The Budding Roses

Saturday night

Thursday 20th May

So Harry is going out with Megan Crossland. Can you believe it? Exactly how and when this happened I'm not sure, and whilst we are on the subject, just who is Megan Crossland anyway?

Oh how my stomach churned as they lounged, arms wrapped about each other like two fornicating slugs, in the Common Room at lunchtime. It got worse; taking my seat at the lunch table, I could see that they were snogging. Eww. What sort of person is she to snog him so freely, in public, and in the daytime too? It's not like we were at a nightclub.

God he was so smug afterwards, I couldn't help but snarl when I heard him telling Louis and Niall about their trip to the cinema last night. Apparently things had got so heated that her glasses had steamed up. What a tramp! Doesn't he realise that not everyone wants to hear the intimate details of his pathetic pursuit of some random female?

'It's only a matter of time until we do it. My time is coming boys. She's gagging for it.'

There, I knew it, that it was all just a pretence, and really he's still the same vile, vulgar cretin he's always been. I almost marched right over to tell Megan exactly what he was saying about her. I might not like her but she deserves to know what a wretch he really is, and if she knew the truth then I sincerely doubt that Harry Styles will be getting in there with anyone but himself!

Saturday 5th July

Oh yet another Saturday night, where once more I find myself strangled within the vortex of another emotionally charged dilemma. Oh for the quiet life, but really, what a terrible cliché I have become.

Without even so much as making the slightest of efforts, here I find myself, conforming to these so stifling social rules which dictate being sixteen, my subconscious guiding me to a place where weekends are spent listening to mucky boys, singing rubbish songs in grotty pubs, but the worst part is, dragging me head first in to a complicated, frustrated collision with a member of the opposite sex.

Harry sat lonely amongst the frayed edges of a battered leather booth, his head dangling like a desperate rock tied to a tormenting piece of string.

We'd barely spoken to each other since he caught me playing pool with Zayn, and I still hadn't forgiven him for the diatribe he'd said about Megan.

'Where's your girlfriend?' I snapped, perching at the end of the booth.

'Don't know.' His eyes closed and his body swayed from side to side.

'How much have you had to drink?' He was clutching a tumbler bearing the remnants of what looked like urine.

'Don't know.'

'Are you going to say anything other than "don't know", or should I leave you alone?'

'Do you know how hard it is to love someone who doesn't love you?' Here we go, pass the sick bucket.

'Probably.'

'It's just this girl I know, she's wonderful and I love her.'

'Love her?' Well that seems a bit extreme.

'But I don't stand a chance; she's out of my league.' Talk about dramatic.

'Are you trying to tell me that you're in love with Megan, because you've barely been going out with her for a week?'

'It's not that I even need to have sex with her. I just want to be with her.'

'But I thought that you were desperate to do it with Megan?'

'It's just lies Simone, it's all for show. I'm not in love with Megan.' I wish he would make his mind up.

'Then who are you in love with? It better not be Eleanor Baxter, or I'll never speak to you again. It's her isn't it; that's why you are always complaining about her, because secretly you want to marry her?'