It's Just Not That Simple

Jacqui and I had been friends for years. However our friendship had been mostly internet based cause, y’know, oceans. But the internet meant we could live in two different continents and still be best friends. Now Jacqui was done with school and heading into the music industry and I was a published author, and fairly successful at that. However I kept my identity under wraps. My father managed famous bands, and I was all too aware of what that three headed devil, more commonly known as The Press, could do to you in a blink of an eye, for better or for worse. My parents had done their best to keep me out of the spotlight when I was younger, and they’d done a good job of it too. Only on rare occasions did I step out in front of the whirlwind of cameras, such as after my mother had died of cancer and we’d donated a cheque with several noughts on the end to the charity who’d done all they could to help us even after she’d joined the heavenly host. Or the time my father was in a car crash and suffered short term memory loss. I couldn’t even remember the first time I was in the news. I’d only been a few days old. My mother was an actress, and it was no secret that she couldn’t have children, after a supposed friend sold the story to the papers. I was, therefore, the miracle baby. However, due to my only appearances in the press being when something terrible happened, I was the Unlucky Charm Baby. I had no plans to change my relationship with The Press. I was perfectly happy writing under a pen-name and I was determined to keep it that way.

“Roxy! This is IT! THIS is our new home!” Jacqui squealed as she opened the door to our flat. We excitedly raced inside and straight through to the bedrooms, Jacqui was faster, so she claimed the large room with a window overlooking the busy London street and across the city. I headed further into the flat, as I wandered round the corner I found the bathroom and another bedroom, not quite as big as the first, but big enough, my writing desk already placed inside. I smiled, Dad knew that this room would be mine, the walls were sky blue, the window over looked a quiet back street, and a small café was directly opposite the building, with tables set outside. I could already feel the inspiration flowing through my veins.

A knock on the door pulled my attention away from the café and to my doorway which Roger filled, two boxes in his hand. I waved him in and he placed them on the floor before retreating to fetch more. Dad had sent Roger, one of his security team, to help us unpack in his place. If he’d come we’d be surrounded by flashing bulbs and questions about his new band, who was moving in and if the band would be living here too. Roger, on the other hand, didn’t draw that sort of attention, or if he did, they knew better than to come over and ask questions. Roger was easily the most intimidating looks-wise of Dad’s team, but he was softer than a teddy bear in reality. He was one of the few guards who’d stuck around for years. I couldn’t remember a time when Roger wasn’t around. His first security job was looking after Dad, they’d really hit it off and Dad had never allowed Roger to be transferred, not that Roger had ever wanted to be. He’d become part of the family, basically a second Dad to me. Roger would babysit me if my parents went out for the evening, he’d often do the school runs, more so when Mum fell ill and almost every day after she died, he’d drop me off in town or take me and my friends to concerts. I would often wonder if Roger ever felt like Dad was using him to his best ability, however he’d been in the security business for a long time, he’d reached his peak, and enjoyed the more mundane tasks where he could relax a bit more.

A few hours later we were pretty much done unpacking. Jacqui and I collapsed on the sofa, boxes scattered everywhere, most of them still half full, we looked at each other and mentally agreed they could wait, right now, we were shattered and starving, with no food in the fridge and no idea of which were the good restaurants in town.

“There’s just your folders of writing left now Roxy.” Roger informed me, placing the last box on the floor. I groaned and pulled myself to my feet. As much as I didn’t want to drag myself all the way downstairs to fetch it, I knew I didn’t want to let anyone else touch it. Nobody touched my writing. Nobody. Not even Dad or Roger. Jacqui was perhaps the only person who could read my writing when it was still in progress, but that was only because she’d throttle me if I didn’t let her, plus she was great at budging those writing blocks which were the bane of my life.

Just as I reached the floor below ours with my thick folders someone walked straight into me sending the folders and the papers flowing through the air.

“NO!” I cried out and jumped straight into action trying to gather all the papers together before any of them disappeared with a gust of wind. I piled the paper back into the folders, not caring how neat it was, or rather wasn’t, just caring that I got all of it back.

“Here.” A hand placed the rest of my papers on top of the folders as I stood up. The hand was attached to an arm, covered by long purple material, which connected to a hoody with the words ‘Jack Wills’ plastered across the chest. A slender neck poked out from the hoody, a square-ish chin gave way to a slightly upturned nose, which led to two green eyes, which stared directly back into mine, a few chocolate brown curls rested just above them.

“Hi, sorry about bumping into you, should’ve been looking where I was going rather than at my phone.” He grinned, his voice deep and gravelly. I blushed, and shrugged it off, giving him a half smile, unable to find my voice.

“You’re one of the chicks who’ve just moved in upstairs right?” I nodded.

“I think my friends may have just come to meet you, mind if I come up and see?” I shook my head, and found my feet leading the way.

“I’m Harry by the way.” He informed me from behind. Once I’d taken my eyes off him, I was able to find my voice again.

“Pleasure to meet you Harry, I’m Roxanne.” Why I gave him my full name that first time, I’ll never know. But I did, and he told me it was a beautiful name, and right then, just outside the door to my brand new flat, I fell in love.

But he was a guy in a band. And falling in love with a guy in a band is possibly the worst mistake you can ever make.