Just The Way I'm Not (Prince Harry Fanfiction)

Chapter Seven

The media don’t calm down like Harry promised. In fact, they get worse. Over a week after our encounter, there’s press outside my door. My parents don’t seem to care, they both go to work and carry on with their lives claiming it’s ‘my problem’. But I don’t know what to do, just when I think they’ve left I’ll go outside my door and one of them appears again. A couple want to interview me and some just want to take pictures. They can twist anything. The other day one took of photo of me looking moody, with my hood up and sunglasses on, trying to avoid them. Two days later that picture ends up on a magazine with the words ‘Heartbroken Holly is rejected by Harry.’ It’s pathetic, and I’m starting to realise what evil snakes the media are. I’ll never believe anything they say in magazines again. A couple of times I consider ringing Harry’s number, but I stop. He said it was for emergency’s only, and by ringing him I look weak, I look like I need his help, but I don’t. But it’s not long until I crack. One evening, I decide to go down to the local pub and show my face. I’ve always loved the pub it was my favourite part of the town and everyone’s so friendly, I talk to everyone. Of course, being the new local celebrity, there’s a lot of questions. But I’m casual about it, I tell them the full story, the real story and they believe me. They even make jokes about it. And, when I’ve had a few drinks I even go into detail about my feelings towards Harry, saying there’s a part of me that likes him and wants to get to know him more, but a lot of me thinks he’s arrogant prat who’s used to getting what he wants. Everybody laughs and I feel great for the first time in weeks. I’m beginning to wonder why I ever got stressed about this whole Harry thing, their just a couple of silly newspapers and he’s just somebody I’ll never see again. I smile at myself as I walk home in the night time, the sea air is fresh on my face and I realise how peaceful it is. Suddenly Craster seems like a great place to live, it has always protected me from the outside world, like a haven. Now Harry’s gone it’s protecting me still, I think of how much worse it would be for me if all this happened in a city. I wouldn’t be able to leave my house. I make yet another vow to not leave Craster all summer. I swagger across the beach and up the steps, taking one last look at my home town before I close the front door behind me.  Life is good I think.

*

I roll over in bed dreamily; wishing whoever was making that banging sound would shut up. It continues for ten more minutes and I can’t figure out what’s causing it. Am I dreaming it, or it is really happening? I can hear voices too; I’m not sure how many, a few maybe. It takes me a minute to realise it’s the front door. I bet it’s the members of that hippie therapy group my Mum runs on a Saturday. They all sit in our living room and hold hands, talking of what they need to do to ‘heal’ them. Let them knock. It’s not my fault my mother is a lunatic, if she wants weirdos round, she can answer the bloody door.  I pull the duvet over my head and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to go back to sleep. It’s no use. The banging continues and I begin to wonder if Mum’s gone out. Maybe she forgot about her group today, she forgets stuff all the time anyway, keys, dates, appointments, me... “OKAY OKAY!” I shout down the stairs “I’M COMING.” I practically fall out of bed, whoever’s on the other side of the door is going to get a shock, I’m makeupless and in my pyjamas. I pull myself down the stairs and to the front door. When I see who’s on the other side I feel stupid. Why did it not cross my mind it could be them? Cameras are flashing in my face; people are recording me and yelling at me. But it’s not just a couple of paparazzi today, there are tons of them. It’s the first time I become fully aware that I’m home alone. Surely my parents saw them this morning? Why would they leave me alone and not say anything to me? I feel in a complete daze and the flashes are making me feel dizzy. “Holly! Holly!” one shouts.

“Holly, how do you feel about the Prince?” another questions

“Are you aware your comments about him are published?”

“Do you really think he’s arrogant?!”

“Have you had an argument?”

“Have you seen him since the charity event?”

Somehow I manage to snap myself out of my coma and shut the front door. Something else has been reported. But what? I vaguely heard one of them say something about ‘my comments’. Oh no. Surely they don’t mean what I said in the pub. This cannot be happening. Just yesterday I felt as if Craster was where I wanted to be, but even here can’t protect me now. People are spying on me, waiting for something to happen and it’s completely unfair. I have to clutch onto the banister for support as I walk upstairs, I’m so overwhelmed that I’m finding it hard to do simple movements. I find myself shaking and crying, all these bottled up emotions that have built up over the last few weeks are pouring out and I can’t stop. Though I’m still wondering where my parents are, it’s the last thing I need to worry about. When I finally make it to my room I’m crying so much I’m hiccupping, that’s when I stagger over to my bed and collapse on it. I stay there all day, drifting in and out of sleep but mostly staring at the same spot on my wall. I’m tired from crying and totally fed up with this summer, I want this whole thing to be over, I want to run away. It’s funny, I’m so angry at Harry right now but he’s the one who could save me. That’s if I had the courage to phone him, but I won’t. I can deal with this on my own, even if I am at breaking point.

My parents make an appearance sometime early evening. They come home with dinner on the table and when I enter the kitchen, they’re chatting away to one another. “Gosh Holly you look a fright” Dad says when he notices me. I guess I do, still in my pyjamas and tear stained. Neither of them bothers to ask why I’ve been crying. “Come and have some dinner” Mum says “We got fish and chips.” I ignore her and dump myself on one of the bar stools.

“Where have you two been all day?” I scowl.

“We went and visited this lovely garden and had lunch out. It was great” Dad beams, looking at my mother. I want to slap them both, we’ve never been a loving family at the best of times, and my parents are the type of people who think neglect is character building. But this is different, I’m their daughter and I’m in need. “Didn’t you notice all the people outside?!” I snap.

“Of course” Mum stammers, shocked by my anger “That’s why we went out”

“But what about me?!” I shout at her.

“Holly, stop being a drama queen” Dad says calmly “I’m not going to let a couple of reporters ruin my life. You got yourself into this mess; you get yourself out of it.” And with those few words, I know exactly what I have to do to solve this. “Fine” I say coldly “I will.” This time I make it up the stairs within seconds and although I find myself crying again, I realise this time they’re out of hurt and anger. When I make it to my room, I go straight to my mirror. Tucked into the corner of it is a little piece of paper that says: Harry: 07945786121. He has to help me. This is an emergency right? I mean it may not be life threatening but it’s definitely got out of hand, and it’s definitely stopping me living my life. My shaky fingers fumble clumsily on the keys and I have to dial the number four times before I get it right. It only rings twice before I hear his voice, “Hello?” I don’t say anything, I can’t form words, I try and breathe to steady my tears. “H-Harry” I croak. He recognises my voice straight away and his tone become’s worried “Holly? What’s wrong?” I tell him everything. I explain that the media never really died down, that I just thought things were going to get better when they recorded my conversations in a bar, I explain how I can’t leave my house and I don’t know what to do. I say my parents aren’t supporting me and I have no one to talk too. It takes me a while to get this out because I’m crying so much. But he doesn’t interrupt, he listens the entire time and when I’m done he lets out a long sigh. “I was informed there was a new story this morning” he says blankly. My eyes widen, I wonder if he’s upset by what I said, realising how the media can twist things. “Oh Harry I’m sorry” I cry “everything’s happening to me and I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay put” Harry responds. What in my house? Yeah great plan, I could’ve figured that one out myself. But he then he adds “Just until morning.”

“Then what?” I question eagerly.

“Then I’ll be there” This makes no sense to me, what’s he going to do? Stay at my house and beat up the reporters? Yell at my parents? Act as my bodyguard?

“What?” I stammer.

“Longford, pack your bags. I’m coming to get you.”