Wildfire - H.S

32

Oh God, Evie. Don't even think about those types of things.

But for now, the best I can do is hold onto Harry like he said, and take slow, cautious steps in order for me to maintain some sort of balance.

You'd think being a ballerina would mean I have excellent balance. And I do. When it comes to dance, but when it comes to things such as wearing high heeled shoes then I'm surprised my ankle just doesn't snap immediately with the amount of times I happen to go over on it.

And there is nothing worse for a ballerina than having a broken ankle. Because that, that will very likely end your career.

"Evie, darling, I know I said just keep hold of me but I currently can't feel my fingers." Harry's murmured words surprise me slightly and I look down to see how hard my hands are wrapped around him, very much cutting off his circulation.

"Sorry." I give a small sympathetic smile, loosening my grip and moving my other arm to hold onto his bicep while my other hand is still interlocked with his.

I honestly didn't even realize I could have such a tight grip, I simply wasn't thinking and clearly all my anxiety was being channeled into my hold on Harry. I can't help but feel a little bad, not only for that, but because I'm not better at these types of things.

The whole public, celebrity boyfriend, big events, celebrity friends, news articles, flashing cameras. All of it, it's just not my scene. And I don't understand how Harry does it so well, especially when he was thrown in the deep end at this lifestyle when he was just 16 years old.

"E, breath. Everyone's already loving you. Just like I knew they would because you look stunning. There is no one I'd rather be here with right now." Harry's words are sweet, and almost feels like a comforting blanket with how soft and gentle they come across.

I have yet to actually look up from the ground because I feel as though if I do, I'll either lose my balance completely or pass out from the nerves.

Breathe in, and out.

I know if Es was next to me, she'd be telling me 'inhala, exhala' because she has a crazed obsession with Jane The Virgin.

Which I must admit I love, and I wish I was better in Spanish than I am. But for me the only language I've ever been able to learn besides English was French. Whereas Esme could never manage to learn French, not from school, not from Michael and not from me. 

But she can catch on to Spanish pretty quick by watching all the telenovelas.

My eyes are first met with a massive staircase, lined with paparazzi and flashing cameras, microphones and bright white lights.

And the carpet, it's a soft pink.

Well, at least if I fall face first, it won't be onto a red carpet like in my dreams- correction, nightmares.

"Just a few photos here, then an interview or two and then the worst part is over and you can breathe again." Harry whispers, his lips brushing against my ear slightly as he squeezes my hand for reassurance.

I can do this.

All the noise sort of drowns out around me into a muffled ringing. It feels as though it's a dream, like it's happening but not to me. This doesn't seem to be real. It just can't be real.

This can't be my life.

But it is.

The flashes are almost blinding and they don't stop. I can't keep my focus on any one thing. Every time I look at one camera, my attention suddenly gets called to another.