𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ─────⋆⋅★𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩é𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘵

XVIII - exposed

Amelie had spent a week at home already and on the one day she had stepped out of her cave of despair - aka her bed, she was hounded by paps.

"Amelie! That photo - is it true it's you and Timmy?" Amelie whipped around and grabbed the issue of vogue they were shaking at her.

Tearing through the pages she saw what they were talking about.

There it was, printed in vogue. The one photo Amelie had ever told Harlow to never show anyone. Ever.

You knew it was them. Then she saw next to it a photo of Lily and him. On a boat. Kissing the life out of each other.

She didn't know what to say so she didn't do anything. Handing the magazine back and hailing a cab.

"What the fuck!" She slammed the magazine down in front of Harlow at the café.

"Please, sit down and let me explain!" She pleaded.

"No, fuck you!" She poked her finger at her. Vicious.

"Please, Amelie I am so sorry!" She chased after her out of the café.

"You're sorry?" Amelie through her arms up. "You're sorry?" She repeated. "The one time, the one time Low that I have ever asked you to delete a photo - and you went and got it published by fucking Vogue?" She laughed at her.

"Amelie it's not like that, it slipped out of my portfolio! This is big for me, this is my first photo published by Vogue! Please, please try to understand!" Harlow begged.

"Of course, of course! You're first photo in Vogue and it's selling out your best fucking friend." She shook her head. "You are fucked up Harlow..."

"I'm fucked up? Come on, Amelie, get over yourself - please my god! He's playing you around just like Louis - and what's worst is your fucking settling for it." She crossed her arms.

"You would never understand Harlow!" She stepped forward. "You know why," Harlow looked away avoiding eye contact, "because anybody who would date you would be too fucking scared you'd," she prodded the photo in her face, "do this to them! And you would wouldn't you?"

"I'm sorry!" She cried.

"Anything for a byline right, 'Low?" She scoffed, turning on her heal and walking away.

She headed to the hairdressers by accident. Sat down and said one word.

"Dark." She looked at her hairdresser in the mirror. She nodded in the reflection and went about mixing the colour as she sat on her phone, torturing herself by reading what people were saying.

Then she saw Wes calling.

"Hey, you alright?" He asked.

"Oh I'm fine." She huffed.

"Well, I hate to say it but - you know it'll bring people to watch the film." He answered she nodded and excused herself from the call.

It was being released in a year. She would have to see him and he'd think she'd be to blame for the photo. But how could he kiss Lily like that?

How could he do that?

She bit her lip hard and decided there was only one thing to do. If they were all going to keep talking - which she knew they always would now, she had to prepare herself for that battle. She had get together her defences.

And so she found herself the next morning with a team surrounding her. Was she being spiteful - of course. A glam team, hair and wardrobe stylist waiting for her input.

She had called a contact at Vogue last night. If Harlow was going to profit off of her, that wasn't friendship - and she deserved to have her story told.

A birthday cake with the Harlow's photo printed onto it had been delivered in the morning from a local bakery.

And Amelie was ready.

Posing in bed, only lace underwear on in bed and the birthday cake held up to her with the big 19 candles.

The photographer taking photos in pastel hues and black and white as Amelie blew out her candles over and over until they got the right shot. Then she grabbed the cake and shoved a handful in her face grinning at the camera slyly. Like she knew a secret and she didn't.

Photos of her, in black tights and lingerie, a white shirt and huge diamond earrings. She started dancing to the music playing and she heard the camera keep on click click clicking.

Then she sat down. She didn't mean to but that Chet Baker song came on - she looked out of the window with her eyes glossing over in tears.

The camera clicked.

Then she broke that boundary again, staring directly at you with her eyeliner smudged and lip quivering.

The camera clicked.

Then came for the interview. Sat in the studio on a stool she ate a slice of the cake and listened to the reporter. She answered mysteriously always having a card up her sleeve.

She looked at her phone blowing up. It was T.

Turning off her phone quickly, turning back to the reporter. She hoped the woman hadn't seen, but she smiled understandingly and nodded.

"Please." She whispered. "We are just friends."

The reporter said nothing and went back to her questions on the film and Amelie's future plans.

Anxiety knotting in her stomach as she thought of Timothée.

What was she gonna do?

She'd have to see him in a year at least. She had a year to prepare. But what if she bumped into him?

After the interview she called her mum.

"Mama, I think I'm coming back." She admitted.

"Okay, well, what about college?" Her mother asked confused.

"Maybe I should do something else." Amelie suggested terrified of staying in New York.

What could she do but run?