"Cherry, is that you?"
She loves late-night jogging, and his beach house happens to be on the way. Separated by a six feet tall fence, they both have no idea who the other is. Will their chance encounter grow into something bigger? Or was this biza...
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"Stay away from her," I read out loud, my voice cracking slightly at the end. There's no mention of a name, but I just have a feeling… This feeling that I am the girl.
"You need to hire a bodyguard," Sally begs, apparently having come to the same conclusion I just did. "It can't be a coincidence that someone broke into your house a few weeks back, and now this…"
I frown, knowing that she's right—I should be getting some sort of protection, and fast. Preferably file a complaint at the police station while I'm at it as well. But… "I can't. If my father finds out about this, he will ship me off to Siberia, or worse."
"Who cares what your father thinks? Just hire the damn bodyguard, you're fucking loaded!" Sally has clearly lost her patience with me, but there is nothing I could possibly say to explain my complicated position to her… so I remain quiet. "Can't you see that it's serious? This psycho is clearly obsessed with you, to the unhealthy levels!"
"I've had stalkers before. It's nothing new, you know that," I try to convince her, though my voice sounds unconvincing even to my own ears. "I'll be alright."
"He attacked Asa!" Sally explodes. "It's not some silly fan following you around on the street. This guy is dangerous! What if he tries to go after Asa again? Who knows what could happen if the media printed some story about you two again…"
I know she's referring to the bogus articles that claim Asa and I have been secretly dating for years. They re-surface every once in a while, no matter how many times we both publicly deny these rumours. Whenever we're spotted out together—which is bound to happen sooner or later—people talk. It's inevitable.
"I'm sorry, Sally. I wish I could do something but I can't," I repeat sadly.
"You can't or you won't?" she retorts angrily. "I'm really fucking pissed at you right now so I better hang up before I say something I'll regret."
I wince when the line goes silent, and I'm once again left with nothing but my own thoughts. Knowing I'm responsible for my friend getting hurt, and potentially being in even more danger, is the worst feeling I could possibly experience. But, at the same time, I know I can do nothing about it. And if Sally hates me for that… Well, then I'll just have to live with it.
__________
The following day, I do something bad. Really bad.
This seems to be a recurring theme of my life lately, although I can't deny that much of my misfortune has been brought on solely through an endless string of my own bad choices. One of those foolish decisions of mine was definitely the simple two-letter word I had impulsively sent to Harry Styles three days ago.
Inevitably, as soon as I hit send and read the subsequent response from H, I panicked. This was a very bad idea—arguably one of the worst I've had this month. Texting Harry Styles as an essentially completely different person, after deciding to ghost him as 'Cherry', is just asking for trouble.
