The front door swings open, "Come on in ginge." I greet Ed and he smiles whilst rolling his eyes.
"Thanks frizzy head." He laughs, wiping his feet on the welcome mat before entering mine and Harry's humble abode.
"I haven't seen you in ages." My arms wrap around his neck tightly once the door is closed securely, my chin resting comfortably on top of his shoulder whilst his own tattooed arms wraps around my thin waist.
"I know, how're you doing?" Asks Ed, concern in his voice. I know he's been seeing the magazine articles and shocking pictures of me wandering the streets in my heartbroken solitude, I know he's heard all the rumours too. He knows about my miscarriage, as does everyone in the world, I really should have called him myself instead of letting him find out this way - it's extremely insensitive of me.
"I'm good actually, how're you?" My voice is strong and confident for a change.
"Glad to hear it. And I'm really busy, lots of touring and recording. I've barely had any time to myself." He confesses, his blue eyes scanning the hallway we're currently standing in.
"Would you like a drink?" I ask, dragging my old friend into the living room by his wrist.
"No thanks," he laughs, watching on happily as Comet bites Zazu's reluctantly patient self, the small terror nibbling and tugging at the bengal cats ears as the continues to ignore the over-enthusiastic playful pup. "Are they always like this?"
"Yep." I nod along, also watching the two. Ed's backpack brings back sudden memories, the two of us writing songs together last year whilst he had a break from tour; he spent most of his nights here with me just writing songs, Harry joined too later in the mornings before he left for sound check. "I see you've brought the tatter-pack." I motion towards his bag.
He chuckles, "yeah," Ed's eyes flit to the extremely old and overused backpack, he really needs a new one. "Thought we could do a bit of writing, like old times." How sweet of him.
"Sounds great Ed,"
The both of us plonk onto the couch, side by side, and brainstorm ideas. I seriously have missed this, writing music has always been a passion of mine; apparently I have a talent in it, or so Ed says, but I think other wise. "What type of song do you want to write?" I ask him, pulling out my black journal from the slim crevice within the side of our coffee table.
"Well I wanted to write a song about you." He tells me, his voice almost asking for my permission.
"Me?" I reply in shock.
"Well, yeah. You've been through a lot and I think it's really inspiring. I think it'd be a good way to tell the world how you feel." He offers.
"Ed, the world knows exactly how I feel. I've been on every newspaper and magazine for the last two and a half months. And anyway, it's none of the worlds business." I answer him back in sharp and almost offended tone.
"I don't want to fight Emma," he holds his hands up in a defensive manner and stops the conversation before it goes any further. "I'm sorry I made you mad." He murmurs sadly. My subconscious snarls at herself, why would I flip out on him like that? That was so horrible, now I feel really guilty. "Can I ask you a question?" Ed sums up the courage to ask after a long and torturing silence. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"About everything. Why not me?" His voice is soft but determined. He really is bothered by the fact that I didn't tell him. Although, I didn't tell anyone, I didn't even tell Harry, and Ed knows that; so why is he so offended?
My eyebrows furrow at his question, "I didn't see a reason too. My husband hated me, my friends hated me, my fans hated me, and I hated myself. I didn't really have a reason to live." I answer honestly, recalling the dark memories that will forever follow me. "Can we talk about something else please?"
