Ant --
1/9/2025
A blaring alarm.
I lie in bed for a few minutes, lost in my thoughts. He's my best friend. Nothing more.
That's what everyone else thinks. But I dread to even venture to what I think.
It's impossible that he hasn't noticed the way that I look at him, the way I think about him. So lustful, so longing, so desperate. I mean, we're best friends, right? He should be able to read me.
I have tried to resist it all. From the way he giggles when he finds something funny, to the way he isn't afraid to be honest with me, to the way he will support you through everything, to how he isn't afraid to speak up and stand up for what he believes in...I'm so lucky to have him as my best friend. I just desperately crave for something more; it should have been obvious from the start. Things have never worked out with the women in my life, I guess looking back it was probably a delusion of love that was never actually there.
But, regardless, I can never have him. No matter how much I lie to myself.
I wish he was...like me. This futile hoping that I have, it sickens me. The thought that we could live our lives together, grow old together, and we wouldn't need to withhold such pressing secrets such as mine.
I reluctantly rise out of bed, wishing that he was there, that he had been the whole night, as a comfort. I head over to my kitchen. The house feels quiet. Lonely.
It's no surprise I guess. I do live alone.
It all feels so unnerving. The house is scarily quiet, not like what I was used to as a child.
Obviously, Anne-Marie is away from home.
I plug my earphones in hastily, attempting to dull this ever-growing discomfort. 'Let's Get Ready to Rhumble' begins to play. I smile faintly as I hear the voices of Dec and I from 27 years ago, when I didn't know how I would feel about him now. I wish things could be how they used to be. I pace towards the front door, staring into the nothingness.
I casually gaze down the street, locking my door cautiously behind me. Here we go again. Dodging constant cameras. Avoiding the paparazzi, trying to construct some fake news from my minuscule actions.
-- 'Ant Mcpartlin looks lost in thought as he takes an early morning stroll, without faithful companion Declan Donnelly by his side.'
Just imagine: the horror, the scandal, the relentless pressing of questions if they knew the truth hiding behind our friendship. I look around, observing the world going on outside my chaotic mind. I wish I wasn't in show business at all, that I was just a normal passer-by. The pure freedom of not being noticed everywhere I go.
My mulling is interrupted as a black limousine pulls up, rolling down the passenger window. The driver, donning black shades, says, "We need to start saying no to stuff,". The safety word. I hear these words. I climb into the back of the ominous-looking car, pondering the security aspect of this procedure as we drive off towards Wembley. It's time.
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a/n: ~SUSPENSE~
