Unscripted. (H.S.)

34

Penelope Atwoods

It's been a strange twenty four hours.

Some gossip magazine from back in LA wrote a piece on Max and I, misinterpreting what was going on completely. It really annoyed me, because if they read between the lines they'd see that Max is engaged, and that we're great friends. It really annoyed me, but there wasn't much I could do at that time considering I had a plane to catch back to L.A.

That was another hassle, the airport stopped smithy going through security, apparently his passport was out of date and it took them two hours to actually let us board the flight, because in reality he still had six months left on his passport. Stressed doesn't even do it justice, by this point we were ready just to go back and even that seemed impossible.

It wasn't until we had boarded the plane and I decided to hypocritically read a gossip magazine, my worst enemy, that I felt my heart stop for a second. Harry styles pictured with 'mysterious woman', leaving the bar I picked him up for a few times. Apparently he took her home, that was as much as I read before I just shut the pages and rested my head in my hands.

Five minutes prior to this I was smiling with excitement,  counting down the hours until I could see him again, and tell him I won a BAFTA. I missed him a lot, and I know I said I'd call him, but I barely had the time which was why I was so excited to see him. Clearly Harry doesn't feel the same. I was only away for five days.

I had my guard up with Harry, because I knew he had his reputation for a reason, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I thought all his pining and sweet nicknames would've meant he changed, it was hard for me to trust him, but I did. I wish I hadn't.

The rest of the plane journey home I spent thinking about it, so much so I felt physically sick. All I could hear was Harry telling me how I'm his girl, and that he'd be sitting at home watching his telly being my biggest fan. Did he even do that? Does he even know I won the award?

I could see him driving his car, singing along to his old timey love songs and sitting up on the hilltop with his gummy words to accommodate his sweet tooth. I could see him waking up next time, sun shining on his face and the smile on his cheeks, head buried in the pillow with his curls fanned over his face.

I was just another one of those girls apparently. I fell for it, I fell for the act I told myself I wouldn't.

When we landed back in Los Angeles, it took an hour to get our luggage back and get our taxi's back to our homes. Smithy offered to stick around, he felt sorry for me, but I just told him to head off and that i' be fine. However the second he did leave, I dropped my suitcase off upstairs and headed straight to Harry's.

The sadness seemed to have passed, I was just angry now. How dare he tell me those things, make me feel all special, when in reality I was just like the rest of his girls. I left for five days, and he moved on to somebody new. It's rude, and I deserve more than that.

Racing up the stairs to Harry's apartment, I knocked three times with no answer, and I'm not usually somebody who lacks patience. I knocked again, and again, until finally I could hear footsteps at his side of the door.

The door opened, I was met with Harry's face, and the sight of him standing topless with grey sweatpants hooked over his hips. He took one look at me, and shut the door again, so not only has he slept with someone else, he's acting like I don't even exist, which hurt.

"Harry!" I shouted, knocking on his door again, only now I was both angry and upset. "You can not shut me out right now, Harry! Let me in, please."

Finally, the door opened again and he just looked fed up. Standing to the side, he let me into his apartment, which was much more of a mess than it was last time I was here. At least there were no other women here, I guess that's a bonus.