Code of Ethics

I walked into the flat and shut the door behind me, immediately getting enveloped by the smells of garlic and onions. Clearly, Marie had cooked something incredible for supper, and the remnants of the dish still hung in the air.

Figuring that she was out with friends already, I let out a loud sigh and dropped my recently-shed jacket onto the floor. Part of me regretted turning Harry away when he first tried to kiss me because I knew, deep inside, that he probably wouldn’t try to kiss me again for a long time.

“Who’s the boy?” The familiar voice cut through the silence of the flat, making my heart rev into hyper-drive as I jumped back and threw a hand over my chest.

“Good God, Marie,” I gasped, swallowing back my fear. “Scare the shit out of me, why don’t you?”

“Sorry,” she chuckled. “Maybe I should have turned on the lights or something.”

“Probably. What are you even doing, sitting there in the dark like that? Lurking?” I flipped on the light switch next to me, the light spreading through the living room and illuminating Marie, who was sitting on the couch with a laptop on top of her legs, which were crossed Indian-style, wearing a pair of baggy Victoria’s Secret sweatpants and a tank top. Her hair was put up in a sloppy bun at the top of her head, and her face was completely devoid of makeup.

“Writing a paper,” she replied simply. “And it’s kicking my ass, unfortunately.”

“Sorry to hear that.” I made my way into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, the inside of my mouth ridiculously dry after dancing so much at the club. “You know, you’ve been home a lot more often recently. I’m getting sick of seeing your face.”

She narrowed her eyes, probably to make some kind of snippy joke back at me, but instead, she said, “Don’t change the subject. Who’s the boy?”

Nibbling on my lip and taking a sip of the water bottle in my hand, I replied, “Babe, I’m not sure you’ll believe me if I tell you.”

“I’m listening.” Her dark eyes seemed to stare right into my soul, and I knew I was going to cave. Lying wasn’t one of the things I was best at, and my mind considered "skirting around the subject" a form of lying.

So I just admitted, “It’s Harry Styles.”

If she had been drinking or eating something, she would have choked. Her eyes went wide, her jaw dropped, and the whole thing looked completely cartoonish. I would have laughed if I weren’t so scared of what words would come out of her mouth.

“Wait, like, THE Harry Styles, right? From One Direction? How the fuck did you meet him?”

Oh, shit. I hadn’t anticipated that she’d ask me that, and I had no idea what my cover story would be. “Starbucks,” I replied, hoping that me bursting out an answer didn’t come off as too suspicious. “I was getting a coffee before class, and he happened to be there, too, and he started chatting me up.”

She didn’t look like she bought it, since it was such an incredibly cliché story, but she didn’t question it. “That’s quite the luck you have there.”

The words struck me as completely ironic, but I kept my mouth shut. “I guess.” There was a short silence before I cleared my throat and said, “I’m going to take a shower. Good luck with your paper.”

“Don’t be surprised if I wake you up at three AM for you to edit it,” she laughed. “Because we both know my grammar’s shit.”

I chuckled and nodded. “Just don’t expect me to edit it perfectly if I have to go over it at three AM.”

With that, I disappeared into my room and pulled out a pair of sleeping shorts, a tank top, and a pair of underwear, draping the clothes over my arm as I made my way into the bathroom.

A bit of condensation still clung around the edges of the mirror, revealing that Marie had showered not too long before I’d come home from the club. The scent of her floral body spray was still somewhat decipherable under the subtle thickness of the humidity in the room, but I knew that it would get overwhelmed by my strawberry-scented body gel and shampoo soon enough.

Just stripping off my clothes made me feel like I could breathe more easily, my body no longer suffocated by the sweat that was trapped underneath the fabric and refused to evaporate. The hot water only helped, washing away all remnants of the club from my body.

I stayed in the shower longer than usual, combing my fingers through my hair with the conditioner to make sure that my finicky hair didn’t get knotted and messy.

It wasn’t until I got out of the shower, put on my pajamas, and put my controlling mousse in my hair that I allowed myself to think of Harry. I couldn’t help but wonder where our relationship was going to go from that date. He’d said in the car that he’d be interested in going out again, but I had no idea what that would mean. The paparazzi were still almost always on his tail, and if they got pictures of me with him, it could potentially ruin his career. And I liked Harry, but did I like him enough to be the cause of the possible downfall of his stardom? Did I want to have everything blamed on me, to be criticized by the media, to have everyone know what I did for a living?

Maybe I had to talk to him about keeping our relationship on the severe down-low. Maybe if we kept our public dates few and far between, people wouldn’t pick up on anything strange, and no one would find out that Harry was dating a poor stripper. I could only imagine the horrific things people would say about me, about how I was just after his fame and money, how I was an example of what gave welfare such a bad name. Even though I wasn’t on welfare, they wouldn’t believe me. People thought what they wanted to think, and it took a miracle for them to change their minds.

Just before I climbed under the covers to fall asleep, I picked up my phone off my nightstand and went to plug it in. The screen lit up for a second when it was connected to the charging source, revealing that I’d gotten a text from Harry about twenty minutes earlier.

I had a really good time tonight and I hope we can go out again soon. I’ll text you when I know I have a bit of free time.

Sounds good, was all I could manage to reply to keep from seeming desperate as I put the phone back in its place.

I turned around and pulled my comforter up around my face, snuggling into its warmth. My mind tried to come up with more guilty thoughts about Harry, about what a relationship with him could mean, but the rest of my body was too exhausted to keep up, and I soon drifted off to sleep.