We went back to the hotel, but then I realized something.
"Harry, we've been going at it non-stop for a while," I giggled.
"You know, I was thinking that, then I realized I didn't really give a shit!" he said excitedly and took off his boxers. We'd been kissing the entire way up the hotel, and had practically taken eachother's clothes off in the cab, which the cab driver did not appreciate. Three people had opened their doors to see me pressed up against a wall and Harry grinding his hips into mine. One old lady had even said, "You know, when I was younger, my boyfriend and I did that all the time," causing me to blush and her to laugh.
In the elevator, we thought we were alone until the door dinged open and an important looking man coughed uncomfortably at our position. Harry was on the floor, I was on his lap, my arms caged him in and we were kissing passionately. The man decided to take the next elevator.
"Maybe we shouldn't do anything tonight," I said.
"Oh no you don't!" Harry yelled and ran to me as I edged towards the door, "I payed for this hotel, we are gonna put the bed to very good use," he said and kissed me. Still kissing me, Harry picked me up bridal style.
We kissed all night, even though we were naked, we didn't have sex. We just explored eachother, our scars, our lovable parts. In the morning Harry received a phonecall and I decided to check my twitter, which I'd abused over the past couple of days.
To my horror, there were tons of hate messages. I started crying as I read the worse ones, the ones that read "whore" or "hoebag" or "bitch, you need to get your filthy hands off my man!". I threw my phone on the bed and called Harry in there.
"Harry, we need to do a twitcam," I said and he came immediately to set it up. He tweeted about it and when I got on, I was bombarded with questions.
"Dear Directioners, what I don't understand are these hateful messages. If you loved Harry, you'd put up with me. You don't have to love love love me, but I am a person too, and it hurts me to read these messages. Harry and I love eachother, and I love being in love. I'm going to give you guys an exclusive about me," I took a deep breath as I continued to explain my story, "I was just a young girl. I was 15 and foolish, looking for sex sex sex. I went out one night and was partying with a boy I thought was well, hot. I went to go home and he cornered me. He raped me, beat me, and left me covered in scars. I went home battered, broken, and not in the mood to deal with life.
"I stayed in my room for days, so long that my father thought I'd run away. I came down one day after he'd left and read a note he'd left on the counter. It said that if I came back, my bags were packed and ready to go. I was hurt beyond belief. I ran back to my room and got into singing. I did drugs and sang at the same time. One day, my father heard me singing in my tipsy stupor. He rushed upstairs seeking a business oppurtunity, not once hoping it was me. He thought an intruder was there and was singing in his daughter's room, what a disappointment it was his own daughter.
"He's used me ever since, and I've lived with the knowing that I was raped. Harry made me forget, Harry made me love again when I thought I could never love. So please, let us work through everything about us, let me be me. And I love you all," I said and blew a kiss the the camera. Some messages were sweet and supportive, but some were still mean.
I logged off and Harry looked at me. He kissed me, "Love you too," he said and hugged me. We just stood there hugging, me in my faded tee and him in his jeans. I pulled one of his nipples.
"I still love this one most," I said and he chuckled.
"I like this one most," he said and poked my heart.
"My heart isn't a nipple," I laughed. We both stood there laughing at the stupidness of being us and then finally we got a call from Louis. It was time for me to go to orientation for my new tutor person for started my senior year in highschool. Brilliant.