Here We Stand [H.S]

145.*

Peckforton Castle was a beautiful Victorian country house that was built in the style of a medieval castle- and if you were the type of little girl who dreamed of marrying a handsome prince and becoming a princess yourself, then that was exactly what I was feeling right now.

The castle stood in the woodland at the northwest village of Peckforton, Cheshire, England and the general feeling surrounding the place was completely magical.

Harry and I arrived late yesterday afternoon and as we passed through the magnificent gatehouse and drove up the long gravelly drive; I was immediately transported back to being that little girl once again.

I was that five year old princess that was obsessed with castles, knights and horses again; dreaming of the moment that my handsome prince would come and eventually save me from the top of my tower at the castle.

I think, my imagination as a child was created in an attempt to save me from the heartache of not having my mother around and eventually, my father too.

Not that I realised that of course at the time, but my imagination was safe and secure, and no matter what, nobody could harm me there- and it was my favourite place to play.

It was quite ironic in a way that as I had eventually grown up and became involved with the wrong prince and found myself falling in love with the right one, Harry had captured and rescued me from the actual hell I had found myself in.

Harry, was my prince and my knight in shining armour, all in one.

Once we arrived inside the grounds of the castle, it quickly became apparent how Peckforton could make the most important day of your life even more special- as we were completely cut off from the outside world.

Which relieved me immensely because of what had happened yesterday in the car.

Things were still unsettled between Harry and I regarding that particular situation, and the more I thought about it the more it upset me.

I knew deep down that I had messed up and jeopardised the entire weekend by posting the two pictures on my Instagram- and judging by the comments I read last night alone in bed, I had caused quite a stir with the One Direction fans too.

The comments were upsetting, and while I would normally ignore them, because of the emotional delicate mood I was in, I simply couldn't.

I read some awful things, comments like I was nothing but a fame hungry whore, that I was exploiting Harry by posting the pictures and bragging that I was with him; and going to his dad's wedding.

Some were much more personal, with some users commenting on my looks and how I wasn't as beautiful as I thought I was... that I was just Harry's regular fuck and nothing more.

It hurt, it really hurt and when I needed the reassurance from my fiancé regarding the things that were being said about me, I couldn't have it because he wasn't with me last night- nor did I see much of him today because of the wedding.

So to say I was emotionally wrecked was the understatement of the century.

"Just remember, you're the one that Harry loves, you're the one he's infatuated with, and you're the one who gets to ride his dick whenever you want too... they're just jealous of you Iz, chin up, ignore the hate, enjoy your weekend and I love you. xx"

I re-read Phoebe's text over and over again, a short smile appearing on my face.

She was right of course, but that still didn't stop me from reading or scrolling through the hate on my Instagram, torturing myself to no end.