And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 31

I'M GIVEN A taste of what an artists life is like on their press tours. From live watch parties, youtube segments and constant episodes with different creators to rewatch the video and dissect it, play coy with their theories and laugh at their jokes. 

And not to forget the chaos of some talk-show hosts with their insane visions that leave Harry and I - who are already sleep deprived - out of breath with a hopefully entertaining crosswalk concert featuring two of his songs from the last album plus his latest single.

In between all this, there is no minute of peace. Or at least I felt like that. I'm beginning to feel stifled. How has he been doing this for his last two albums? Is this why Harry Wolfe keeps his body in prime shape?

And I begin to understand how my favourite celebrities begin to fall apart. The stifling feeling of putting on a show that never really goes away.

I remember how Harry asked me before we stayed together, during our photoshoot how I did it, and how I managed to look like I was in love with him in the photos while he struggled.

I didn't realise the bigger sense of the question, but I'd managed to answer him.

"You have to believe the lie."

No moment for genuine conversation, no moments of truth, just a circle of lies. No wonder it's easier for me to look smitten with him. It's hard for me to be the opposite.

And just like that - I know.

I like Harry.

That kiss with him isn't the taste of the Gin Tonic, but that fuzzy warm feeling I felt, the feeling not of someone who likes Harry Wolfe, but someone who just likes Harry.

I feel sick. I close my eyes and try to calm the racing of my heart. No wonder we've become #couplegoals and the reason that love exists on the internet. And maybe now that I know I like him, that's why I reach out first. I send him a message.

He replies instantly, as though he'd been waiting. Does this mean the feeling is returned? But it's so ridiculous I shut the thought down. Instead, I google Sarah Barbella again.

I don't mean to, but men are men and they tend to like the same things visually at least. So I compare myself to Sarah Barbella, who is petite with a voice that's loud and demanding of attention.

I'm not a singer, I can hold a tune but that's as far as my singing abilities go. Nowhere close to landing a role in a musical. Sarah Barbella has a big nose. Maybe I'm prettier than her? I'm in the midst of comparing myself when a call comes through.

Harry.

I answer, trying to curb the tingling in my chest.

I like him.

"Hello," I say.

"Hi," he says.

"You called?" I'm not sure why I'm annoyed or why I feel cold. I'm just suddenly a bumble of nerves.

"You didn't reply to my text."

I didn't even see his reply. I'd just been happy to have him reply to me. I don't tell him this. "So I guess the way to get you to call me is by not replying to your messages huh?"

He laughs at this, amused and I know no words to describe the feeling in my chest. This longing and frustration at being apart from him on his press tours and knowing mine will soon follow prior to, during and after the release of Vanity High.

"You can always call me, Nessa."

And just like that the feeling sinks. I know just by the use of my pet name that he's not alone. There's someone there in the room with him, and he's just playing a part. I'm foolish to think otherwise. Harry Wolfe has been in the limelight longer than I have.

"I just don't want to interrupt your schedule," I fake it till I make it. I'm going to win an Oscar one day for how convincingly I act and liking Harry isn't going to change that.

"Hardly, I'm with some friends over at my place, do you want to come over?"

"I'm not sure," I prepare to lie because even though I want to see his friends, I'm scared. I'm scared to take the steps to closer to him in case I'll break my own heart. Our contract is nearing it's end.

After all, wasn't he the one who said he wanted to be friends?

And just like that, I remember buying the tiniest of lingerie and rushing over to his house, reaching forward for him to kiss me only for him to push me away, stick his hand out and for us to ultimately end up friends.

Yes, friends.

I'm an adult.

It's not like I fell in love with my co-stars, I wasn't above that cliche but I wasn't going to be one of them.

"I don't know Tom, I don't think she's going to come," Harry's voice comes on the phone distantly.

"Tom?" I ask, puzzled. I thought Harry's friend in the industry was just Adam Lautner.

"Tom Holland," He says, "He wants to meet you."

Tom Holland? The guy who's dating Zendaya and one of the biggest actors in the industry? I'm a fangirl at the end of the day and Tom Holland being there is enough to seal the deal for me.

"I'll be there," I say.

"Are you coming because Tom Holland is here?" Harry asks wearily.

"No, I'm coming because I want to see you," I say and it's horrible because it's the truth. I do want to see him. I do want to spend time with him. I do want to see who's his friends, but it's easier to convince myself I'm going because Tom Holland is there.

"Right..." his voice trails off and I can hear hoots and teasings from him. "See you then."

I get ready, picking my cutest outfits because while we're not together, I wanted to make an impression on his friends, I wanted them to think that we're the ultimate couple, maybe they'd convince him... no I don't want to think about that.

Hope is a dangerous thing.

Hope is the smile on his face when he opens the door, the teasing glint in his eyes as I met the Tom Holland. Who is more than amused by my cool demeanour. It's meeting his friends, feeling like I'm part of their circle even though we've just met.

They tell me they like the music video, that he's warmer since he's met me and that our relationship looks lovely. No one talks about the hospital incident and even with all the warning signs, I know we're closing the last chapter of our relationship. It's a matter of time for an amicable breakup.

And sure enough, two days later, Priscilla sent me a text with the end date of our fake relationship. A move far too sudden to be a coincidence and I know it's Charles who came up with it. Maybe Harry asked, after all things are finally moving in the right direction for him. 

And it's time to cut the threads.

Or me.

It's time to cut me out. 

Well, at least I got to meet Tom Holland.

AN

Thank you for waiting, I loved all your support for my work and couldn't resist doing a double update to surprise you.