Help! I'm Having Twins With Harry Styles! But I Hate Him! Don't I?

He Saved Me, But What a Jerkface!

With our backstage passes looped around our necks, tags nestled provocatively between perky and perfectly well rounded breasts of the ‘I’m almost legal, you don’t need to see my ID’ variety, Alexys-Marye-Siobhan and I were escorted through the crowd of plebeian fans.

It was kind of pathetic the way they threw themselves against the fence, drooling and foaming at the mouth over boys way too hot and way too important for them to ever rub shoulders with.

I figure that the mediocrity of the universe was deflected by my selfless personality, my genuine care for big world issues, and pure dedication to causes in third world countries. I’ll have you know that Mugambe Silva-Delawanakambe of Uganda is in a far better place since I bought his family a piglet… well Dad paid for the pig, but when Mugambe writes letters he always addresses them to me, so obviously he likes me better.

The point is, that karma rewards good people, and their minions too.

I expected there to be champagne and all that stuff that celebrities should have, but backstage was really just a mess of otherwise unimportant people running around like headless chickens.

Where was the glitz and glamour? Didn’t they know that I was the biggest fan of One Direction?

“When do we get to meet the band?” I asked the stuck-up woman who had led us through the pathetic, screaming and entirely unworthy crowd outside.

I knew she was stuck up because her lips were pouty.

“The boys are very busy, and about to go on stage to fulfil their commitments to their multi-billion dollar sponsors,” she explained, “but I’m sure those industrial tycoons and commercial fat-cats won’t mind if you waste their money by making One Direction excessively late for their much anticipated performance.

“Why don’t you follow me some more, and I’ll let you into their private dressing rooms, where you might catch a glimpse of them half naked, and will undoubtedly have the opportunity to swipe an otherwise meaningless piece of One Direction paraphernalia, that you’ll either cherish like the spank-bank holy grail or sell on eBay for a ludicrous amount of money.”

“Girls have spank-banks?” Alexys-Marye-Siobhan queried, flicking her blond hair, tilting her head to one side and looking at the woman wide-eyed in an intelligent fashion.

“I would never sell something so important on eBay,” I declared, as if the very idea was as offensive as full cream milk used in a supposedly skinny moccacino.

This uptight bimbo clearly had no idea just how central One Direction were to teen religion. Their songs were gospel; their bodies temples; all that hung from those exquisite frames a testament to divine perfection.

The idea of actually touching something that had once touched one of them made my head spin.

In panic and desperation that I might faint and lose my one best chance at eternal happiness, I groped for the wall, but found a door instead. Slightly ajar, the door gave way beneath the meager weight of my perfectly proportioned body, and I pitched through the frame.

I didn’t hit the ground though.

In what seemed like dramatic slow motion, strong arms folded protectively around me, holding me safe from the cold hard concrete reality of face planting the… cold hard concrete with my face.

I could feel tears of embarrassment begging to stream down my face, and I trembled with flagrant teen angst and girlish insecurity as my saviour held me tightly to his well defined chest. My heart pounded in perfect rhythm with his, only mine was faster, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.

“OMG!” Alexys-Marye-Siobhan gasped, having a much better view of the mis en scene from out in the hallway. “Harry Styles!”

“Why don’t I leave you two to get acquainted?” the air-headed woman said, waving her hand nonchalantly. “I’ll escort your clearly over-excited and promiscuous friend to the dressing room, where I’ll be forced to leave her unattended with four hormone driven, morally questionable and ‘teen spirit’ filled young men.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but it was as if Harry Styles had shoved his fist into my… throat, taken hold of my lungs and squeezed all the airy goodness from them.

“I…” I managed, but Harry put a single finger to my lips.

“Shhh,” he whispered, a sound exhaled against the delicate structure of my soul.

By the time I managed to struggle free of the garlic vapours he had exhaled against the delicate structure of my nostrils, Alexys-Marye-Siobhan was gone and so was the woman.

“Get off me you pig!” I shouted with rage, shoving him in the chest hard enough to make him stumble back a couple of steps.

There was just something so annoying about the encompassing, abyss of his sea foam eyes and the cheeky confidence of his delicious lips. I wanted to kiss them, but at the same time I found myself disgusted by his perfection.

“I was just trying to help,” he admitted, looking hurt, and for a second I actually thought I had been a little harsh.

“I… I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just that you think that you can have any girl, but I’m not like other girls.”

“Oh?” he mused honestly, imploring with both his hands and with those greeny meres that turned most teen girls to mush. “I would like to get to know what makes you so different.”

“You’re just a player,” I snorted, crossing my arms, “and I’m far too smart to fall for a player.”

“So you’re the street smart, un-popular, anti-establishment, secretly well educated and confidently self aware girl?”

“No,” I snorted; what an insult. “I’m the preposterously popular, always centre-of-attention and yet somehow still grounded despite my above average socio-economic status, girl.”

“Then we’re perfect for each other,” he declared, adorable creases forming across his brow; he was a puppy and I desperately wanted to snuggle him up, nibble his ears and make him do that funny thing with his leg when I scratched him in the right place.

Then I woke up to his tricks.

“You may think you’re clever Harry Styles, but I can see what you’re trying to do!” I announced triumphantly.

Somewhere in the distance, down the hallway and behind a closed door, I suddenly heard a very loud SQUEEEEEEE, but I pushed Alexys-Marye-Siobhan’s orgy to the back of my mind in order to properly focus on maintaining my defence.

He was wearing me down with his relentless charisma and witty repartee, but I had to hold on.

“If I never see you again, it will be too soon you jerk!” I told him, my voice cutting into him like one of those knives that never goes blunt, you know the ones that professional chefs use to chop onions like a hot knife through butter.

He looked hurt again for just a moment, but recovered quickly and flashed a smile worthy of any teeth whitening commercial.

“I’ll win your heart one day,” he declared, a statement of sheer wisdom and undeniable truth about love, comparable only to Justin Bieber’s song ‘Baby’.

“I’ll give my entire One Direction collection to the Salvation Army before that happens!” I responded with snakey viperousness, and with that I turned on my heel and stalked away.

As I walked I could feel his eyes on my body, invisible hands frisking me for evidence of contraband: my love.