TW: mentions of self harm

Sat cross legged on her bed with her hands interlocked and perched under her chin, Wednesday stared at the phone at the other end of the bed with narrowed eyes. It laid there, silent and unmoving, but she eyed it like it was bomb she was trying to figure out how to diffuse.

The view of her versus the phone was like something out of a spaghetti western movie, two opposing parties sizing each other up before the big showdown. From the way her heart was thumping in her chest, you would have thought she really was going into battle, guns blazing.

Well, it wasn't far off.

Wednesday had woken up that day with more purpose than she'd had for the past week and a bit, ever since the big reveal. She'd opened her eyes and had immediately been met with a strong desire to stop running from her problems and tackle them head on. Like someone had injected her with a newfound sense of energy and determination overnight.

She'd gone for a run early, came back, made food and showered. And then, she'd noticed her phone and decided that there was no better place to start than with the thing that brought her the most anxiety and pain. So, she'd sat down on the bed and placed her phone down in front of her, building the courage to redownload the apps and face those comments head on. Determined to read them and not let them affect her. Not let them hold the power over her any longer.

Well, that had been 37 minutes before, and she had yet to move.

Something within her was pinning her to the spot even though her brain was urging her to get it over with, do it now, be brave. Maybe it was the fact that underneath the confident exterior, she was still terrified. Terrified of what people were saying, terrified it would lead her down the dark path to another panic attack.

She'd remembered what Sade had said on the phone. That if she went looking for negative comments, all she would find was negativity. She wanted to try and let herself read all the comments in equal measure, work past letting them have anything more than a momentary effect on her.

Her head turned sharply when the sound of knocks against the door vibrated through the house. Though her mind immediately snapped to Harry, she remembered he had a show later that night and that he was most likely in rehearsals at that point. Not that she was keeping up with the tour schedule or anything.

Releasing a breath of relief, half at the fact it wasn't Harry at the door and half at the fact she now had an excuse to not face her social media just yet, she got up from the bed and padded across the hall, down the stairs to the front door.

But as she unlocked the door and pulled it open, she realised that the person on the other side of the door was a person with the last name Styles. Just not the one she'd ever expected.

"Gemma," Wednesday blustered, blinking a few times to check that the smiling girl in front of her was actually real. "What are you—is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," she smiled warmly. "I just wanted to come and check to see how you are." She paused. "You know, with everything that's been going on."

Wednesday understood immediately, forcing a tight smile and nodding as she stepped aside.

"Come in," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. "Do you want a drink?"

"I'll have a tea please," Gemma said, pushing the flyway hairs from her face as she stepped in.

Wednesday walked to the kitchen as Gemma closed the door, hating how awkward this already felt. As if sleeping with her brother wasn't enough, now their breakup that wasn't even a proper breakup had been thrown into the mix too. She swallowed nervously as she flicked the kettle on, feeling how quickly her nerves had appeared.

"How have you been then?" Gemma asked behind her.

"Yeah, good," Wednesday lied, trying to sound positive.

But when she turned to see Gemma with one raised eyebrow in an I-don't-believe-a-word-you-just-said expression, she sighed, letting her smile falter.

"Okay, I've been not so good," she said quietly, biting her inner cheek.

Gemma smiled caringly. "I thought as much, considering how rubbish Harry has been feeling too."

At his name, Wednesday looked back to her eyed quickly. She cleared her throat.

"He's...not been good either?" she asked.

She knew it wasn't her place to snoop, not now. But he was still one of the people she cared for most in the world. That couldn't be something that was erased in one day.

Gemma noticed her question, noticed the way she was holding herself back from asking more.

"I've only been able to speak to him over the phone, but yeah. He's pretty cut up about whatever happened between you both," she explained.

A surge of guilt rushed through her. Guilt that part of her felt validated in the fact that he was struggling with them ending just as much as her. Guilt that the other part of her was fully aware she was the cause of his pain. It wasn't a nice feeling.

The kettle clicked off behind her at the perfect time. Wednesday turned around with a newfound ache in her chest and began to make the teas.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Gemma asked.

Wednesday stirred the milk into the mugs, her brows furrowing.

"He's your brother. I don't want you to feel awkwardly in the middle, or something," she replied hesitantly.

"Yes, he's my brother, but for most of my life you've also felt pretty much like a sister to me," Gemma said, making Wednesday's heart constrict.

Was it just a Styles trait to be effortlessly kind?

"So, if you want to talk, I'm here to listen," Gemma finished.

There was silence for a moment as Wednesday finished the teas, debating whether or not to talk. She didn't want to feel deceitful, like somehow talking to Harry's sister was going behind his back. But then she realised that he would never see it that way. He'd want her to talk, to open up, if it meant she would feel better, regardless of who it was.

Turning around, she passed the mug over to Gemma and stood against the counter with her own, sighing deeply.

"Things were going good until those photos came out. And then it just...wasn't," Wednesday explained tersely. She forced a tight smile. "Because of me."

Gemma looked down to her mug. "Harry didn't tell me what happened. Just that for now, you both decided being apart was the best thing."

That small fact made her heart hurt. He hadn't told Gemma the reasons behind them ending because he knew what she'd told him had been in confidence. Knowledge about herself she'd never told anyone else that she'd entrusted to him. And even after they were over, he was still protecting her.

Wednesday breathed out nervously, glad her hands were wrapped around the mug because the urge to pick her skin was overwhelming.

"I, um...I have a lot of issues that I don't really tell people about. In fact, I didn't even tell Harry about them until—well, until I had to. Self-image issues," Wednesday clarified, feeling that familiar shame creep in. "It's what I've been dealing with in therapy. And I thought I was better but...those photos getting leaked proved that was far from the truth."

"Oh, Wednesday," Gemma sighed, looking at her with an expression that instantly made her feel damaged. Helpless.

"I'm sorry too, about you having to find out about us that way," she said, looking to her with an apologetic gaze, happy to sway the conversation away from her.

Gemma shook her head, waving the notion away with her hand. "You don't need to say sorry for something you couldn't help. Harry already told me you were both planning on telling us all. It's horrible how that opportunity was taken from you both."

Wednesday nodded, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah. Everything was going good until I saw those photos had been released everywhere and I kind of just...spiralled. Couldn't help but look at the articles and the bad comments and I just panicked and ran. Got the first available flight back to the U.K."

"And that was when everyone was trying to get in contact with you?" Gemma asked, keeping up with the timeline.

"Yeah, I, uh—I was in a bad way that day. Mentally." She looked to Gemma, feeling her nerves heighten as she cleared her throat. "I—I had a panic attack that night. Those bad comments...I knew they would hurt but I kept reading them. Until eventually, it all just reached a point of complete panic."

Her gaze flashed to Gemma. "I didn't tell Harry about the panic attack. I'd...I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about it to him."

"Of course I won't. It's not my place to tell him something you've told me in confidence," Gemma assured.

Wednesday smiled gratefully at her. "It was the next day that Harry came round and we...well, we discussed a lot of things. I cried a lot. And then we sort of mutually decided that for now, being apart was the best option. Whilst I deal with my stuff."

Gemma looked down to her own mug, looking saddened by the fact.

"So, what does that mean for you two?"

Wednesday closed her eyes tiredly.

"Truthfully? I don't have a fucking clue. And that's the worst part. Because it's not just that I've lost someone that I lo—like. I've also lost my best friend. And god knows what it means for working together now. It's all just one big mess and I—" Wednesday said, feeling tears spring to her eyes at the thought of how messed up it all was. "I don't know how to fix it. How to fix me."

Gemma clicked her tongue, putting the mug down as she rounded the island and encompassed Wednesday in a hug, minding the mug in her own hand. It was only instinctive for Wednesday to tense up at the sensation, but she appreciated it no less.

"Sorry, I know you're not a hugger. But I am, and you look an awful lot like you need a hug," Gemma by the side of her as she rubbed her back up and down comfortingly.

Wednesday breathed out a laugh, feeling her body loosen as she sniffed away the emotion.

"It's okay. I think I needed one."

"Sometimes, people just need a hug," Gemma said reassuringly.

Wednesday clenched her eyes shut at her words. The exact words Harry had said to her months before. He too had hugged her unexpectedly when she'd needed it the most, pulling her in close to him and blanketing her in so much affection it had felt addictive.

She wished he was here now. Wished he could hug her too. His arms had always felt like home.

Gemma pulled away, smiling softly back at her.

"You two will work it out. You always do. It'll just take time, I suppose," she said, grabbing her mug again.

Wednesday felt uncertain at that. Because if Harry was thinking anything like her, it seemed like there really was no way to go back to what they had before. Before the nights their bodies were tangled together in bed, with his fingers stroking her back. Before the moments he would turn to peck her on the lips before going back to whatever he was doing, just as a small show of affection. Before he'd laid over her, kissing every inch of her skin and making her feel like she was so loved and secure it felt like a constant dream.

How can you go from having the entirety of a person back to having a part of them? Moreover, how do you do that without the feeling of being crippled by the blinding pain of loss?

Harry said that she was strong. Stronger than she realised. But even she knew there were certain limits to that. Because how can you stand in the same room as the person you love and pretend you don't? Pretend you don't want to kiss them and squeeze them close to you so they'll never leave? And the thought of being his friend once again and watching him move on, find someone else. That was a type of pain that already made her want to crumble.

"Maybe," she mumbled, taking a drink from the mug so that her mouth had something to do.

Silence hung between them like a thick fog, both of them thinking over the situation with a heaviness that was hard to break.

"You know," Gemma began, clearing her throat. "A few years ago, I went to this group therapy session, one of those ones where people sit in a circle and have to share their issues. I won't lie, I thought I'd hate it. But I went and sat with an open mind. So anyway, one of the guys there starts talking. And he's young and successful, works as a managing director for a big firm. Says he has everything he needs—money, beautiful apartment, loads of girls wanting to date him."

Wednesday listened with furrowed brows to the story, wondering how it related to her. How it related to anything they'd just discussed in fact.

Gemma took a sip of her drink before continuing. "But then he revealed that once a day, in the morning, he burns himself with a lit cigarette. Inside of his thigh, so it can't be seen."

There was an eeriness to the story that made Wednesday feel on edge, like she couldn't chart where Gemma's point was leading to. But still, she listened.

"Despite having all of these things that he worked hard to get, he says he doesn't feel like he deserves any of it. Which, to the rest of us, is crazy. He told us how hard he worked to get to the position he did, the long hours he had to pull every day. He put in the hard work and rightfully got the reward. But he said he still felt like that clueless young kid, like he'd just blagged his way to the top. And the only way he knew how to cope with all of those uncontrollable feelings of not being good enough was hurting himself."

Wednesday swallowed, looking down to her mug with a growing sense of anxiety at the parallels she was beginning to see form. The ones Gemma clearly wanted her to see.

"I remember, naively I guess, being confused at why someone who had a good life would want to hurt themselves. Why they felt a need to hurt themselves. But then the woman who was leading the session said something in response to his story that stuck with me. She said that self-harm is about taking control over what can hurt you. If you make the decision to hurt yourself, at least it's you doing it and no-one else. And even if you know it's hurting you, even if you know it's bad, some people feel like that's just what they deserve."

She could feel Gemma's gaze boring into her as kept her eyes cast down.

"Self-harm isn't just physical stuff. It's doing something that will hurt you because you know it will hurt you. Like extreme dieting, casual sex." Gemma paused as Wednesday looked up to her. "Or even reading hateful comments."

Wednesday tensed, feeling something like a wave of shame overcome her. There was something desperately uncomfortable within her. She wanted to say that whatever she was implying wasn't true. Reading the bad comments was nothing like self-harming, and it was insulting to those who actually struggled with it to say it was.

But she couldn't deny the definition of it. 'Doing something that will hurt you because you know it will hurt you.' Wasn't that what she did when she forced herself to read bad comments only? Didn't she know she was only doing it to fuel her negative self-image? What was the difference between the man burning himself and her reading through the endless hate? They were both doing it to punish themselves for not being worthy. Clawing back any sort of control over their own lives.

She could see the parallels and something within her felt uneasy. Like the feeling didn't belong in her body and it was fighting to break free.

Gemma smiled at Wednesday sadly. "The woman in that session said that when people harm themselves, they're stuck in a limbo. A constant cycle of pain and temporary relief that repeats over and over again. And until they stop that cycle, they'll never be able to grow. Never be able to push forward in life."

Wednesday looked at Gemma timidly.

"Did the guy...do you know if he stopped harming himself?" she asked.

Gemma took a drink of her tea, leaning back with a knowing smile. "He did. With a lot of self-determination and support from the people who loved him. In fact, at our last session he celebrated his two-year anniversary of recovery."

"That's really good," Wednesday nodded, clearing her throat and looking down to her cup, speaking again in such a quiet voice it was like a whisper. "It's brave."

Gemma left a while later after they had a long catch-up that left Wednesday feeling lighter. As she walked back upstairs, she thought over the ease she had at opening up now, what she'd told Sade in their last session. It wasn't something she desperately tried not to burden people with anymore, nor was she completely ashamed of being vulnerable. It still felt uncomfortable, it still felt a bit alien, but afterwards, it always felt like her head was just that bit clearer.

Sade was right. Sometimes, it was all about taking a step back and looking at the full picture. A better perspective.

She returned to her phone, seeing that in the hour she'd left it, there was only a message from her local takeaway advertising two for one pizza. Typical. She sat down on the bed, looking at it once more.

But this time, she couldn't be bothered putting it off anymore. Maybe Gemma's visit had provided her with a much-needed boost of confidence and energy. Or maybe she'd just realised running instead of facing her fears was what was amplifying them in her head. Either way, she picked the phone up and began to redownload the apps.

Gemma's words rang in her head about the cycle of self-harm. About how you're never growing if you're stuck in that place of limbo. She still didn't know if that truly applied to her; didn't know if she could be compared against people with physical, visceral struggles. But either way, she felt more cautious about approaching it. Like there was a heightened level of awareness in her reactions, her composure. She would quit when it got too much. She wouldn't spiral this time around.

It took a few minutes for everything to be downloaded to her phone again, and as she watched the ticking of the circles, getting closer to having access to social media once again, her anxiety heightened with every passing second. It resided deep in her tummy, making her feel nauseous but she powered through, a newfound sense of determination at the helm.

And then, they were all there. Ready to be opened again.

Biting her lip so harshly she could taste blood, she clicked onto Twitter first. After logging in, her timeline appeared and for a second, she composed herself for whatever she would be facing. She scrolled hesitantly, waiting for something to pop up. But nothing involving her seemed to show up, and her chest loosened slightly.

However, her eyes caught onto a tweet from tweet from a few days prior, specifically the video included within it. A video of Harry on stage, up close and even the preview of the video made her heart hurt, seeing his face so clear. She eyed the caption.

here's H performing Falling in Bologna last night, 16/05. it looks like he's tearing up during it☹️

Before she could register what she was doing, she was clicking onto the video and watching with a baited breathe. The video was zoomed in so that every aspect of his face was visible, and the look on his face, so hopeless and sad as he sang, made her lip quiver.