Just Being With You

There were several thoughts running through my head as I tried desperately to get to sleep.
One, I can't do this. I'm not old enough to be a mother, I'm not mature, I can't cook, I can't even clean. I have no idea how to change a nappy and what the fuck was a pacifier?

Two, I can't drag Harry into this. Things would have been different if I wasn't pregnant. Maybe we could've been together, eventually married and had kids, although I doubt he would've wanted me. Most guys who claimed to be in love with me wanted the fame, the money and what they thought was a glamorous lifestyle, although you could hardly call waking up at three in the morning to go to the beach and be drenched in freezing cold water, simply because it looked 'sexy', glamorous. And those who really did like me, who I could envision a future with, simply couldn't take the hassle, the constant attention and the circus that surrounded our relationship.

Three, I couldn't have this baby. I knew more than anyone how damaging growing up in the public eye is. People would pretend to like you, then the next day there would be a kiss and tell in the tabloids. More than anything, my parents constantly going away on work had affected me. I'd grown up without a real feminine influence, other than the housekeeper and the round the clock nannies. When my mum was there, she'd be bitching about the latest bimbo on the arm of my Dad and when my Dad was there he'd be complaining about the way my Mother acted, breezing in and out of our lives when she felt it was convenient. Although now, in hindsight, I could understand why they were gone working, at the time it had felt like my parents didn't give a shit about me, instead preferring to spend time with their friends and latest boyfriend or girlfriend. I'd felt like a pawn in their games.

I stayed up late considering my options, eventually deciding that the best thing to do was raise the baby myself. I'd learn to look after it, and by doing this I wouldn't completely ruin Harry's life. I'd move out of London, maybe buy a little cottage in the countryside. It wouldn't be easy, and it would certainly hurt me to leave Harry, Sarah and the boys behind, but I knew it had to be done. I couldn't ruin their lives because of my mistake. I just couldn't.

I woke from about one hours sleep, looking awful. My skin was pale and drawn, my eyes puffy and red from crying and I was obsessing over the size of my stomach. At just under two weeks pregnant, I knew it was impossible to have a bump, but it didn't stop me from pulling on the loosest clothes I owned. I left Sarah a note, saying she didn't need to come with me because Harry was instead.

When I arrived at the shoot, held in a studio in London, I was immediately greeted by the photographer, Mark, who wanted to congratulate me. "He is beautiful, isn't he?" he said dreamily. "Maybe you could do a photo shoot together. I'd photograph it!" he said and I pulled a face before quickly composing myself. Nobody could know what I was planning, not until I'd figured out how to do it myself. "Maybe" I said vaguely, letting Mark carry on about how Harry should have been a model whilst I thought to myself.
How was I supposed to do this? It was a miracle I hadn't met Harry before now, we mixed in the same circles, I'd been to quite a few of the X Factor live shows, as Simon was my godfather. There was no way I could avoid him forever, especially now Niall and Sarah were dating.
I decided that once I'd finished working I'd leave,I wasn't sure of where I'd go, maybe my mother's house in the country, or I could stay with my Dad and his new wife Ella, who, despite her low IQ, had always been nice to me.
I was halfway through changing into the second outfit of the day, an Emilio Pucci crochet maxi dress when the sickness struck again. I covered my mouth, hoping it would pass and I wouldn't throw up, but quickly realised that that wasn't the case.
I ran to the bathroom, doing my best to ignore the curious stares people were sending my way and slammed the door behind me. I began coughing up my guts, trying and failing to stay quiet as I knew that everybody outside was listening.
After a few minutes I was finally done and I sunk down onto the floor. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. There was a quiet knock at the door, "It's Mark" a voice called out and I tried to dry the tears on my face quickly, although judging by my hand when I pulled it back, there wasn't any point, there was make up all down my face.
"Come in" I croaked. He opened the door slightly, squeezing through to try and shield me from the stares of everybody else on set. It didn't work, I could see them gaping at me, obviously wondering whether I was bulimic or pregnant.
"What's wrong?" he sighed, sitting down on the floor with me. For all the dramatics, Mark really was a great friend. He'd been photographing me for years and I sometimes wondered whether he knew me better than I knew myself.
"Nothing" I told him, hiccuping slightly. "I think I just ate something weird last night." I told him stupidly. "We both know that's not true. Now you don't have to tell me the truth, but just promise you won't lie to yourself. I've known you for years Emme, and I know more than anyone that you're your own worst critic. You need to stop being so hard on yourself" he told me softly before standing up. "I've got enough photos, you just need to go home and rest." he said and began to turn around before stopping and turning back. "By the way, there's someone waiting for you out here" he told me and my head went into overdrive. Had Sarah decided to come? She wouldn't let me just run off, she'd make me speak to Harry first.
I splashed my face with water, removing the traces of make up as best as I could before stepping out of the bathroom. Mark had evidently tries his best to clear the set, as there were considerably less people there than before.
I walked over to the dressing room to collect my clothes when I saw him. He was standing there, facing the other way as his eyes took in the clothes on the rails. He'd put his hands deep in his pockets, although he removed one on occasion to sweep his hair out of his eyes.

I thought about turning around, simply leaving, before I remembered that I couldn't get anywhere without my purse, passport and keys, all of which were in the bag resting next to his foot. "Shit" I whispered to myself as I wondered what to do. Evidently I wasn't that great at whispering as he turned around to face me, breaking out into a smile. "Hi" he said, coming over to kiss me, but I deflected it and left him to kiss me on the cheek.
I looked down at the floor, unsure of what to say. I wasn't good enough for him, I thought to myself as he looked confused.
"Are you okay? Sarah phoned me, she thought you were with me." he told me, still looking hurt.
"I just don't feel well" I told him and he looked slightly relieved. "Well I'll drive you back to your apartment. We can watch a DVD if you want" he told me. "No. I'm sorry, but no. That's not what I want. I'm going to stay with my Dad for a while" I told him, picking up my bag and checking everything was there.
"I don't understand." Harry told me, standing in front of me as I turned to walk away. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked. "Is it because I didn't stay last night?"
"No Harry. It would be easier if you'd done something wrong, but you haven't" I told him, beginning to walk around him, desperate to leave before I cried.
"Then why the fuck are you leaving?" he shouted and several heads turned in our direction. It was the first time I'd ever heard him raise his voice and swear.
I couldn't help it, I hated upsetting him, but I couldn't see any way around it. I couldn't just stay and ruin his life. "I'm leaving because I have to. You're eighteen, you have the whole world at your feet. I'm not going to ruin that for you." I told him, leaving him standing there, running his hands through his hair as tears welled up in his eyes. I walked out to where the car was waiting, trying to cover my tear stained face.