History Repeats Itself - A Prince Harry Fanfiction

Chapter Thirteen

Emmy ran. She ran and ran and couldn't bear to look back, not at what was behind her, not at who may be following. She sprinted along the pavement, beneath the border of trees that lined The Mall, faster than she felt she'd ever ran before, faster than she thought capable. People turned to look at her, people turned to stare, some turned to recognise the small woman running down the street, edging through groups tourists. Most noticed her simply because there was a difference between her and the other evening joggers – there was a sense of desperation about her, a sense of despair. Her chest heaved with her breaths, her body complaining, demanding oxygen, while her mind dismissed its pleas and forced her on. Her thoughts were a swirling, confusing mess of different words echoing in her ears, pounding in her head. 

She finally slowed as she came to the roundabout, the roundabout that circled the Victoria Memorial, her legs trembling and chest gasping for air. A stitch was growing in her side, but she didn't grip it, she didn't react. It hurt: it reminded her that she was alive.

Because it felt like her life was escaping her.

*A week earlier*

"That was the longest two hours of my life," Skippy said loudly, as he led the way out of the jet bridge. "Honestly, I was contemplating suicide after two minutes."

Again, they had ventured on a public flight to return home, but this journey had gone a lot less smoothly. Each of them was sat in a different place on the plane, Jake and Zoe split up – one at the front and the other at the back – and the others feeling miles apart. Emmy was lucky to find herself next to Chris, and Harry's POs demanded to sit beside him, but the rest were all on their own. While Taylor had found herself next to an attractive, funny man who had instantly taken to flirting with her – a pass-time that she had joined in with wholeheartedly – Skippy had not been so lucky. An elderly woman who had been loud, bitter, partially deaf and racist had been his flight buddy, and she had spent the whole time telling him how much of a disgrace and a dishonour his generation were.

"I'm not kidding," Skippy said, for Harry had started laughing. "Seriously, H, I'm not. She smelt like piss. Hell, I think she did piss at one point."

"Ew," Emmy said, wrinkling her nose. After being separated for the flight, her, Chris, Harry and Skippy had met up in the jet bridge, and were on their way to passport control where they would hopefully find the rest of their group.

"You know, Harry," Chris said, as they turned the corner to see the enormous queue awaiting them. "I'm surprised you don't just take off your sunglasses and walk straight up to the desk shouting 'I'm a Prince, my Gran's the Queen, fuck all of you and your waiting'."

Harry barked a laugh. "At times like this, you don't know how tempting that is."

"I don't get your sunglasses though, mate," Skippy said. "I mean, one: they don't really hide your identity anyway; and two: we're inside, so people are going to think you're a twat."

Emmy giggled, but then said, "They must be doing something right. Otherwise we'd have hoards of girls flocking around us."

"True," Skippy said, then looked at Harry and chuckled. "Remember that time we went to Spain?"

"I have memories of that particular holiday, yes," he said evenly.

"Remember that teenage girl that asked you for a kiss?" Skippy guffawed at the memory. "Ah, she was jail bait, that one." He turned to look at Emmy, then said, "Bit like you, I suppose."

Emmy looked outraged. "I'm not jail bait!" she said. "I'll have you know I am completely legal."

"That's good," he answered. "Otherwise giving birth to an heir to the throne could be difficult."