The Primrose Thrills (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Part 7

I’m not going to lie, I’d found it quite amusing to see the hype that Harry had caused from just one interview. The following Monday, newspapers and magazines were having a field-day over his on-air confession of no longer having single status, and of course the countless blondes (and one brunette) that he’d been linked to over the past few months had made the headlines with him. There was one girl that the media seemed to focus on more than the others, and I didn’t blame them. She was tall with long golden blonde hair. Insanely beautiful. The kind of beautiful that people write about in novels. I’d read the articles with quiet envy and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth behind the speculation. In the photos, Harry was smiling and walking just a few small steps in front. It was a smile of genuine happiness; as if she’d just told him something that was holding on to his amusement. I knew that Harry had a life before we’d met and that this undoubtedly involved other girls. He was young, famous and attractive. Unbelievably attractive. However with the closeness between us and my current feelings towards him, I couldn’t stop the twisting feeling right in the pit of my stomach. Part of me wanted to quiz him about her, but another part- the rational part- knew better than to go prying into his past private life. Questions give you answers; however these aren’t always answers that you want to hear- no matter how trivial. Even so, I was finding it difficult to push back feelings of jealousy when it involved someone that I cared for a lot. I wanted to move forwards with Harry; not hold on to things that happened before we even knew one another. I wasn’t prepared to take that risk.

The media attention was exactly what I’d expected. It was manic and it was relentless. Whilst Harry was dealing with countless paparazzi and journalists bombarding him every second of every day, I was riding a much calmer wave. One of the plus-sides to not being a public star was that you could go about your everyday life without even having to talk to anyone else. My world was a completely different one to Harry’s. Nobody cared about what I had for breakfast or where my coat was from; or which club I was frequenting and who with. The most I’d had was an “Oh my God” from my friend after hearing about the interview. The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I wouldn’t stand a hope in hell of surviving life in the public eye. I was certain that I’d be in prison after a week for assaulting some brash journalist with no sense of personal space. I didn’t know how so many people managed. Harry was exceptionally good with the press and he seemed to almost always brush things off of his shoulder without letting them sink in. He was young but he had a thick skin and knew better than to take note of the things that people published about him. I, on the other hand, would be one of those terrible celebrity tweeters that insisted on trying to defend themselves every five minutes in 140 characters or less. I didn’t like the thought of people thinking bad of me- I never had done.

As I walked to work from the tube station, the icy morning air brought a rosy tint to my cheeks. A hot coffee in a disposable cup warmed my hands and steam rose in thick white curls into the open air; gradually vanishing into nothingness. Despite it now being Thursday, newspapers were still clutching on to Harry’s interview, and I laughed inwardly as the guy at the newsstand held out a paper with Harry on the front page and asked if I’d like to buy it. I politely declined with a wave of my hand and a smile and continued my journey to work; breathing in the crisp air and enjoying the bright blueness of the sky above me.

My day had gone at an average speed- slow enough for me to fit all of my work in but not quite quickly enough to give me that ‘almost the weekend’ feeling. By the time I’d gotten home, it was dark and my hair was soaked through from an unexpected thunder storm that caught me out on the walk between the tube and my flat. I left a trail of water right from the door to the bathroom; where I instantly turned on the shower and stripped myself down to nothing but my wet skin. The water was so hot that the mirror steamed up within minutes, and as I stepped inside, goosebumps pricked my skin from the intense temperature change. I let the water envelope me for at least twenty minutes, until my skin was flushed red, before begrudgingly turning the water off. I was quickly hit by a horrid chill that had me running like a small nimble animal to put a jumper, jogging bottoms and two pairs of sock on. Despite the Indian summer that we’d had for the majority of September, England had completely bypassed autumn. No beautiful oranges and yellows amidst the trees; no fiery sunsets and occasional warm breezes there to remind you of the summer months. England was cold and the dark nights were drawing in quickly.