it's been three weeks now since the VMA's.
Harry and the others are in the US.
I'm sitting alone in bed at 9 AM with my phone in my hand. I know I shouldn't be looking through what the fans are saying but I want to see it.
It's awful. It's horrible. Stuff saying that I should kill myself. That I'm so ugly. That I don't deserve Harry. That I'm a beard. That Harry doesn't really love me. That I'm fake. That I'm fat. That I'm a bit*h. Over and over again.
I wipe a few tears that are sliding down my face and take a deep breath.
'What if Harry doesn't really love me? He hasn't said it yet.' Thoughts chase eachother around in my head as a flop back onto the bed.
I slowly scroll to the contacts and find Harry's name.
I hesitate before pressing the call button, remembering his words:
'I don't want you to hide any hate from me'
I press the call button and wait
"Hello?" Harry answers groggily.
Butterflies race through my stomach. His morning voice.
"Harry??"
"oh Hi Reagan are you okay babe??"
"Uhhmm" I hesitate
"What is it!?" he sounds more alert, protective
"It's nothing...just some stuff that the fans are saying"
"What is it? Raegan don't listen to them they are all lies okay please baby don't even think for one minute those things are true. Don't"
"Go on the photos of me thing on Instagram and see and on twitter uhm check these accounts." I rattle off about 15 Instagram accounts and wait
"Alright. I will. Hey, do you think you could fly into New York Thursday? I know it's in three days but I really miss you I need to see you."
"Of course ill just need to buy a plane ticket."
"Already taken care of. I really wanted you to come so I bought one already."
"Thanks Harry, see you Thursday"
"Can't wait, bye love"
I hang up. I didn't really want Harry to see but...
