The Primrose Thrills (Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Part 7

I settled on the sofa with a blanket and a steaming cup of tea before flicking through the TV channels. Being a Thursday, soap after soap followed and I soon switched the TV off and grabbed my book from the side. I was reading a book about an old professor and a twelve year old girl. Or a ‘nymphet’, as he liked to call her. It was wordy and eloquent and took me a while to get my head around in places, however his writing really was quite extraordinary; particularly the ways in which he almost convinced the reader that his feelings and actions were justified, despite them being very morally wrong and illegal.

I was abruptly pulled from my fantasy world when my phone began to vibrate sharply against the table in front; shifting along the pine wood with each buzz and ring. I considered not answering it. I was tired and wasn’t in the mood to speak with anybody. But with each passing second and each increasingly loud ring, my curiosity grew and it wasn’t long before I’d caved and had the phone in my hand. I was pleasantly surprised to see Harry’s name and an instant warmth rushed through me. I hadn’t spoken to him today but I’d just assumed that he’d been busy.

“Hello?” I answered softly.

“Hi.”

His voice was clipped and agitated and the coolness of his tone took me by surprise.

“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m fucking pissed off.”

“What’s wrong?”

He let out an exasperated breath at the other end. “Some guy was trying to get a photo of me as I walked from the studio and ended up bruising my shoulder and ripping my shirt.”

“Jesus. That’s terrible.”

“I’m so angry, Emilia. I’m a human being. Not a fucking piece of meat.”

A horrible gut-wrenching feeling presented itself in the pit of my stomach. Having Harry so worked up and upset on the other end of the phone was difficult to hear. I hadn’t experienced him like this before and wasn’t sure how best to handle it.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t know what to say. Paps can be fucking wankers at times.”

“All of the time,” Harry mumbled. “It’s just been really difficult this week. Since the interview, you know.”

“I know,” I sighed sympathetically. “And if I could draw some of the attention away from you, I would.”

“I’m not getting you involved. Not yet.”

“Things will die down soon- once the vultures find their new piece of meat.”

I was relieved to hear Harry laugh on the other end. 

“I guess so… How was your day?”

“It was okay,” I laughed. “Nothing special.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Nothing really. I’m just reading…”

“Can I come around? Just for a few hours.”

I glanced at the digital clock just beneath the TV: 8.15pm.

“Of course,” I smiled. “As long as you don’t attract any abusive paps on your way.”

Harry laughed. “I’ll do my best. I won’t be longer than half an hour.”

“Just call me when you’re outside and I’ll open the door so you can come straight up.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

-

Harry and I sat beneath the thick blanket in comfortable clothes and with cups of tea in hand. I liked seeing Harry dressed down. He was wearing a thick-knit navy jumper and grey jogging bottoms. I’d even sneaked a peak at his socks, which were white and thick- like rugby socks. He was still Harry, but stripped of the image that the media often portrayed. He wasn’t dressed in a smart blazer and didn’t have to make sure that his skin was polished and hair styles. He sat opposite me with his hair swept from his face and falling in all directions; showing off a few spots on his forehead that I knew certain magazines would rant and rave about. But I didn’t care. I liked that he didn’t care. He’d come around like this in the knowledge that it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference to me, and I was glad that he felt that way. It was how I felt too; sat in front of him with my hair pulled back and face stripped of make-up. I knew that I looked a mess, but it hadn’t stopped him from kissing me as he walked through the door.