Every day for the next two weeks, you enter through the back door of the building, Nelson letting you in when you text him. You bring your lunch so you don't have to exit through the lobby during the day. Miraculously, you have managed to avoid the press, but you're sapped of all energy on a daily basis. When the alarm goes off, you haul yourself out of bed and tediously brush your teeth. Some days you take a shower. Others you spritz yourself liberally with cologne to cover up any possible body odor. When you step on the scale after the first week, you're surprised to find you've lost 3 kilos, and you admonish yourself to eat more regularly, but you still forget to eat many times over the next few days. Sometimes you simply aren't hungry for food.

With no new pictures to feed the journalism monster, the story dies. Everyone seems to know that you and Harry are no longer together, especially after his responses to reporters. The fans stop camping out in the lobby. Your schedule eases to a more normal pace with Terri fielding your calls for new clients. She's a fierce interrogator, and you are proud to have her on your team. If you ever get the money to hire an actual receptionist, she will be the one to get the job, even though she is skinnier and prettier than you.

There are a few potential clients who get through Terri's screening process by pretending to be interested in therapy, but at some point in your intake appointment with them, they always manage to bring up the photo. This prompts you to usher them out of your office with the names of two or three of your colleagues (just in case they are truly interested in therapy by some small chance). Naturally, you still charge them for your time, and none of them seem to complain about the extra charge for "exigent circumstances". They're probably bragging on Twitter about meeting you before they even get out of the building, but you avoid social media of all sorts, especially after the trending "#HarryGetsSome" during the 24 hours immediately following that fucking Tesco disaster.

The new clients that you weren't expecting to get are other celebrities (whose names you can't mention because of doctor-patient confidentiality); there have been a number who have come out of the woodwork, looking for a therapist that they can share their deepest, darkest secrets with while maintaining their privacy. This turn of events is surprising, and you welcome them into your practice with open arms, especially since you are now experienced with the challenges of being a celebrity.

Overall, you're rather proud of your ability to move forward without a thought for your broken relationship. Okay. Without thinking every single second of your shattered heart. There have been whole stretches of three to maybe five minutes where you're not thinking about Harry, wondering how he's doing. You've watched every interview, crying silently through each. He looks tired, and you want to wipe the creases from his forehead. And his voice sounds like he's getting a cold; someone should tuck him into bed and rub Vicks on his chest. But that's not your job. Not anymore. Swallowing hard, you turn off the interview with Ellen, pulling out that Rolling Stones t-shirt and snuggling closely with it as you curl into a fetal position, sniffing Harry's scent while trying not to dilute it with your tears.

==========

When I return to London on a break from album promo, I avoid my favorite gyms, trying new ones every couple of days. My workouts aren't the motivator they used to be; I find myself searching for her every time I'm on a treadmill or in a spin class. And heaven forbid the gym has a fucking steam room. I avoid those like the fucking plague.

It hits me one night when I'm out with Ben and Meredith, and Mer passes Ruby over for me to hold. She's so precious and small still, even at 7 months, and she smiles up at me. As Ruby reaches out to take a grape off of my plate, she gives me that look filled with adorable babyness. My balls retreat into my body as I recall the fact that we hadn't used protection on our last time together, even though we'd jeopardized (and ended) everything by buying two boxes of condoms. Fuck me.

What if she's pregnant?

I'm torn at the thought as I hold Ruby. Of all of the things I wanted most with her, children were high on the list. That picture of the future haunts me, and now I wonder if there's a chance that we made a baby our last time together. My mum always told me that I was conceived in love, and there was so much love in our last coupling that it would shock me if the universe hadn't picked up on it.

My hands shake as I hand precious Ruby back to Meredith, and I have to excuse myself for a few moments, heading to the restroom to gather my composure. A little part of me and a little part of her? Together? That would be so.....words truly escape me. It's all I've ever wanted and didn't know I needed. Honestly, I have no idea how to react to this thought. Would she even tell me if she were pregnant? Would I ever know? Fuck. This new worry twists my stomach and has me begging off from the night I was going to spend with Mer and Ben. For the first time in weeks, I find myself back at Erskine. Walking into my home is like a continual punch in the gut. She's everywhere. Her essence. Her smile. Her love. I sniff the pillows for some scent of her, crying myself to sleep in the bed we had shared, wondering if we had created a miracle that last night together.

==========

When you wake up in the middle of the night with that familiar sensation between your legs, knowing that your period has started, you wearily head to the toilet. It's only when you're back in bed, trying to get back to sleep that the ramifications hit you. Not pregnant. That's what this means. NOT PREGNANT. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

It's not like you wanted to trap him. And an unplanned pregnancy would have thrown a wrench in your carefully laid plans for your practice. But fuck. Maybe in the back of your mind you had entertained the thought that you might be pregnant with a tiny Harry after your final encounter. In your conscious thoughts, you hadn't considered the possibility because it would have been too overwhelming. And yet so right. There was nothing but love in that final merging of your souls and bodies, and what better way to conceive a child?

Within moments, your pillow is soaked with tears. This is it. The final separation. The final dissolution of what had been and what might have been. Curling on your side, pulling your knees to your chest, you cry heaping sobs into the sheets, mourning the loss of your love and a child that never existed other than in your head canon. You no longer have any excuse to approach him again. The strains of his second single, 'Ever Since New York", reverberate through the room, and his voice is like an ice pick to your heart. Reaching over, you angrily throw the alarm clock radio across the room, breaking it into multiple pieces like your heart. At least the sound is gone.

The insanity of the fandom has settled down with no additional pictures of the two of you to fuel it. When you hear Harry on the radio, whether his song or an interview or even just promo, you've gotten really good at flipping the station rapidly. When you see a picture of him or an article about your doomed romance, you manage to flip through without reading. It takes some practice because the first time your name was on the radio, you gasped and listened with rapt attention.

The picture of you and Harry at Tesco had been everywhere, and you aren't really surprised at most of the initial reactions. There are those who hate you, dragging you for everything, including your lack of lipstick in the pictures taken at 1:30 in the morning. Then there are those who deny that you and Harry could have been anything other than friends or, worse, that you were buying condoms for his encounter with a bandmate. But then....there is this small group of individuals. After seeing the pictures, they openly express their beliefs that the two of you are in love. Their reaction hurts most. Can't they see that you and Harry were just killing time? Don't they know that this is just a picture of two people caught in the middle of a fucking session needing condoms? Why do they insist so loudly that you are "in love"?

==========

When I show up unexpectedly at my mum's house in the middle of the week between appearances on Loose Women and another visit on BBCR1 with Nick, she gives me the stink eye halfway through dinner. But it isn't until after dinner, when we're on the sofa sharing a bottle of wine, that she does her mum thing.

"How are you, Harry?" her prying starts almost as soon as Robin dozes off in his chair.

"'M fine, Mum," and I pray that she will leave it there even though I know better.

Turning to me, her arm draped over the back of the sofa, she gives me her most dead stare, "Don't bullshit me, Harry. I'm your mum. The picture told the whole story."

Shaking my head, I take a deep sip from the glass of red wine, "I don't think it told you everything. There's so much you don't know."

She smacks me. Literally. The back of my head hasn't felt her loving but sharp swat since I'd told her I didn't want to leave the safety of One Direction to go solo.

"MUM!" I yelp.

"Don't give me that, Harry. She's in love with you and you with her."

Before she even finishes, I'm disagreeing with her, "Nope. You're wrong already. She doesn't love me."

Mum's head tilts to the side, and she regards me closely, "I have no doubt that she not only loves you, but she's IN love with you. There's a distinction, and you know it. Besides, I don't hear you denying that you're in love with her."

"Mum," I start to speak, but she shakes her finger at me.

"Don't lie to me, Harry. You're my son. Start at the beginning and tell me the whole story."

And once I start talking, I can't stop. It all pours out of me.

==========

"You haven't been scheduling these regularly," your therapist, Aubri, says as you sit in her office. She's a kind woman slightly older than you. It's always considered best practice for psychologists to get regular therapy. "In fact, it's been nearly four months since I've seen you."

You sigh, raising your eyes to hers, "I just...."

Leaning back, putting her notepad and pen on the table in front of her, she smiles at you with a hint of sadness, "Tell me everything. From the beginning."

And once you start talking, you can't stop. It all pours out of you.

==========

"So that's why I can't be with her, mum. Her career is important, and I don't want her to give that up for me." I pause, my throat dry from pouring out our story to her, waiting to hear what my mum will say about this whole debacle.

==========

Your throat is parched by this point, and you reach for the bottle of water in front of you on the table. "So that's why I can't stay with him. My career is important, and I don't want to give that up for him. You of all people know how hard I worked to get here." Chugging the water down, you wait for her advice.

==========

My mum has listened patiently to the entire story, and now I see that her own eyes are teary. She takes my hand in hers. "Harry, my sweet boy. She needs you now more than ever. If you want her to keep her career, find a way to do that. Make it work."

I realise that we had never discussed her career. I had assumed that she was right: that we couldn't maintain a relationship if she was to keep her career intact. But what if there were a way? What if my career didn't get in the way of hers? What if....?

Hope fills my heart, and I tamp it down. It's been nearly a month since I've seen her. Yet, there's this little voice inside of my head that says, "Talk to her, dummy. Maybe there's a path through this." And for the first time in nearly four weeks, I genuinely smile.

==========

Aubri picks up her pen and begins chewing on the end, "Do you want my opinion as a professional or as your friend?"

Without hesitation, you reply, "Both."

Drawing in a deep breath and shifting in her chair, Aubri fixes you with her stare. "As your friend, I say you're an idiot. You had a man who loved you, and you walked away from him. No. You ran. Before you even knew there would be a problem. You hightailed it out of there before the flash ever went off in Tesco. In fact, I would venture you were never fully bought into the relationship."

Flabbergasted, you sit up straight, your mouth open as you gape at her, "What?" you sputter, "How dare you? I love him! He's my everything. I was absolutely 100% committed to him."

"Mhm," she mumbles provocatively, "when you were in your little bubble. But the second your sphere was in danger of collapsing, you ran like a scared rabbit."

Despite feeling indignant, you pause, considering your friend's words. "Why would I do that?" you ask, blinking.

"And now you get my official therapist's point of view," Aubri leans forward slightly. "You, my friend, have daddy issues."

Rolling my eyes at her, I pretend ignorance, "What are you implying?"

Aubri probes, "You already know. What wife is your father on now?"

Defensively, I cross my arms, "Number six, thank you very much. And every single one of them was successful in her career before marrying him."

"And then what happened?" she asks, more curious than accusatory.

With a deep sigh, you tuck your feet underneath you, "They all became his appendages. Couldn't go anywhere without him. Needed his validation. And he needs the arm candy for the industry events."

"Did you ever think that maybe they wanted to give up their careers? Did you ever ask them about it?" Now she's accusing you of something, but when you examine her questions, turning them over in your brain, you wonder if perhaps she has a valid point.

Pulling on your lip, your words copy your wonderings, "Hmmm....now that you mention it, I didn't ever ask them. I speculated, but never confirmed."

"And in the three months that you and Harry were together, did he ever once press you to give up your career and be his 'arm candy'?" She's using her therapist's voice, and you're slightly offended. Every word she says is true, though. Never once had he brought up your career. In fact, the two of you had never discussed anything about a future. You had laid out the ultimatum early on, and he had followed your lead, allowing you to set the rules. Not once had he asked you to attend an event with him or even go out in public together. From the beginning, he had protected your privacy.

"Damn, Aubri," you breathe, raising tear-filled eyes to meet hers, "I fucked up."