One Direction Imagine- Chapter 2 “More Than This”
“More Than This”
When I woke up, the next day I assumed, I had a splitting headache. Had it all been a dream? Had I even done the operation? Wouldn’t have been the first time I’d had that dream. No, I certainly could hear. But I might have dreamt it all very vividly, that part with Zayn. Perhaps One Direction doesn’t even exist. So I start writing it out before I forget my lovely dream. I read somewhere that you have already forgotten about 60% of what happened yesterday, never mind what didn’t happen. Actually, cross that out. Because I know that all that was true. In no world could my imagination give me such perfection.
The problem is though, that it sometimes happens to me that when I try and remember something all the details fade away, seem harry or ludicrous.
I’m starting to get depressed and that annoys me. I’d been stupid to go out with Zayn the previous night. Had it been the best night of my life? Yes, but that was the problem. Now, nothing would ever even compare. I would always wonder what if. What if I’d begged to go back with to his hotel to meet his friends and spend the night over? But no, even though that would have meant we wouldn’t have been separated my behavior would have come off as offbeat, slutty and desperate, even though I definitely wouldn’t have let anything happen.
It was none the matter though. The outcome would have been the same no matter what; eventually I’d have to stop daydream believing, come off my dream world because I’d have ended up home alone and depressed. I had to face it. I may not like it, but the best night of my life was probably just a standard, okayish time for an international celebrity like him.
I’m about to cry because I care so much more than he ever possibly could. He doesn’t even know my name! All that talk about liking each other and those deep pseudo intellectual conversations where worth nothing. To him I was probably just a reflex, being nice to a fan. A reflex like smiling at a bad joke to not offend a friend or covering your face when you’re about to get hit. He was probably just being so lovely to prevent a scandal for the entire band what with the whole lip-reading incident. The kiss was probably just an added bonus for him. A gift to a fan.
Suddenly I hate him. I hate him so much my hands are shaking. I feel like yelling or hitting someone. Or doing something violent and drastic. Only then the moment passes ends, and I’m tired, so tired. Just so very, very tired. I give up any plans of doing anything at all and step back into bed.
The last thing I see is that my alarm clock announces 8h22 am, Thursday
I wake up as the clock turns to 11h01. I groan. I’ve only slept for about two extra hours, and I’ve already missed Calculus, which is meant to finish at exactly this time. I’m feeling way more energized though, for some reason. I’m determined to forget about him.
I got up and get to my daily, if delayed, routine. Pour some cereal, read the paper – no need to rush that much anyways, my next class is just at quarter past 1. I pause because I notice the bags from the shopping trip of the precious night resting on a stool next to me. I hesitate. Should I dispose of those items… for closure? No, I shan’t because burning dresses and breaking vinyls is stupid. Besides I’m dead curious as to what recorded music really sound like so I turn on The Beatles’ Abbey Road on the record player my dad so loathes. I play with the idea of just breaking the One Direction stuff. Perhaps, but later.
Unexpectedly I hear an unfamiliar sound – which really isn’t saying much. I’m not really worried because that seems to be a metal on skin sort of thing and I’m guessing a burglar would most likely be noisier. Also, besides what Zayn got me and my gramophone the only valuable thing in the house is yours truly. And I’m not worth that much to anyone.
It’s my friend Honey. Honey Jenkins. (I’ve always wanted to say that James Bond thing.
Honey has been my “closest friend” -again, not saying much, since I can’t even say I’ve been hers – since I came to Royal Holloway London College. She used to be deaf too, born, but she’s had a hearing aid since she was 8. The difference between a Cochlear and a hearing aid is that the second option is more like a remedy than a cure.
Honey only has the aid because she feels that she doesn’t want to make everyone else underestimate her. Not because she had any wish to join the masses. Otherwise she is the most establishments following, anti-societal, anti-political, anti-anti, political sciences major I’ve ever met. I’m positive the reason that made her decide to be my friend at first was the notion that us deaf gals should stick together against the man.
“There you are!” she signs, since we always sign when we’re together “I was wondering where you’ve been. Everyone’s been worried sick! You didn’t make it back on Wednesday night like was expected. Me and a few others actually set up a party for you only when you didn’t show up people started leaving.”
I glance at my waste bin. Sure enough it is up to its top with littered remains of cheap Tesco’s balloons and assorted kid’s party paraphernalia. She’s decidedly exaggerating to make me feel better. I daren’t tell I know she’s lying because the gesture is sweet, and besides, I don’t want to give much thought to the fact that the only people who probably showed where Honey herself, her greasy, clingy boyfriend, and Casey Fontaine, who is this needy newbie who is so obsessed with becoming a social butterfly she shows up to any event, no matter how lame.
“Yes well,” I struggle with what to sign back, because I really don’t feel like telling her about Zayn, “The hospital made me sign a bunch of forms, and their policy is kind of like a hotel’s. You have to check out before a certain time or else you pay for an extra day. So I decided that, since I was coughing out so much cash, I might as well stay a little longer. I mean, that place is like quality. Almost no rat hair at all in their soup. Barely spotted all that many cockroaches either in 3 months”
I’m quite happy with my faux story. It’s quirky, weird, ends with a joke and not quite believable, which means she’ll almost for sure believe it!
“Hmm ok… Then why are you here two days later instead of one?” she questions.
“Why are you here two days later instead of one?” she parrots back.
I’m taken aback with the turn of events. Quickly I ask her what she means. Slowly, she signs back, like I’m stupid or something.
“You were meant to return Wednesday. It is currently FRIDAY. What have you done in the meantime?”
“Shit! I overslept, that’s what I did. I overslept for almost 26 hours! Dammit. Dammit. Oh, dammit I missed Chem.!”
Honey purses her lips in disgust, as she doesn’t approve of anything other than hard work. Skipping Chem. even for a reason as legit as recovering from a life altering surgery is unacceptable.
I try to change the subject:
“Anyways, what’s happened since my coma? I’m hardly Sleeping Beauty considering my bed head, but had the whole Kingdom come to a halt?”
She smiles at the mention of the fairytale, since her favorite little sister is named Aurora in honor of that Disney Princess. She begins to parrot back all of the homework I’ve supposedly accumulated since Wednesday, considering that when I was in the Hospital I just did everything online. She goes on to tell all of the work I’m to do as well as all of the work she thinks I should do, which is considerably more than what my professors ask of me. Honestly, Honey would be one badass teacher, like one of those really mean ones from the movies. If she were to replace that puppy fat with hard core muscles, she’d be the real life embodiment of Mrs. Trunchbull from Mathilda.
She sounds like a machine gun spilling all this information and killing everyone via boredom. I can’t help but comparing her to Zayn, who was such a good listener. Honey, on the other hand, is killing me feel good buzz.
“Let me rephrase that, has anything interesting happened since I’ve been gone?”
She purses her lips once more, which I’m guessing, considering how often she does that, is practically a nervous twitch, and adamantly states that seeing as how we are university students, my priorities as well as my main interesting should be in my education.
I’m in for yet another speech, so I hastily apologize and beg for the latest social news, since she’s ever so popular.
She grins a little, flatters, and precedes to apiece my curiosity.
“Nothing really. Nothing’s happened much.”
It had been a long shot anyways. Honey didn’t give a damn about people, let alone what they did, and whenever she did hear gossip it was always so utterly wrong it was funny.
One time she told me that Minnie Bing, a friend of us, had been expelled from school with shame after thrashing her apartment during an all night party that included illicit drugs. As it turned out Minnie had simply requested a room upgrade, and the only other available living quarters on campus where just a located quite far from her old house.
For the next few minutes, we keep quiet, and sit in silence eating Rice Crispies, in my case, or staring at me eating Rice Crispies, in Honey’s.
The record has finished in grace and I’m in awe of the amazing sound The Beatles have managed to produce. I’m still marveling, haven’t exactly calmed down, and I doubt the euphoria of listening to music will ever fade away, but I’m not as hysterical as two nights ago, so I put another one playing. This time around I decide to choose something a little more recent, so after some hesitation I pick up Take Me Home, by One Direction.
“What’s that?” Honey inquires, having apparently not noticed that I had music on, presumably by having turned off her hearing aid. Her back is straight, and for once I think her serious look isn’t about schoolwork.
“Just some music”. I admit, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Music? You aren’t going to become one of them, now, are you?!”
“What do you mean one of them? What’s wrong with listening to music?”
“Nothing unless you want to become one of them!”
“Who are they and what’s wrong with them?”
“I’ve told you a million times, Them!! The people whose lives revolve around other people’s lives” The Hearing Ones who just go on and on and on and on about their celebrities and celebutantes, about who had the nicest hair or shoes or whatever! The Ones with no morals, whose every portion of life is cemented on vanity!”
“What they’re like? Honey, just because they can heat it doesn’t mean they’re bad people or anything,” I’m a little frightened because Honey is always like incredibly restrained and her outburst is quite off-putting.
“So you’re going to tell me you’ve never witnessed they’re arrogance? How they seem to think they’re so superior to us? How they always act like it’s oh so unfortunate that we have this condition? How they always belittle us? And you are going to tell me all this is fair?”
“No it isn’t, but –”
“Oh, and don’t get me started on their views on music! Like music is going to change the world or whatever, BUT LOOK AT WHAT THEY’VE DONE TO THIS PLANET??”
“Honey… There’s no need to be so prejudiced…”
“I’m not PREJUDICED, I’m stating facts!”
“Honey… Just, just listen! It isn’t that bad, they aren’t that bad! Just… just listen!”
I’m still gripping the vinyl, and I notice I’m holding it, really, really hard so that I notice that my fingertips have been etched as marks on to it as I walk towards my gramophone. But Honey positions herself in front of my most prized possession, rips the record from my hands, looks at it closely, eyes semi-closed, and breaks it.
I cry out in shock, my music, my beautiful music! Yet Honey’s eyes are shouting harder than actual words or fumbling hand gestures. Traitor, liar, expatriot” Oh, but am I really these things. No, I’m not, and I’m not going to leave my friend nor am I going to change myself. To quote William Shakespeare “Nothing is neither good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.” Nobody is good or bad because of their physical limitations or lack there off. Honey was being a prejudiced bitch and to be honest I was starting to pity her, No matter what her brilliant grades where it how much more intelligent than me she is, Honey is nothing but a biased little kid who was largely overreacting. So I stood still and just calmly waited for her to tire herself out, like you do to little children.
“What is this?? One Direction?? On top of everything you like trash! So you’ve already turned into a selfish materialistic bitch? HA, you are just like all the others, with their worshipping! Ha! None of them have even seen them personally, and yet they thing they’re his one!”
I’m a little curious because she’s just talking gibberish. Fights are amusing.
“Oh, yes, the one! They all think that that 1D guy is in love with him just because they “love” him OH SO VERY VERY MUCH! Ha they haven’t even met and they think he loves them” As if… it‘s probably just a prank and if it was him it’s just stupid of him. He can’t have personally co fraternized with a fan.”
“Wait. What? Honey what are you on about?”
“What I’m on about id this society’s over glorified consumerisms which is leading to both social and moral collapse. They don’t even know they are being manipulated because that would be a sign of revolution and un-cattle like wit.” she’s starting to calm down, I can see from the fact she crushes my record seems to be a tad more reluctantly.
“Whoa! Back down, what’d that about a member of One Direction having met up with a fan?”
My heart is beating like the rhythm of Live While We’re Young, which is to say rapidly, and I’m frozen because the whole thing is so improbable, I’m probably still asleep.
“Ah, some guy from that band sent a message in a cutesy little envelope to all the girls on our road “because he couldn’t forget her”. Publicity stunt. What’s that to you?”
We’re both breathing fast now, our breakfast laying forgotten besides us. The air is loaded with unsaid things, while we both feel hurt and betrayed. The air is practically palpable. I just want to leave.
Honey isn’t upset anymore; she probably let out years of resentment towards hearing people, just in this small “spat”.
She smiles a very small, forced, tentive, hesitant smile. “I’m sorry. I think I overreacted. Still friends?”
“Sure. Like nothing happened.” I smile too, but we both know our friendship has for the most part ended. I don’t think I trust her anymore, not even a little, and frankly that hidden part of her scares me, especially considering how unfathomable it might have seemed before that she might have all that hatred inside of her. I don’t think she trust me either; I don’t think she trusts anyone with hearing even…
She fumbles with her arms as if to give me a hug but doesn’t know what to do with them. Halfway through she changes her mind and rearranges her hair clip. She leaves with an extremely awkward handshake.
I know not to ask her what happened to my note, if it is true that Zayn sent a letter to every girl on the road. I check my mailbox.
For once, Honey is right and there is a neat letter in a lovely mother-of-pearl envelope, addressed to resident.