March
HARRY STYLES
Los Angeles, when it came down to it, was really as good of a place as any to attempt to mend a broken heart. The lack of rain and plethora of blue skies made it easier to get out of bed in the morning, there were so many people around to keep you company that it was almost sickening, the traffic was reason enough to take up all your anger and frustration, and there was always something to do–something going on.
By the time I left for the States, three days after Camden shamelessly dumped me on my birthday, I was under the impression that leaving was absolutely going to be the solution to my problem. And I guess I couldn't blame myself for thinking that when I had never tired running away from a problem before, but it didn't work. The different time zone and scenery didn't actually do shit for me the way I thought they would.
Being at the studio, though, that helped.
Victoria May was, in fact, a hell of a singer and a surprisingly sweet girl. I guess after only a month or so, Hollywood hasn't been able to do the damage to her that it eventually will. Soon enough, she'll be staring at herself in the mirror wondering if her nose is too big, or if the gap between her thighs isn't as wide as the girl's in her early morning pilates class.
I had seen that happen too many times before, and it never got less depressing to watch them change themselves in exchange for acceptance in this industry.
But for now, she was walking into the studio to join us with a matching Nike sweatsuit on, no makeup on her otherwise youthful face, and her long brown hair tossed up in a messy bun. She greeted us all with a shy smile and a small Starbucks to-go cup in her hand. I'll bet it was some kind of hot tea, and I'll bet she googled what to drink for her voice.
"So how's going, guys?" She asked, settling down on the floor despite the open space on the couch next to me.
"Good," Max answered, "feeling alright today?"
"Mhm," she gave us a tight, but sweet smile. "We're working on the piano song today, right?"
Max, Jeff, and Jesse turned to me, signaling for me to answer when I failed to speak up for myself.
"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "I can send you the lyrics now and you can look over them while I'm playing it for you."
Once I sent the message, I pushed myself up from the couch and weaved my way around the instruments to get to the black baby grand piano toward the corner. Habitually, I quickly popped my knuckles and adjusted my position on the bench before laying my fingers out on the white keys.
The song wasn't a happy one, not even a little bit, but sadder songs were always my expertise. It was funny because I wasn't a naturally sad person, and my friends could never believe that I wrote some of the songs that ended up on best selling albums. They would ask me if I was doing okay when they knew that I always had a smile on my face regardless.
Maybe I should have been concerned by the way it was so easy for me to dig into darker parts of my brain, and write about things I didn't understand for myself. I had written one too many heart wrenching break up songs for someone who had never been broken up with before. Until now.
Now, there was no telling what the fuck I was going to come up with after Camden put me through the wringer.
"Wow, this is, um...yeah," Victoria glanced up at me from her phone as I finished playing and turned back to her. "It's sad."
"Needed a breakup song, yeah?" I asked.
Keeping my gaze, she nodded slowly. "Yeah, a-and the piano is really pretty. I mean, it's a pretty song even if it's sad."
