After a series of muffled screams into my duvet, I laid my sopping, tangled hair on my pillow and finally began to slow down the hammering of my heart.
Harry made me so agitated. He made my skin crawl, my blood boil, he was the bee in my bonnet, he was the devil in a horribly attractive form with prettier hair than any other lady I had ever met. He had a sharp tongue and knew exactly when to use his disgustingly charming smirk. He was stubborn and ruthless and absolutely adorable.
I clenched my comforter until my knuckles went white, yanking the heavy sheet over my head to hide from the bright afternoon sun beating in from the window near my bed. I kept telling myself I felt ill; that I had a migraine or was dizzy. But in all honesty, I just didn’t want to get out of bed, afraid that if I took another wrong step I would be tumbling back on the rocky path that led to Harry Styles or One Direction as a whole.
As I began to drift off into a hazy dream state, that was not the sleep I so desperately needed, I heard my phone buzz from beside me. I shook my head and rolled over away from the nightstand where my iPhone sat. Completely avoiding every kind of social contact sounded like the game plan for tonight.
Humid steam filled my lungs as the guitar riff to One Direction’s song “One Thing” began to play on the radio just outside my shower. I groaned inwardly, but continued massaging my scalp as I lathered my shampoo into my tangled hair. As the song continued to play and continued to get more up beat, I couldn’t help but hum along and sway back and forth to the steady beat. It wasn’t long until I was having an all out, here to party, dance solo while shouting the lyrics of the chorus into my coconut scented shower gel bottle.
It was when I began clapping along with the band when I noticed how completely idiotic I probably looked. I stopped dead in my tracks, slamming the bottle down and finishing my shower in complete silence. The song was almost too catchy for my own good. I turned the condensating knob to cut the scolding water and towel dried my body, the cool air from my apartment causing goose bumps to scatter across my skin. I cursed the cold gust of wind for causing my freshly shaved legs to grow prickly hairs. It made me start to wonder why I shave my legs in the first place.
Since I woke up early and was in a somewhat good mood, I decided today would be one of those days I looked presentable to class instead of the normal jeans and t-shirt that I threw on because I lost track of time or overslept.
I went with one of my many pairs of denim jeans and a button up shirt with short sleeves, due to the fact that it was still quite warm, and paired the boring black and white combination with a pop of color using my red flats. I picked out of my collection of bags (Some people have a shoe fetish, I on the other hand love bags.) and shoved the books and materials I would need for class that day in brown leathery back pack and slung it over my shoulder.
With my hair dried naturally and my normal amount of make up on, I was out the door and heading toward the university at a leisurely pace. I wasn’t in much of a hurry and took my time; looking at all the late autumn scenery and nodding at fellow pedestrians and students that were making their trek to class. I particularly took a notice to the rushing business men and women with their heavy briefcases tight in their grasp. I wondered what kind of work they did and if they held some kind of secret political scheme in their bags.
After a good stare down on a few middle aged people in suits, I gaged my attention to the many newsstands on the streets. My eyes floating across all the tabloids.
You’ll never guess what Kim Kardashian did this week.
Oh, Lindsay Lohan in rehab again? Shocker.
Harry Styles leaving his new girlfriends house? Big d- wait a second.
I turned sharply and ripped the glossy magazine off of the rack. My eyes frantically scanning the front page. Photos of Harry leaving my flat from a few days ago blown up, with inserts of pictures of me from the night I left his hotel. God, I look so pale. I thought to myself, but quickly dismissed the thought because that was not the prevalent issue.
The press thought Harry and I were dating? Excuse me while I vomit.
“How much is this?” I asked the man behind the newspaper racks. He looked at the magazine that I clutched and back to my face, he chuckled and spoke in an accent I could barely understand.
“If you’re on the front page, it’s free.” He continued to laugh as I huffed and marched away. I dug from my phone that was shoved deep in the back pocket of my jeans. I needed Harry to work his boy band magic and tell his people to make this article disappear and pretend like it never happened again.
The last thing I need is more One Direction fans on me like a bad smell or more dirty looks from jealous girls in my classes. I picked up my pace to the building that my calculus class is held in and quickly selected Harry’s number from my phonebook when I got inside the cool building. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waiting for him to answer.
“What?” Harry finally picked up after several rings, a bit of relief washed over me.
“Have you seen the latest headlines?” I asked, starring at the magazine in front of me; utterly disgusted.
“No, I don’t pay attention to the tabloids.” Harry answered in a tone I couldn’t read. I crossed my arms before replying.
“Why is that?” I let curiosity get the best of me.
“Because half of the things they say won’t happen in a million years.” The line went dead. I threw the magazine in the trash and marched heavy footed into class. That single phone call was the answer to all my problems.
I am not going to that concert.
I fell back on my bed with an overly dramatic sigh. I could feel Newton’s footsteps close to my face on the comforter and I twisted on my stomach, facing his pink nose.
“Oh, Newt.” I scratched under his chin, watching his eyes close in pleasure. “Why can’t things go back to normal?”
And in a way, this was normal. Scarlett lying on her bed talking to her cat because it was her only friend was normal. I winced when I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket, I slowly fished it out and without looking at the caller ID I answered the call.
“Hello?” My tone was grim, like I had just spent an hour sobbing.
“Scarlett, you alright?” I heard Zayn Malik’s concerned voice on the other end of the call. I sat up in my bed quickly, straightening out my shirt and fixing my hair as if he had just walked in the room.
“Yeah, I’m fine... great actually! Yourself?” I smiled and pushed off my bed.
“I’m good. Haven’t spoke to you in awhile, I miss my nerd.” I fought back a goofy grin as I felt my blushing cheeks get hotter by the second.
“I miss you too!” I managed to giggle out, sounding like one of the hyenas from the Lion King.
“That is exactly why you are coming to the show tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn asked with hopefulness in every ounce of his voice. I sighed, afraid of what he would sound like when I shot his hope down with my negative answer.
“I’m afraid not.” I said.
“What?” Zayn paused briefly, “You’re going to make me lose a bet to Styles? I never lose to Styles.” My nose wrinkled in confusion. A bet? What the hell was he talking about a bet? And to Harry? I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and pointer finger.
“Huh?” I spat out completely dumbstruck. Zayn laughed lightly on the other line.
“Harry bet me that you weren’t going to come tomorrow.” I smirked, an evil plan hatching in my brain.
“You don’t say?” I sat back down on my bed and crossed my right leg over my left. “Well, if Harry is so convinced I won’t be there... I will be there.”
And I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face.
