Dangerous: A Marcel Styles Fan Fiction

21: Rewarding Lyrics

Part Three: Never Turning Back

21: Rewarding Lyrics

   “What did he say? When is he turning back?”

   “He’s not. He made that painfully clear.”

   “And you’re okay with that?”

   “I have to be. I have no say in it.”

   By this point, Georgia Rose’s questions were just annoying. I had to explain to her about a million times the next day that bad boy Marcel was here to stay, and here to shove jocks into lockers for a long time to come to keep me safe. Of course, the blonde continually tried to explore the romantic appeal of this all, in which case I had to explain we had agreed we were just dating, also having to add in a long lecture about how, no, having intercourse didn’t mean we’d passed the dating stage.

   At the moment, my blonde friend was with me in my bedroom, scrubbing the day-old red polish from my nails with her polish remover which burned like fucking acid on any little cuts and hangnails I had on my fingers.

   “So what is it like ‘just dating’ Marcel?” she asked me.

   “This isn’t going to turn into more questions about sex is it? Because I’m pretty sure you covered all the basics with that yesterday.”

   She assured me it wouldn’t.

   I had to think a minute before answering. Though dating was the best official title for Marcel and me, he was still just my friend; just the friend I’d lost my virginity to. But what were the perks of dating him?  Most of the “perks” I’d gotten came before we really started dating. Half of any special treatment had come from being his co-worker. However, if Georgia Rose were to ever know I worked, she’d flip.

   “Well,” I said, lying through my teeth, “I got to go watch the boys record their new single, and they’re letting me watch the premiere of the video.”

   Georgia Rose’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at this and she stopped her vicious scrubbing to stare at me in admiration. “You get all that just for fucking his brother?!” she squeaked.

   “Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said again, ignoring the wrongness of my fibbing.

   “Hey, is Niall’s brother –”

   “He’s taken!”

   Georgia Rose had a two second pout at my clarification, leaving her without a celebrity’s brother to sleep with. However, she quickly recovered from her moment of sorrow and her scrubbing continued as her peppiness returned and more thoughts hit her mind.

   “So is this song good – I mean it’s by One Direction so of course it’s good – but is it, like, really good!?”

   “It’s the best song ever,” I said through a grin.

   “Well, what’s it called?”

   “Best Song Ever.”

   At that moment, I could have sworn the boys only entitled it as that to frustrate fans. It took another five minutes to explain the entire situation to my dumb blonde best friend; five minutes of groans, screams and the growing urge to tear out my hair from the roots only to keep myself from punching Georgia Rose in her perfect pink lips.

   “They let me have an advanced copy,” I told her as she worked on discoloring my pinkie.

   She perked up again at my words and immediately dropped the cotton ball and bottle of acid she held. The blonde fan girl screeched with joy and with wide eyes she began to beg to hear it ahead of time.

   “Tell anyone I let you listen to this and I will kill you, got it?” I threatened.

   When she promised she wouldn’t leak a note of the song, I grabbed my phone and pressed play, hearing Harry’s solo began through the speakers. The blonde was quiet, suppressing squeaks, and nearly crying at the perfection of every lyric. She was moderately calm throughout a lot of the song that was, until we got to the part I knew would make her go completely berserk.

   “Said her name was Georgia Rose, and her daddy was a dentist!”

   She screamed, full out at the top of her tiny little lungs. Her gapping jaw was covered by her slender hands and I had to pause the recording before she could even get a word out. She spilled out an entire three minute rant before her hazel eyes interlocked with mine and her hands grasped onto my shoulders. With a violent shake she demanded, “How!?”

   “The original lyrics sucked,” I explained to her, “So I helped them. Your name fit so –”

   She interrupted me with another ear-splitting shriek. She pulled me into a hug tighter than any I’d ever gotten before. “I love you, you crazy talented bitch!” she screamed into my ear.

   It took nearly ten minutes afterwards to stop her tears, let go of me and listen to the remainder of the recording. When the last of Best Song Ever played out and I turned off the music, Georgia Rose took the second to ask me, “When are you watching the music video?”

   “Harry said a couple weeks last time I talked to him. He’s not entirely sure, but he said he’d text me.”

   “You have his phone number?!”

   This next fan girl attack lasted a good seven minutes before Georgia Rose grew moderately calm again and continued to work at the red polish stuck on my finger nails.

   “All this special fame stuff must be fun,” she purred. “I’m so jealous!”

   I nodded to show her I understood. She thought because I was sleeping with Marcel, this was my reward when, really I’d just been the right intern in the right rooms at the right times to win these prizes normal girls could only dream. Georgia Rose could never know the truth behind any of this. The longer she thought this was all coming to me because I continued to give myself to Marcel Styles, the better.