Song of Chapter: Little White Lies by Florrie
Elle
I liked Harry. A lot. There was no denying it. And by the looks of things, he liked me too. In normal circumstances I would have been ecstatic about that. Any girl would. But you see, this wasn't a normal circumstance. I'd dug myself a hole so deep, that I couldn't get out. Scratch that, I didn't want to get out. I just wanted to lie in this hole for a really long time—be buried there even.
God, I'm a terrible person, and for that I was going straight to hell. I'd be making a few pit stops though, maybe go to Bieber show. I've always wanted to do that. I'm sure the burning fires of hell wouldn't mind waiting up a bit. Wait. Do they even sleep there?
Oh, bloody hell! I'm going insane. The guilt is eating me up. I've got to tell him before I went absolutely bonkers. But I can't. If I do, that'd be the end of it. The end of us. Not that there was an "us," but you get what I'm saying. I couldn't let that happen. Not ever. There was no way I was going to screw this up all because of, what? I suddenly had this little thing called morals? When did that ever matter?
Huffing, I buried myself further into the sea of stuffed animals that littered my bed. Why did I have to lie? Why did I have to say that I was 18? And why, oh God why, did Harry have to be so gullible? What's he going to think when he finds out that all this time he's been cozying up to a 16 year old? I'm basically a child!
England's age of consent is 16, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the good people—unlike myself—of this country, is going to approve. And as for the rest of the world, they're going to label Harry a pedophile and pervert. He'd hate me for the rest of my pathetic existence, and I'd hate myself even more. Oh no, I was definitely going to hell. There was absolutely no questioning it now.
I groaned, whimpering near the end as if I were in pain. I suppose in some way I was, my stomach was in knots and the more I thought about Harry and I's situation, the tighter the knot got. I felt like repeatedly banging my head against the walls of my bedroom. I also felt like throwing up. Neither were very nice things.
I jolted, sending a few of the fluff stuffed animals flying, the sound of my phone vibrating against the polished wood of my nightstand, startling me. I hurled myself at the piece of furniture, missing it by an inch and falling to floor. I whimpered, scrambling to my feet and grabbing at my phone.
Harry's name flashed across my phone's screen, causing the butterflies in my stomach to explode in hysterics. He and I talked over the phone most days, if not every day. We would spend hours texting each other and then at night, just before I went to bed, he'd call me. But it wasn't night, and it wouldn't have been for a few hours too.
Oh no, he found out, didn't he? Someone must have told him. Oh God, kill me now!
Oh, for crying out loud, Elle. He didn't find out. And who the hell would tell him anyway? The last time I checked no one gives a shit about you or the shit that you do. Not even your best friend. Now answer the bloody phone, my conscience spews.
I frowned, pouting. That was not a nice thing to say. I swiped answer, bringing the phone up to my ear. "Hello?" I grounded out nervously. I think I was coming down with a bit of cold sweat. That, and I was going to faint. My conscience groaned, rolling her eyes at my melodramatic behavior.
"Elle," Harry's velvety voice came through the speakers of my phone. "How are you?"
"I'm good," I said rather slowly, skeptical as to why he was calling. "You?"
