DUNKIRK | HARRY STYLES

[Scene Eight]

Somewhere deep within the pile of covers my phone was going crazy, the same ringtone buzzing time after time and my mind was riddled with questions as I searched for it, still half asleep. Through the sliver of a gap in the curtains I could see that the sun had not yet risen, indicating that it was still early. My phone had woken me in the middle of quite a pleasant dream, so I was already in a bad mood when I finally located the loud object.

The vibrations from each notification were so numerous it almost hurt to hold the phone in my hand so I dropped it on the rumpled covers and watched in amazement as notification after notification rolled in. The little blue bird marking each one signalled that it was my twitter that had started this mayhem.

But I hardly used my twitter and there was barely 100 tweets on my account, so why was I getting hundreds of new followers, thousands of tweets and why was every single one in screaming capitals?

I opened the app and waded through my notification page until I found one particular tweet with a picture attached. I nearly threw my phone across the room when I realised what had started all the chaos.

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harry follow me??       /harryisahazardd

I FOUND THE GIRL EVERYONES LOOKING FOR!! HER TWITTER IS  /indiagoldberg !!

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The picture linked to the aforementioned tweet was of Harry and I, wrapped in each others arm with our lips locked together in a passionate kiss. Crop out the camera crew and set, and we looked like any other loved up couple. As my eyes analysed the viral picture I couldn't help the fleeting remembrance of his lips on mine and our tongues flush against each others. I resisted the urge to press my thighs together and instead distracted myself by turning my twitter account onto private.

But the damage was done, and already thousands of teenage girls had followed me, raising my follower count from 50 to 10000 in mere hours. So I quickly scanned through my tweets from years gone by, and deleted the embarrassing ones, of which there were many, including tweets dedicated purely to Zac Efron's abs.

Then, just before turning my phone on silent and placing it on my nightstand, I changed my profile picture to a more recent selfie, and prayed that it would all blow over by the time I woke up the next morning.

Of course it didn't, and when I switched my phone back on after a few fitful hours of sleep, my notifications were still inundated with hundreds of tweets about the stupid picture. I cursed the paparazzi and got ready for the day ahead.

It was a stressful morning, and I spent at least half an hour purely on my eyeliner which would just not flick like I wanted it to. By the time my make up was finished I was left with barely minutes to clothe myself and get out my tiny hotel room. So I threw on a pair of mum jeans and a thin sweater, glancing in the mirror with distaste before leaving.

I knew that Harry would use the excuse of the picture to come and flirt/torture me at some point during the day and I dreaded the moment. Not because he was particularly horrible to talk with, but because it was becoming harder and harder as the days went by to keep on hating him. Especially as the kiss we shared the day before had been like nothing I'd ever experienced before and every time I ran through the memory in my head, my whole body reacted with weak knees and goosebumps.

I couldn't trust myself anymore.

It wasn't Harry's fault that the picture had been spread far and wide across the internet, but still I tried to direct my anger that I would never be taken seriously on set again towards him. And I had a lot of anger that needed to be directed, because it was simply not fair that because of some stupid kiss scene I was going to be known as 'Harry's pretend girlfriend'. Not as the trainee cinematographer I was trying to be.