"You're looking exceptionally pleased with yourself today."
I flashed my eyes up to Clare, giving her a cheeky grin as I settled myself into my chair beside her.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked casually.
I grinned at her sheepishly.
"Jeez, did you get laid or something?"
I teased her with a smirk, laughing alongside Rachel, who was one of our nurses.
She had started to work on my arm to prep me for another week of chemotherapy, and it had been two weeks since I last saw Harry.
I had come to the conclusion that I was doing well so far regarding him and our last conversation back in London, but now as I sat here next to Clare, I noticed a magazine spreadsheet laid out on the table in front of my chair... and he was all over it.
That was the reason why I was grinning like an absolute dickhead.
"I'm feeling okay, thanks. How are you feeling?" I asked her, just as Rachel apologised because I was wincing at the needle going into my arm.
"I could be better," Clare yawned, and I stared at her, watching her hand stroke her bump; "Not a good day today, babes."
"Oh, I'm sorry." I said, giving her a soft smile; "Is there anything that I can do?"
Clare shook her head; "Besides carry my baby for me? Nothing, darling."
I smiled, just as she took my hand in hers.
"Listen, I was meaning to talk to you about that," Clare suddenly whispered, "Have you thought about... you know, your future?"
"How'd you mean?" I asked, frowning at her.
"You know... children?" Clare said, "Because I know that you're only 21, but the thing is I wouldn't want you to get infertile because of the chemo and radiation, and then when you are older and want children, and you can't-"
"I haven't really thought about it." I cut across her, "It wasn't something that was ever on my agenda..."
"Isabelle, please." Clare gently pleaded with me, "Don't go through the hell that I did. Please listen to me, you may not want children now... but in ten years you may."
"I may not be around in ten years." I bluntly responded, which made Clare recoil in shock.
"You say that, and it may be true, but what if you are and you change your mind? Just please ask the doctor about freezing your eggs."
"What do you mean 'go through the hell that I did'?" I questioned, frowning slightly at her.
"Alex and I, we wanted children... but it was never offered to us for me to freeze my eggs before chemotherapy, so we were none the wiser. This is my third time battling this sickening disease Isabelle, and I got pregnant because we used an egg donor. It's not what I pictured myself ever doing, but if it gives me the chance to be a mummy and to give Alex the chance to be a father, then I had no choice but to take it."
"Woah." I exhaled, "So your baby, isn't technically... yours?"
I felt pig-ignorant the second my question came out of my mouth, but I couldn't help myself either.
Clare swallowed, "It's mine. It just hasn't got my DNA, but it's a part of Alex, and I love this baby more than life itself."
"I'm sorry Clare, I didn't mean it like that." I said softly, "You're... amazing. So selfless. You'll make an incredible mummy; your baby is very lucky."
"Thank you, sweetheart." she murmured, "So please listen to me when I say, go and see about freezing your eggs... because one day, you'll never know, you may want something that you may not be able to have... and there's nothing worse than that."
I swallowed, nodding in response to her as the incision in my arm had been completed and the chemo had started.
"I promise, I'll get it sorted after we're done."
"Good girl." she whispered soundly, as Rachel suddenly looked at me with an unnerving gaze.
"What?"
"I'm sorry honey, I couldn't help but overhear obviously... but you should have been asked if you'd like your eggs to have been frozen before your chemotherapy started."
"Why?" I frowned confusingly at her, "What's the big deal?"
"Because they won't perform the procedure now as you've already started your chemo..." she whispered, and I stared at her.
"So, I can't freeze my eggs?"
"I'm afraid not." she whispered, the guilt riding across her face as I stared at her; "They really should have offered that to you..."
"Well, what does it matter hey... it's not as if I wanted children anyway, right?"
"Isabelle..."
"It's fine." I smiled, trying to convince myself and her.
"I mean, all women are different. The chemo may damage your ovaries, so of course that means that none are left after treatment.... If this happens, you can no longer get pregnant and you may have symptoms of the menopause."
Menopause?
At fucking 21 years of age?
Seriously?
"And for some women, although their periods stop during chemotherapy, they may still be producing eggs and you could still get pregnant. So, it is best to continue using reliable contraception even if your periods do stop. If you do get pregnant now, the chemotherapy drugs could harm the baby."
My head was still spinning at the fact she said I could go through the menopause at 21.
How was that even fair?
Why did this have to happen to me?
I didn't want children now, of course I didn't, but why was my future being robbed of me?
Why was I being potentially robbed of something that many women were made and built for?
Why couldn't I provide my future husband a child of our own?
"You alright, my love?"
"I'm fine." I snapped horribly, feeling her hand stroke my own; "Sorry, Rach. Just so much information to take in, you know?"
"It's okay. It's what I'm here for, honey."
"You're not here to be snapped at, at least of all by me." I whispered, "I'm just... gutted I guess."
"Of course... But you may be one of the lucky ones. Don't lose hope yet, yeah?" she smiled helpfully, "Listen, I'm going to go on my lunch now, but I'll be back in a bit, okay?"
I nodded, picking at the thread on my jeans as her hand gently palmed my shoulder as she walked past me.
"Why don't you forget about reality for a second, and lose yourself in fantasy?" Rachel cackled playfully, throwing a few magazines onto my lap; "He's rather pretty, isn't he?" she grinned.
I looked down at the magazines in my lap when I realised, she was talking about Harry.
"See you later, Isabelle." she added, the door slightly slamming behind her as she exited our little room.
"Yeah..." I whispered breathlessly, "See you later." I added, finally allowing myself to gaze down at the magazines sprawled out all over my lap.
It took a second for me to realise what exactly I was looking at, when an angry looking headline tore my eyes away from his familiar, friendly face and I frowned immediately, knowing instantly that this wasn't the Harry that I had spent time with just two weeks ago.
The headline read that a doctor was warning him to apparently slow down or he'd collapse, followed by the mini headline that said he was surviving on four hours sleep a night, was having midnight workouts and basically not taking care of himself in the very public job that he was in.
I snorted.
He looked bloody fine to me two weeks ago, I thought, my eyes scanning across the article quickly.
Frequently recovering from transatlantic flights, stressed about looking good for award ceremonies and power-dating a series of hot A-Listers, it's no wonder Harry Styles is knackered.
But as he reveals just how far he's pushing his body, a doctor has warned that Harry, 21, could burn out early and collapse with his punishing regime soon if he doesn't slow down.
Yikes.
Hazza admitted, "I train for an hour, then go to sleep for four hours, get up again at 5am, have breakfast, do some yoga and have an espresso afterwards."
So perhaps it's no coincidence that his once fresh face looks tired and run down?
Dr Arun Ghosh tells Heat; "It sounds like he's going overboard, and not resting his body is a cause for concern. Harry's obviously young and is clearly able to do it now, but there's only so long you can go on before you get exhausted. If he gets too tired, he won't physically be able to manage and he may collapse. Sleep is so important, and the most worrying thing is that Harry admits to only getting four hours' sleep a night. That's certainly not enough, especially after intense, gruelling activity."
It's not just exhaustion that's getting to Harry- recent pictures have shown the star's skin looking pimply and incredibly spotty, despite Hazza winning the British Style Award at the British Fashion Awards in 2013, he still doesn't have a very confident body image.
"Spots are a big deal for Harry- they're bad on his face and back, and he's feeling very insecure about his looks at the moment."
This could also be a contributing factor for Harry's new intense obsession with the gym, as Dr Ghosh adds; "Harry's under immense pressure to look good, especially because of the famous women he's dated. There are so many pictures taken of him daily, so he wants to look his best. He wants people to go away saying, "Yes, he is fit, yes he is gorgeous.".
Harry, we love you just the way you are, and let's face it, so do the rest of womankind.
So, chill out and have a bit of a lie-in, yeah babe?
I stared at the article in disbelief.
I mean, seriously?
Was this true?
The guy that I saw just two weeks ago was full of confidence and didn't seem like somebody who didn't have a good confident body image.
I mean, he oozed confidence, he was practically full of himself when we first met at the gala dinner (although he was very nice and polite, of course) but really?
This didn't sound like the Harry I had met two weeks ago, but I couldn't hide the fact that I was concerned.
I mean, I couldn't imagine what his life was like and being under constant scrutiny because of his job.
I couldn't understand for the life of me how he dealt being photographed daily, and everything he did was documented in the press.
It was hard going, and I felt my heart soar for him.
Was he really that low on himself?
I sort of felt bad for treating him the way that I did now, because looking back on that day in London, it was quite blatantly obvious that he too needed a friend... he needed someone he could trust and confide in, and if I was that person... then I was more than happy to be it.
Picking up my phone, I threw the magazines to the side of my chair and unlocked my screen quickly.
It was then that I realised that I didn't actually have his number, and that was my own fault because I wanted things to be on my terms- and like the perfect gentleman he was, he accepted and didn't persist.
But now I was stuck.
I didn't want to just randomly follow him on twitter and message him (if he followed me back of course) and ask how he was doing because I saw the article, that was way too obvious.
But it looked like I had no bloody choice, either.
Switching to my Twitter app, I waited with berated breath and typed in Harry's name into the search bar.
I wasn't sure what his handle was, so I figured that typing his name would work... and it did.
He came up first on the list, and with the blue tick verifying him, I instantly knew that it was him.
I stared at my screen for a minute, wondering if following him was going to open a whole new can of worms and a brand-new world with this exceptional human being that I had been fortunate enough to spend some time with.
Hovering my thumb over the follow button, I hesitated for a second before a nervous tick made my thumb move and hit the button accidently.
"SHIT." I exclaimed, "Shit, shit, shit!"
Staring at my screen, my heart began to race as it dawned on me what I just did... or what my stupid nervous thumb had did for me.
Turning twitter off, I closed my phone off too and raised my legs up to my chest, biting my nails nervously.
I wasn't sure what to expect exactly, but I couldn't handle the wait.
What if he never followed me anyway?
He must get millions upon millions of follows every day, how could he possibly keep tab of who was following him seriously?
I mean, as it stood, I saw he had something like 25 million followers, that was fucking insane... what if he missed me?
What if I had missed my chance to be his friend... just because I was too proud to give him my number?
I was driving myself crazy already, and he wasn't even following me back yet- until my phone vibrated, and I froze on the spot.
Leaving my thumbnail lingering in my mouth, my teeth digging underneath the nail to chip into, I gingerly grabbed my phone and made the screen light up again by clicking on the home button... and then I gasped.
@Harry_Styles is following you.
I threw my phone back to the bedside table beside my chair, another gasp leaving my throat as I realised what I had just done.
He knew I had followed him... and he had followed me back.
Almost straight-a-fucking-way... how was this even possible?
And now my phone was going crazy, vibrating every second on the table and it was then that I realised that One Direction fans were probably freaking the fuck out because he had followed me... and they had no idea who I was.
"Shit." I muttered loudly, grabbing my phone again and unlocking it.
I wasn't sure what the hell I was doing, but what I did know was that I wanted my peace, and I wanted my privacy, my twitter wasn't used regularly like before, but I had posted some personal stuff on there... especially regarding my journey the past couple of weeks.
It had all been documented, and I didn't want his fans seeing that, no matter how selfish that sounded.
So without hesitation, I locked my account to private... and breathed a huge sigh of relief as the buzzing eventually stopped.
I made a mental note to go through the fans that followed me before I locked my account later, I wasn't sure what I was going to do yet... but it seemed that blocking them and then unblocking them was the way forward.
I was bored anyway, so I decided to start doing that now, when a notification came through at the top of my phone... and then I froze, for the second time again tonight.
Two notifications.
Message from @Harry_Styles:
You really know how to make a guy wait, don't you? Bloody hell. Nice to see you, stranger. X
Message from @Harry_Styles:
Also, well done for locking your profile. I didn't think of pre-warning you with that. They're relentless sometimes. Hope you're well, Izzy. x
I stared at the messages, unable to hide the pure grin on my face.
I was so glad that he couldn't see me right now.
I pondered for a second, wondering if I should message him back now or wait a little, because that was the rules right...?
"What the hell." I sighed, opening the text box in our DM thread... and before I knew it, I was typing out my response.
"Haha, sorry. You were quick following me back though Styles, were you stalking me? x"
"Of course not... I didn't have your twitter handle to stalk you, did I? How are you, pretty girl? X"
Pretty girl, seriously?
My heart was pounding.
"Whatever happened to Iz or Izzy? And I'm very well thank you, currently sat in chemo when I saw your magazine spread in Heat magazine... everything okay? x."
There, I thought.
That should ease into it slowly.
"You saw that, huh? Everything is fine. Don't believe everything that you read. Most of it is bullshit. And chemo? Really? How is that going? And I can call you pretty girl because I decided it's another nickname for you. x."
I smiled like a fucking idiot, honestly, I did.
He was making me feel like a teenager.
"I thought as much... but I guess I just wanted to check up on you. The guy conveyed in that article I read wasn't the guy I saw two weeks ago. Glad you're okay. Chemo is chemo, lol. Boring. Tiring. Not exciting whatsoever. Another nickname? I'm spoiled by you Styles. x"
"You most certainly are pretty girl. So, what are you doing this evening? x."