started trying to figure out what agenda I have. If I'm trying to get your money from you or—or if I'm a stunt."

"Okay, but you know that's not true, and I know that's not true," Harry said, breathing out through his nostrils. "So, who cares?"

"I care!" she yelled back, starting to become increasingly frustrated at his lack of understanding with her point. "I care about being called a slut, a gold-digger, a PR stunt! I care about being reduced down to somebody's girlfriend!"

"Why?" he yelled back, suddenly standing up as he pushed his hands out to his sides. "Why do you care about what people who don't know you are saying?!"

"Because," she began, pausing as she breathed heavily.

A lump had formed in her throat as heat built behind her eyes. Her lip quivered and she bit down on it, in order to hold it in. She couldn't tell him the real reason. Not now. Not like this. After everything that had been taken from her, it was the one thing she'd reveal on her own terms.

"Because I just do," she replied, so quietly it was strange to hear.

He didn't have anything to say to her reply. Maybe because he sensed her unwillingness to discuss it further. Or maybe he just couldn't understand it.

Breathing out and looking to her with pinched eyebrows, he shook his head. "Surely you must have realised that this was going to happen eventually. That they would find out about us sooner or later?"

She shrugged, the combination of the hangover and the anxiety thrashing through her body making her feel like she was about to hug the toilet bowl at any second now.

"Of course I did, I just...I thought we'd have more time. And I also stupidly thought it would be on our terms," she said, sadness lacing her words.

Silence fell between them at the mess of the situation they now found themselves in. Neither of them knew what to say to make it better—maybe because they knew that nothing could.

All Wednesday knew was that she felt suffocated.

"Why don't you come with me to rehearsals today, so you're not sat here all day? And then tonight, after the show we—"

"I can't still come to the show now," she said, her brows furrowed as if that was something obvious.

Harry looked to her, his face ladened with a similar level of confusion.

"Why not?"

She breathed out a humourless laugh. "Because people will see me."

"Okay, and?" he asked, completely baffled at why that mattered.

"And it's just become news that we're a thing. I don't want to add fuel to the fire."

She knew how this went. Now that people knew, they would be eyeing her like a hawk. Watching her every move. Monitoring her whereabouts, who she was with, where she was going. If she was near Harry or not. Wednesday had seen this play out enough times to know how the snowballing of attention went.

Harry looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language, completely baffled by her logic.

"Add fuel to what fire? Wednesday, they know we're a thing now whether you show up or not. That won't change by you not being there, so you may as well come."

The thought of being able to be seen by anyone sent a panic coursing through her body that she couldn't control. She wasn't ready for it yet, for the ways in which people would look at her. Like everything she tried hard not to think about herself was actually true.

"I...I just can't," she said, looking down to her bare legs and shaking her head.

She couldn't meet his eyes. Out of fear that she'd see anger, or even worse—disappointment.

"Right. Fine. You stay here today, and I guess I'll meet you on the bus after the show," she heard him say, exhaling through his nose harshly.

Wednesday shook her head, not sure if he could see it or not. She wanted to cry, wanted to fall to the ground and sob until her lungs ached, but she couldn't. Therefore, the only other option she could find to retain even a scrap of her dignity was being back in her comfort zone. Somewhere safe she couldn't be hurt.

"No," she said, voice shaky. "Harry, I...I think it's best if I go back to London. Whilst all of this is going on."

Her fingers were sore—she'd pulled off the skin from the side of her thumb, red, raw skin staring back at her as she kept her gaze down.

It was surreal, how quickly the events of the morning had shifted. She'd felt happy, safe, secure when she woke up to Harry next to her. But now, not even he could drown out the voices that were trying to make her crumble.

"Wednesday," he said in a firm tone, as if that would be more effective at making her see sense. "You're overreacting. You don't need to go all the way back to London. We'll sort this out, I promise. It's you and me, remember?"

For the first time, she looked to his eyes. He was staring at her so imploringly, almost desperately that she felt a pang of guilt. But it still didn't sway the decision she'd already made. Maybe that was the stubborn part of her, unable to go back now she'd said it out loud.

"I—I just think I need some space," she said, trying to explain her reasoning in the simplest terms.

Harry stepped forward, catching her hand in his. But she stepped back and pulled away, like his touch scorched her skin, leaving it blistered and raw. He looked nervous then, his brows drawing together as he watched her recoil into herself further.

"Don't do that," he said, shaking his head. "Please don't shut me out."

She couldn't help it. It was like she wasn't in control anymore. All of her defence mechanisms, the ones she'd tried hard to shed, were back up and running at full power. Cutting her off from asking for help or saying what was really on her mind. How she really felt.

Terrified. Anxious. Alone.

It was her awareness of this that made her feel even worse. The fact that she knew she was falling into those old habits she'd been trying to unlearn. Undoing all the progress she'd made, especially where Harry was concerned.

But panic does strange things to a person's mind. It steals all logic away, making them feel like they're trapped in a maze they need to escape. Quickly barrelling through every possible way of leaving the situation they're in that's causing so much distress.

That was Wednesday's brain currently. Running through every option of the best way to escape what was going on and pretend for a while that real life wasn't happening.

And the best option her mind had come to was going back to London.

"I'm sorry, I just—I need to leave," she said, turning away from his pleading eyes because it hurt her heart too much to see him look so sad.

"So, that's it?" he asked desperately. "You're just going to let them win?"

She bent down to pick up her clothes from the floor, ready to chuck on the first appropriate outfit she could find. His voice was raised, but his tone was panicked. Scared. And she hated herself for it.

"This isn't a game Harry," she said sadly, stepping into the trousers discarded the night before. "This is my life. And I...I can't be here with you, in the eye of the storm. You might be able to hand that kind of scrutiny but I just—I can't."

Picking up her leather jacket and throwing it over the t-shirt she'd worn to bed, not giving a fuck how awful she looked, she grabbed the carry-on bag from the floor. From her peripheral, she saw Harry watching her grab her things helplessly, stood unmoving in the middle of the room.

As she zipped the bag up, slipping her feet into her shoes, Harry spoke. Quietly, pleadingly.

"Please don't go. Please don't leave."

Wednesday wanted to go back to the hour before. Where they'd been so blissfully unaware of everything happening, the only thing they knew being each other. But she couldn't enjoy that anymore. Not now she knew the world was forming an opinion on them. On her.

She walked past him, holding back the tears that were painfully close to spilling over. And as she grabbed the door handle, she shot one last look over her shoulder, seeing his pained face watching her leave. If she didn't hate herself before, she did now.

"I'm sorry."

And with one pull on the handle, she was gone.

/

let the drama commence x