Code of Ethics

Harry Styles Moved on From Stripper?

And boy, are we glad he has! For a second there, we were worried about our little Styles! We knew his taste in women left something to be desired, but we never knew he would have sunk so low to date someone that skanky.

But, thankfully, Harry’s been spotted around town with a rising starlet on his arm, eighteen-year-old Meri River, who’s going to star in the newest film adaptation of Clockwork Angel, playing shape-shifting heroine Tessa Gray (pics here). From the pictures of the two lovebirds together (see below), it’s pretty clear that the two have gotten very serious very quickly!

So long, slutty Tara! Classy always beats trashy.

The article should have hurt me, starting a fire deep within my heart that seemed to destroy my insides, making me nothing but a weeping mess on the corner that had no desire to live any longer. Well, maybe that was dramatic, but still.

Instead of feeling any kind of pain or sadness, I just felt pissed. How fucking dare those reporters, and all the illiterate commenters underneath, feel like they were better than me. They didn’t know me, they didn’t know my story, and they didn’t realize that, given my situation, they would very likely have made the same choice.

The adrenaline pumping through my veins made it impossible to concentrate, so I changed into workout clothes, slipped my iPod into my armband and strapped it onto my arm, and darted down the stairs.

My more-deserted side of London, just down the block from a park where I loved to go jogging in the spring, was chilly. Far too chilly for my shorts and tank top, anyway. But I knew I’d warm up, especially when I was going at a much faster pace than I usually did, desperate to burn out my anger and hatred, the sound of Pink’s songs pounding in my ears.

It had been so long since I’d allowed myself to get as bitter at the world as I felt in that moment. I’d told myself over and over again as I was packing my bag, leaving for college, abandoning my drug-riddled, useless whore of a mother, that I’d never let myself become cynical. I knew I had a hard life as a kid and a teenager, that I had to work a little harder to get the things I wanted and needed, but I wanted it to make me stronger. And stronger, to me, didn’t mean shutting down my emotions and shoving everyone away from me.

Yet, I was starting to develop that cold, isolated kind of strength that was so incredibly popular in the media. The kind of person who declared that I never needed anybody, ever, and anyone who came close to me in any fashion was pointless.

I knew that wasn’t true. I was very aware that, without Marie, I wouldn’t have a home. I made just enough to help pay my part of rent, the occasional bit of food, and to make my required payments for college. Without her, I’d have been homeless and, probably, jobless.

Thinking about Marie made my stomach pang. I hadn’t seen her around the flat for the past few days, and I had no idea whether she knew the truth about my job or not. Part of me was afraid that she was avoiding me because she was so disgusted by the truth, but I hoped that wasn’t the case.

But without Marie, and with Harry choosing some new actress, who would boost his image instead of holding him back, over me, it meant that I was completely and utterly alone. I may not have chosen consciously to close myself off from all other people, but it seemed that a state of isolation was my reality.

My thoughts weighed me down physically, and a cramp emerged in my right side. Instead of fighting through it, I clasped a hand over the source of the pain and breathed deeply. I hadn’t realized how out-of-breath I was in that moment until I slowed and felt myself start to pant, sweat rolling down my face and threatening to invade my eyes and mouth.

Once I gained a little bit of my breath back, leaning one hand against the tree, I straightened a bit and stared in the direction I’d come from. I’d gone much further than I thought I had, probably because I’d been so wrapped up in my worries, and it was no wonder that my body wanted to start giving up.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled to my body, as if it had a separate consciousness from mine, rubbing the slowly-subsiding cramp a little harder. “That was mean.”

“Tara?”

Taking in a couple more deep breaths, knowing that my speaking voice was going to be jagged and embarrassing, I turned toward the source of the voice. It was Sabrina, one of the girls from the club. It seemed like an eternity ago when I’d watched her daughter, who was reaching for a butterfly from her place in a carriage, but it had only been a month or so.

“Hi,” I greeted, wiping my forehead on the sleeve of my tank top to try to look myself so presentable as I slipped out one of my ear buds. I knew it was no use, though. I was a mess.

Her eyes refused to meet mine, and I hoped to God that I wasn’t that offensive. But then, it hit me. She looked incredibly guilty.

“Look, something’s been bugging me, and I can’t get it off my mind.”

I knew what truth was coming, and I went to interrupt, shaking my head. I didn’t need to know. I didn’t care to know. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore, anyway. The past had already been written, and it was time to start focusing on my future.

“No, please hear me out,” she pleaded, her bright blue eyes shifting over to Sophia for a second before meeting mine again. “I just want to help you.”

That almost made me flip. I absolutely hated when people were being entirely self-fulfilling and selfish, yet they pretended that they were doing me a favor. Trying to help me. I was perfectly content guessing the truth without hearing her say the words that she could never take back, but it wouldn’t ward away her guilt, so I had no say in the matter.

“I’m the one who leaked the information to the tabloids,” Sabrina sobbed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as a pathetic attempt to calm her emotions. “They approached a couple of the girls, and they declined, but they offered me a lot of money. I couldn’t refuse, you know? I’ve got a baby.”

I let out a long breath. “Okay.”

There was a long silence as Sabrina let it sink in that I wasn’t angry at her. “Wait, you’re not going to punch me?”

The question itself made me tempted, but I refrained. “No. Harry and I are no longer seeing each other, as I’m sure you saw. And it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t care.”

She visibly deflated, her shoulders slumping forward like she’d been putting too much tension in them for a prolonged amount of time. “I really am sorry, Tara. It was nothing personal.”

“I know.” The atmosphere got uncomfortable again, so I nodded back toward the path. “I’m going to finish my run, so I’ll talk to you later.”

“See you on Monday,” she seconded.

Without another word, I hooked my ear bud into my ear, started my workout playlist again, and jogged away from her. It was only once her appearance was fading in my mind, almost like I may have imagined the encounter altogether, that I allowed my anger toward her release from the floodgates and make my adrenaline pound through my body. My somewhat casual run turned into a full-out sprint once again, and I prayed that my exercise would actually burn away whatever bit of caring nature I had left.

Because people did nothing but disappoint me, time and time again.