The Thrill Is Gone

“Come on love, give us a smile! Don’t be all gloom on us. The day’s far too bright for that sort of look!” bellowed the blond haired man from behind his camera. “Awe love, what does a bloke have to do to get a smile out of you?” he kept talking, he wasn’t going to stop, he could see her brow begin to furrow in annoyance, and if he couldn’t get her to smile, then he’d sure as hell get her to snap. “Ya know, Chels was always very smiley towards us, walked out and she’d greet us with a grin, she would.”

An obscenity formed on her slightly chapped lips. She was going to tell him and the rest of the damn photographers that had been camped outside her apartment for the last two weeks, to go fuck themselves. Just thinking about cursing at them, excited her, but when her lips parted to deliver the f-bomb that she’d been fighting back for over a month and a half, the cautious side of her took charge. It forced her mouth shut, and reminded her heated mind of all the damage that cursing at the media could unleash. She’d made it through all of August and the first week of September without cursing, and she couldn’t break that track, at least not yet, and most definitely not because they’d mentioned Chelsy. Because if they found out that comparing her to Chelsy was enough to make her curse, then she wouldn’t be able to step outside of her home without having them shout things concerning Harry’s former lover. She needed to be calm and collected, which was why she just mounted her bicycle, and then peddled off in direction of the field where her friends were waiting to play rugby.

She wished the press would’ve left her alone, just while she played rugby, but no, they jumped into their cars and drove off after her, careful to keep their distance since they didn’t want to cause an accident, but still close enough so that whenever she glanced over her shoulder, she could see them there, their eyes glued on her as if she was some prized trophy. She didn’t understand why they bothered following her to matches. They’d already been at one match. It was going to be the same fucking thing all over again! She was going to get muddied and bloodied up, have a laugh with her mates, grab a bite to eat with them, and then go home. Those were her plans for Saturday, and she knew that they weren’t the least bit exciting. They were plans that young adults all over the world had. The sports may have varied, but there were millions upon millions of people doing the exact same thing, but still the damn photographers followed her, determined to be there, in the small chance that something newsworthy would happen.

When she arrived at the field, she parked her bike where all her friends had theirs, and then walked over to the bench where they were pulling on their cleats and getting some stretches in. She shot them an apologetic smile, hating the fact that they were being dragged into her mess of a life, and then proceeded to greet them each with a quick handshake/hug hybrid that they always did.

“Morning Princess!” Terry greeted her as he tied his cleats. “How are the royal subjects on this fine day?”

“Oi!” she exclaimed, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “I told you not to call me that.”

“And I told you that I was gonna keep doing it.” He smiled smugly. “Honestly, how can you expect us not to call you a Princess, when . . . well, you know, you’re dating a bloody prince!”

“It’d be a crime not to call you that.” Graham chimed in. “Princess Paulina,” he declared, smirking at her. “It’s got a ring to it.”

“I swear I'm gonna shove my foot so far up your –” Paulina was cut off before she could finish her threat.

“Don’t think you’ll do that. Not with all those cameras around.” Graham motioned to the photographers that were setting up across the field. “Or do ya want a tabloid cover of you with your foot up my arse? I don’t mind, well, I’ll mind a bit, my arse isn’t used to having a foot up there, but I’ve taken some pretty massive shits, so I think I’ll manage.”

“What kind of shits have ya been taking if you think you’ll be able to manage a foot?” asked Roger as he pulled off his sweater.

“Some pretty massive ones.” Graham said. “You know Indian takeaway doesn’t sit well with me, but I love it, so I eat it and then take massive shits. I'm sure you guys have taken some pretty big ones where you think it won’t end and then it does. You know what? I don’t have to defend myself. It’s not like Paulina’s gonna shove her foot up my arse.”

“Why would Paulina shove her foot up your arse?” inquired Callum as he rode up on his bike. “What’s he done now?” He looked over at Paulina with a smile.

“I’ve not done a thing!” bellowed Graham from his place on the grass.

“Don’t reckon she’d be threatening to shove her foot up your arse for no reason.” Callum dismounted his bicycle and set it with theirs. “Let me guess, were you calling her Princess Paulina, again?”

“I may have.” Graham said slyly.

“See the problem with that is that she wouldn’t be a Princess. She’d be a Duchess.” Callum said. “Don’t you lot know anything?”

“I know Princess sounds better than Duchess.” Terry said.

“And I know that I'm not either of those, so just drop it, please.” Paulina set down her gym bag. “The last thing I need is to have the press write an article about how my friends refer to me as Princess. They’ll blow it way out of proportion, start spreading rumors about a wedding or some shit like that, and ugh . . . I just can’t deal with that, they’re annoying enough as it is.”

“Would they really do that?” asked Andrew as he continued to stretch.

She nodded. “They would. They’re always fixating on one thing and blowing it out of proportion. The other day, I wore one of my Jimi Hendrix shirts, and the next fucking day they were talking about how I supported drug culture.”

“But you do support drug culture,” said Andrew. “We all smoke out.”

“That’s not the point!” she argued.

“What’s the damn point then?” asked Callum, kicking off his shoes and yanking off his pants.

“The point is that they shouldn’t just assume that I'm into drug culture just because I like a certain artist. It’s like, I can love Jimi Hendrix and not smoke out, and just for your information, I haven’t smoked in months! Not since we went to London for that dinner.” Paulina was being honest, ever since then she grew paranoid about being found out and had flushed her remaining marijuana down the toilet and hadn’t gone near the stuff in ages.

“You serious?” asked Callum, unable to believe that she’d gone that long.

She nodded.

“How’ve you gone that long without a smoke?” Callum slipped on his cleats.

“It’s easy, really, I don’t want to get arrested and I don’t want to give them anything to write about, so that’s made it easier.” Paulina kicked off her shoes and sat down to put on her cleats. She kept her soccer pants on, because lately, she wasn’t wearing her usual rugby shorts out of fear that they might be deemed inappropriate. “That’s also why I haven’t gotten really drunk lately. I'm afraid of stumbling and having them, snap some pictures, so I just get mildly drunk nowadays.”

“Mildly drunk?” repeated Roger, his nose wrinkling in disapproval. “But we’re meant to go to the pub this afternoon.”

“And I’ll only get mildly drunk.” Paulina said.

“But we always get proper smashed at pubs.” Terry joined in.

“I know, I know, but I can’t,” she said, tying her cleats. “If they see me getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon, it’ll be a pain. I'm pretty sure they’d run an article about how I'm an alcoholic, then my parents might see it, and egh, it’s not worth it, but I’ll be mildly drunk. And mildly drunk is as good as being drunk.” She grinned. “Now let’s get this fucking match started. I’ve got some stress to work out.”

The match proved to be every bit as violent and physically demanding as Paulina hoped it would. At first, the other team tried to be mindful of her. They didn’t want to hurt the Prince’s girlfriend, but in time, they forgot who her boyfriend was, forgot that she was even a bird, and went at her with the same intensity with which they went at the other blokes, and she very much appreciated that. As of late, her life had been demanding perfection from her; she had to be sensible, had to be graceful, had to act the part of a proper lady. And doing that, along with keeping herself from blowing up at the press, was incredibly difficult. She needed a release, a good fight to get the blood going and to relieve her of her stress, and the rugby match was everything she needed and more.

By the end of it, her knees were bloodied up, there were bruises scattered all across her body, and there was a black eye in the making. The photographers immediately began snapping pictures of her, everyone thinking that that would be the cover of their respective tabloid magazines. Paulina didn’t pay them any attention, she was far too busy trying to steady her breathing and stretch out her aching muscles. She walked over to her gym bag and pulled out a Gatorade from there, taking a long drink from it, relishing in the cool liquid. She’d nearly finished the entire bottle when she was interrupted by the lads from the other team. They went to congratulate her on a good match, and apologized if they’d been too rough. She shook hands with them, and reassured that they didn’t have to apologize for the bruising. It was all a part of rugby, and she asked them that if they met with any other of the guys in their makeshift league, to please tell them not to hold back on their playing on account of her. They reassured her that they’d spread the word, and after chatting a bit longer, they went their separate ways, the guys retreated to their cars, and Paulina retreated with her friends to a pub. They’d thought about taking showers so they wouldn’t stink at the pub, but they weren’t going there to get laid, so they felt comfortable enough walking in with mud and grass stained clothes.

After claiming two booths towards the back as their own, Callum and Lesedi went to grab the first round of pints. While they did that, Paulina journeyed to the restroom, where she did some light washing up, giving her face a good scrub and then washing off the mixture of mud and blood from her arms. They were going to have some food while they drank, so she didn’t want to season her meal with any of the germs she’s picked up at the match.

“Excuse me?” spoke a soft voice from behind her.

Paulina looked up from the sink, mindful to turn off the water, and when she turned around to face the voice, she found herself staring at a plump, heavily tattooed blonde. The stranger’s arms were covered with an assortment of brightly inked designs, and her hair was neatly styled, not a hair out of place.

“Hello,” she greeted her. “Do you need to use the sink?”

“No!” she said much louder than she would’ve liked. “I just . . . you’re Paulina, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Paulina paused briefly, thinking about where she might have known the woman from. “Are you in one of my lectures?”

She shook her head. “No, I'm not. I . . . uh, well, I don’t go to uni here. I go up North in Scotland, but I was grabbing a pint with a mate and I recognized you from the tabloids. Don’t worry, I'm not here to talk your ear off or ask for a picture, that’d be naff of me, but I just wanted to tell ya that those nasty things they say about you aren’t true. You’re not a whale, and I . . . fuck, I meant to be cooler about this, but I just wanted to tell you, since you’re here and all, that you’re lovely, and I like how you are, because then I see myself in the mirror and its like, we’ve got the same bodies! You know? Well, except your arse is bigger, not that that’s bad, I'm actually quite jealous of it. I don’t know, I probably make no sense, but it’s just nice to see someone whose body’s like mine on the cover of something. It’s a lovely change from those models.” She laughed nervously. “I just wanted to say I think you’re gorgeous, and that my mates and I are massive fans. I sound daft. Don’t I? I do. I know I do. Well, I’ll be off now. Sorry.”

Paulina was taken aback by the young woman’s kind words. She’d had strangers go up to her. In the last few weeks, she’d had a handful of encounters with people she’d never seen before, but they hadn’t been pleasant. A few girls had heckled at her from across the sidewalk, shouting out cow and oinking at her. Someone had actually told her that they hoped the Prince broke up with her, because she was damaging his image. They’d all been negative run ins that left her shaken and made her cry in her apartment, but this was a compliment, and she was so overwhelmed with gratitude and joy, that she just stood there, unable to speak, unable to move. It was awhile before Paulina regained her wits, but when she did, she smiled brightly at the young woman and spoke.

“No!” she exclaimed. “You don’t sound daft, really, you don’t. And I'm sorry for not responding right away, but I just . . . well you’ve seen how tabloids write about me, and I’ve had some negative encounters with strangers, so hearing you say that you appreciate me and that you can identify with me, it’s just really humbling and an honor. Thank you. I wish I could’ve said that sooner so you didn’t feel awkward, but I just couldn’t process it right away, but it really means a lot to hear you say that. And if I wasn’t so filthy, I’d give you a massive hug.”

“I don’t mind the filth. You should see my mate, looks like I fished him out of a dumpster.” She joked.

Paulina chuckled. “Alright then, one hug coming up,” she said as she walked towards the stranger and gave her a warm hug. “Thanks a lot for coming up to me and talking, and I think you’re really beautiful as well. You’re tattoos are fucking rad.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks were bright. “I'm Melody, by the way.”

“It’s great meeting you, Melody.”

Satisfied with the way things turned out, Melody said goodbye to Paulina, and then practically skipped back to the booth where her friend sat waiting for her. She immediately started gushing about the encounter, unable to believe that she’d just had a conversation with the person that one of her Tumblr accounts was dedicated to. It was an incredible moment, and it was every bit as amazing and enjoyable a moment for Paulina.

It was great to hear someone outside her circle of friends and family, say nice things about her. She’d gotten used to the negativity, with the constantly fighting off the criticisms that she couldn’t seem to escape, so to hear that there were girls out there that liked the way she looked and were inspired by her, was humbling, yet also a massive confidence boost.

Paulina spent the rest of her time at the pub, with a massive smile on her face. Her friends asked her why she was grinning so much, thinking that maybe she had a funny story to tell, but she told them that she just remembered something funny, but that it wouldn’t be funny if she told them. They let the subject drop, and kept drinking and eating, and then drinking some more. They spent a few hours at the pub, and by the time they left, all the guys were drunk. Paulina was only mildly buzzed, having decided that she didn’t want to tempt the fates by getting drunk, so in her capacity as the most sober person there, she walked everyone back to their flats, making sure they were each safe in their apartment before she mounted her bicycle and peddled home.

When Paulina got home, she took a long shower, and after having given her body a vigorous scrub, retreated to the couch, where she lay down and wrapped herself in a thick blanket. It was chilly outside, it’d been fairly windy all day, and burrowing beneath blankets was a true treat. She’d been barely been on the couch ten minutes before she fell asleep. Her wet hair fanned out on the couch, while her lips slightly parted, allowing a bit of drool to stream down her face and land on the throw pillow. She lay there, fast asleep, completely oblivious to the world around her, until her cell phone started ringing. The first few rings were ignored; she wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. It was quiet time and she planned on fully taking advantage of it, but as the minutes went on, and the phone kept ringing, she fully roused herself from her slumber and reached out for the cell phone.

“Hello?” she grumbled into the phone, brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Was your ass asleep?” asked Luis. “It’s fucking early over there. How can you be sleeping?”

“Because I just got back from a rugby match,” she explained. “What do you want anyways? You never call this early.”

“I'm only calling cuz mom and dad said they want to talk to you. So get your ass on Skype. I'm gonna set the computer up for them so get on in five minutes.”

“But I was sleeping.”

“You can sleep when they’re done talking to you. Now get up, Princess!”

“Fuck you, asshole.” She cursed, swinging her legs over the side of the couch.

“Awe come on Princess, I don’t think the Queen would be happy if she heard you talking like that.”

“She fucking hates me.” Paulina rubbed the back of her neck. “She called me an American tart. Can you believe that? Fuck it. I’ll, uh, be on in a few minutes. See you in a bit.”

It wasn’t long before her laptop was set up, and she was talking with her parents. They asked her about her day, how things were going with Harry and if the press was treating her well. She wanted to burst into tears and tell them that she hated the British media with a passion, that it seemed that everywhere she turned some person or another was criticizing her weight, saying that she wasn’t pretty enough or that she wasn’t right, but instead she shot them a soft smile and said that it was alright. That she still wasn’t used to it, but that she’d eventually be. Her smile didn’t convince them, nor did the tired look on her face, but they knew better than to press her. They could ask her what was going on as much as they wanted, but she wouldn’t give them an actual answer unless she felt like it. And they knew she didn’t feel like it.

With the basic inquiries out of the way, Paulina asked her parents if the American press had left the family alone. The media hadn’t been as obsessive with her parents as they were with her, they’d shown up at the house a handful of times to try to ask questions, but they didn’t camp out or stalk them. Her parents told her that the Americans had stopped coming around. That they sort of gave up hope since no one in the family was answering any questions or even acknowledging their presence, but her mother went onto say that press from Mexico had started to show up. Apparently, Televisa and TV Azteca caught wind that the Prince was dating a Mexican-American with strong ties to Mexico, and thought it might be good to see if they could get any exclusive interviews with her family.

Paulina felt awful for putting her parents through having to deal with the press. She hated the damn media, they were rude and inconsiderate, and the thought of her parents being followed by cameras or her niece and nephew being approached made her sick to her stomach. She knew that being with Harry was going to be life changing. She knew she would no longer have privacy, the moment she left her apartment, she became fair game for everyone, but she wished that her family would be exempt. She wished that they would be left alone, but no, the American entertainment media had approached them and left, the Mexican media was now going to try to get something out of them, and the British had already gotten pictures of her relatives. They didn’t pester them like they did her, but they took pictures of her parents, her siblings and their families. And then they’d made a spread about her family, her brothers were well received, they were handsome men and even in a different country, their looks were appreciated. Her father was also seen with kind eyes, he was a handsome older man, her mother was deemed a beautiful woman, but Paulina seemed to be the only one in the family that the press were resolved to not pay any compliments to.

Their conversation didn’t last much longer, and before it ended, Paulina made sure to remind them not to say anything, not to acknowledge the press, and to please ask their relatives in Mexico not to talk to any strangers. So far her family had done a great job of not cooperating with the media. The same couldn’t be said for some of her old friends. There were a few old friends from junior high and high school – with whom she’d lost contact over the years – that sold pictures of her to the press. Thankfully for her the pictures weren’t anything compromising, but they were embarrassing, and she hated the betrayal. They may have owned those pictures, but they had no business selling them to the press. Out of respect for the friendship they used to have, they should’ve kept those pictures tucked away, but they sold them, and now Paulina planned on personally telling those people off whenever she got the chance to go back to California.

“What now?” she asked herself when her laptop was turned off.

She was still full from the pub, so she didn’t feel like eating. She also didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. She could drink. No. It was best not to. She’d had enough earlier. Maybe she’d read. Yeah, that sounded good. She’d lose herself in a good book, and since she hadn’t read A Farewell to Arms, in months, she decided she’d curl up with it on her bed and read. The novel was eagerly taken from her bookcase, and after preparing herself a cup of coffee, she situated herself on the bed and started reading. She read the book from cover to cover, unable to set it down unless she’d finished the story, and when she finished, her eyes were heavy with sleep. She went to the bathroom and went through her nightly routine, and it was as she washed her face that her phone started ringing.

It was Harry.

Their conversation was brief. He’d snuck out of an engagement he was accompanying his grandmother to, and only had enough time to tell her that something hilarious had happened, some guy had ripped his trousers out on the dance floor. It was a silly reason to call, but when he saw it happen, he knew Paulina would have a laugh over it, and that she’d appreciate his thinking of her while he was away.

“Goodnight love, I’ll see ya on Monday then.” He whispered affectionately.

She whispered a few sweet words, and then hung up, ready to fall asleep. Term was going to be starting up soon, and she knew there was going to be a severe lack of sleep once it started, so she was trying to load up on as much rest as she could, and almost as soon as she turned off the light and her head touched the pillow, she fell into a deep sleep.

As she slept, she dreamt of taking Harry home to Azusa, where he’d meet her entire family and they’d be able to have carne asadas in the backyard, and bask in the warm California sun. Her dreams were simple, ordinary by any means, but she longed for the day when her family would be able to really meet and get to know him. Until then, she’d dream, and she dreamt for several hours before a noise woke her.

In the still of the night, she could make out what sounded like footsteps. At first she thought they were coming from the people upstairs, maybe they’d gotten drunk and were stomping so that it woke her, but that wasn’t it. The noise wasn’t loud enough for it to be a stomp. The noise was that a person would make when taking quiet, deliberate steps.

Someone was in her apartment.

She instinctively reached over to the space between her nightstand and bed, where a baseball bat was located. She didn’t bother slipping pants on or putting on her slippers; she walked barefoot towards the figure that was standing in front of her desk, where her laptop and phone were located. The figure was tall, and had a build that made it clear that they were male, and without a second thought she rushed towards them, lifting her bat into the air and delivered a devastating blow to the back. Almost instantly, the man fell against the desk and after Paulina yanked him backwards, fell onto the ground, he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him and that coupled with the pain emanating from his back, rendered him immobile.

Paulina immediately turned on the light, and then ran back to where he lay, pressing the baseball bat into his chest.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded to know.

“I . . . I . . .” the man choked out, still at a loss for breath.

“You can’t talk, can you? And you know why? Because you just got knocked the fuck out for having broken into someone’s apartment!” she hissed. “Now I don’t who you are, but I'm gonna tell you how this is gonna go, I'm going to call the police and you’re going to be arrested.” True to her word, she grabbed her cell phone off the table and contacted the authorities. “They’re gonna be here soon. They just heard my name and said they’d be right over. Now who are you? Why did you break into my apartment and what were you doing standing by my laptop?”

He couldn’t talk. Even if he could, he wouldn’t have.

It was then that she noticed his wallet had fallen onto the desk.

“Your wallets on my desk,” she informed him. “You’ve trespassed on my property, and I have the legal right to go through this.”

“No!” he choked out, and he made a move to stand up, but Paulina quickly pressed down on the bat.

“You want me to swing again? I’ll fucking swing!” she threatened.

The man recoiled. He obviously wasn’t one for tests of strengths.

“News of the World?” she roared when she saw his press identification. “You’re from fucking News of the World?” she couldn’t help herself, she was so furious that the only way she could fully express her anger was to curse in Spanish. That was something she did when she just absolutely lost it and she went on a massive four minute rant that left the man wide eyed in fear. “You assholes follow me everywhere I go! I can’t step outside without there being a camera shoved in my face, and now this? Now you think you have the right to come into my apartment to look for scoops? Fuck you! And fuck your paper! It’s a bunch of bullshit, and oh . . . oh I'm gonna sue! Just you wait! I'm gonna take you to court and – UGH!” she let out a mangled yell. “You people don’t give me any privacy, and now the bit that I have, you want to take. Fuck that. Fuck that.” She gritted her teeth to keep herself from cursing or hitting him more with his baseball bad. “Get up!” she ordered.

“I can’t –”

“Did I fucking ask if you could? No. I said get up. Now GET UP!”

The man struggled to stand, but he managed.

“You’re an old man. What are you, in your 50’s?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“No, don’t call me, Miss. It’s too late to pretend to respect me. You broke into my home. You violated my privacy. You obviously have no respect for me as a human being. And you should. Because I'm a normal person, I'm like you, and I'm guessing you have kids, probably a girl or maybe a sister. How would you feel if someone did to them what you just did to me? You’d be furious wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.” he muttered so softly she couldn’t hear.

“Speak up!” she yelled, jabbing him with the bat.

“I would.” He admitted. “Look, I'm sorry but it’s my job.”

“If your job is to break the law, then you need to get a new fucking job. Now come with me. I need to put some pants on and get some shoes. And I swear to la Virgencita (the Virgin Mary) that if you try anything, I’ll knock you out. Now come on.”

The man didn’t try anything, he let her put on her sweats and coat, and she quickly put on her slippers. At bat point, she forced him to walk down the apartment and down the stairs to the main area where the police would be coming in from. By the time they reached the lobby, the police had arrived. And they quickly apprehended the man. Paulina led them upstairs to her apartment, where they took a report. The man had used a spark plug to break her window, and had then climbed into the apartment. On the desk, along with his wallet, was a neat little package, equipped with equipment to bug a phone.

“How many times did you strike him, Miss?” asked the detective.

“Once,” she answered. “He was standing right here, and I was terrified because you know, he’s a tall guy, so I took a swing, and knocked the air out. After that, I just threatened him with the bat, you can make him take off his clothes, and he’ll just have that one blow to the back. I swear.”

“I believe you, Miss.” Detective Rao spoke. “We just need to have a detailed report, because I'm certain you’ll wish to bring up criminal charges.”

“I do. I want to sue him and the employer, because I'm sure this wasn’t that guy’s idea. And News of the World has been known for wiretapping, but – FUCK!” she covered her mouth when she realized she’d cursed. “I-I'm so sorry. I just. I'm . . . this is . . . I didn’t expect this to happen. This is my private apartment; they’re not supposed to violate that. They can follow me outside, but not in here.” her eyes began to sting with tears. “I'm sorry. I . . . I'm gonna get something to drink. Can I?”

“Not yet, Miss. They’re still checking the kitchen area.”

“I’ll go to the balcony then. Is that place checked already?” she asked.

“Yes, it was. It’s curious that he didn’t choose to enter through the balcony.”

“I guess he thought it’d take me more time to notice the window was broken,” she muttered, and then walked out onto the balcony, taking a seat on the lawn chair. With trembling hands she reached for her cell phone. “Henry?” she spoke softly into the phone. “Hey güerito, sorry for calling so late, but someone broke into my apartment . . .”