Help! I'm Having Twins With Harry Styles! But I Hate Him! Don't I?

There is Romance in the Air and Possibly Evil

Despite this, I hardly even heard her. Even though Harry’s face was covered by a Venetian style mask, the tender green of his eyes impaled me through the chest, like someone running carelessly through a dense pine forest.

Arms, legs, lips, they all refused to obey my commands to move, and so, like a statue I remained: Michelangelo’s David, glowing, still and exposed in every sense of the word.

“Maybe she's just trying to test me. Wanna see how hard I'm gonna work. Wanna see if I can really tell how much she's worth, what you're worth,” Harry sang on, while the rest of the band harmonized, supporting his mission to entrap me.

He stepped to the side of the stage and down the stairs, and stunned students, and even some costumed teachers, moved out of his way. They created a direct path between he and I, and though he was still at the other end of the long room, it felt as if he was breathing those lyrics against my lips.

“Maybe all her friends have told her. Don't get closer ‒ He'll just break your heart. But either way she sees in me. And it's just so hard, so hard,” he continued, and all I could wonder was, what part of him exactly was hard.

Then he was standing in front of me, close enough to touch, and peering at me from behind his mask with an expression like a puppy that just got kicked in the guts for peeing on the carpet.

“Cause every time I tell her how I feel,” he spoke softly, just loud enough for me to hear. “She says it's not real.”

I tried again to breathe, but somehow, without even touching me, he’d latched onto my head like an alien face-hugger, and shoved his umbilical tube of xenomorphic impregnation down my throat, stealing the air from my lungs.

“Say something,” he begged, dropping the microphone away from his mouth.

“I…” I began, but I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to say beyond that: so I just went on instinct. “I… need to go to the bathroom.”

As I ran from the room, bursting back out through the doors, Liam, Louis, Zayn and Niall began to sing again, possibly to draw attention away from the retreating spectacle.

“Elise!” Harry called, jogging after me.

“No! No!” I choked out. “I really need to pee.”

“You’re just saying that to hide how you really feel,” he insisted. “There is so much that you don’t know. If only you’d let me tell yo…”

Tears that welled in my eyes, bunched up behind my mask like leaky swimming goggles that made it difficult for me to see. I tripped over my own feet and collided with a life sized, One Direction promotional cardboard cutout that had been standing in the hallway.

In slow motion my stunning figure pitched forwards, and this time Harry was too far away to catch me. As I impacted with the hard wood paneling of the wall it cracked a little, but that was the least of my concerns.

My nail polish was chipped.

Also, the panel gave way beneath the weight of my impact, turning like a secret door and spilling me into darkness.

Then I was falling, skidding with my skirt gathered up around my waist. I am not sure how long I fell, or how many turns I took, but when the ride was over I was thrown unceremoniously from the crude, smooth stone slide, and pitched against the cold granite floor.

I sat there dazed and screaming.

Screaming.

Screaming.

I broke a nail.

“Elise!” Harry’s voice broke through the incomprehensible horror. “Oh my God! Elise, are you okay?”

“I think I’m going to die!” I wailed.

“You’re not going to die,” he assured, his tone like a warm blanket wrapped comfortingly around my broken pinky nail. “Just stay where you are, I’m coming! Oh God! I’m coming!”

That was fast, I thought, I still had my panties on.

My sobbing diminished a little as I realised that soon I would be dead, and the idea that my fingernails would continue to grow after my tragic passing brought me same comfort.

I fixed me eyes on the bottom of the slide, but was still surprised when Harry came hurtling out of the gloom, flew several feet through the air, and landed on top of me.

Stunned, I stayed motionless, just staring up at his masked face from behind my own. His body was warm like the sun, but without harmful radiation that would give me cancer, and though his entire weight was pressing down on top of me, I felt as if I was floating amid cumulonimbus.

“What hurts?” he asked, reaching a hand to my face and slowly dragging away my mask.

With a whimper I showed him my hand, and gently he pressed his lips to the very tip.

“Better?”

I looked at my finger; the nail was still broken.

“Are you wearing a cod piece?” I asked thickly.

“Sorry, he chuckled, rolling to the side and sitting up, before digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a microphone, “forgot I had that in there.”

“Where are we?” I shuddered, goose pimples rising up over my arms, across my décolletage and generously exposed chest.

Harry took a moment to look around us, probing the shadowy depths as surely as that microphone had been probing me but moments ago.

We, were not alone.