London, at Calridge’s roses garden



Amber was bored and tired. She wasn’t used to such long nights. It was 2am already. She was up since 9 o’clock this morning. She went shopping with her annoying manager. She had to bear Harry all day long, as he teased her earlier this morning. She gave her best at the performance tonight. Was this really only in one day? He deceived her, not showing at her door. How silly… And she had barely talked to Niall. She was silently standing there in the fresh autumn night. The garden was beautifully lit. The small paths in the same red brick colour as the hotel. Little lights enhancing the sleeping roses. The petals precious as silk, thin and fair red. The colour deep and rich, contrasting with the blue night. She thought of a saying she probably read somewhere in one of her books.


“Life is a rose whom avery petal is an illusion and every thorn a reality.”.


From André Musset if she remembered well. He was right, reality hurts, as do the points in ballet. But the beauty of the illusion on stage is equal to the rose’s soft perfume. She caressed one. The velvety touch, easy to tear apart. Her life was a rose petal, torn by Harry Styles. Everything was apart, the only passion who has driven her for years, was threatened.


She hated that saying, loathed it with all her heart. It was such a crude, hard way to describe her life. Ballet, the dancing, the pain, the beauty. Equal to her previous life in Bordeaux, so many years ago. Her nine-year old self, trapped in a golden cage. Silently sitting on the white leather sofas in her parents apartments. So elegant according to her parents, but hard and cold to sit on. Only the fur cover kept her small legs warm. But she would do anything to escape her blue-pastel bedroom. It was pretty, perfect and fake. Her mother chose it. She only loved her used pair of points tide to her bed. Already worn out. She smiled thinking of her current training pair. She would also spent hours watching, touching, stroking her white tutu hanging on the wall. She would count her six just-au-corps, and search for her uncountable number of tights, all hidden in the closet. It was cute, with lilac flowers, but it was too polished. Only the illusion of beauty. Ugly as shameless bitch. Amber blushed at this thought. Again, her dear mother chose it, with the fragile lacy cushions, the cliché princess-like lamp and the breaking porcelain figurines. Nine year old Amber needed space, music, freedom. She longed for hours alone in a studio, with nothing but the music and the wooden floor. But it was rare. She was always guarded, watched, graded. She had to be a perfect moving doll. No messy hair and sweaty backs. No wild looks and fierce smiles. Only the little girl her mother could show off at her will. She had to sit down and wait. Wearing shoes she wasn’t allowed to dirty. Loneliness grew to be her only friend. Every evening she eagerly waited in the main hall. It was time for her mother to bring her to dance class. All day long she waited for the music to overwhelm her body and burn her feet. Even the boring warm up exercises seemed exciting.


As she waited she watched the few pictures put on the small wooden table. Tight windows to happiness. Her genuine smile, flashing under sand and dirt. She remembered the sound of the crushing ocean waves. Their brute force as she happily jumped in. The cold as she finally got out and ran to her grand-parents. Her grand-dad’s thrilling stories as they walked down the “côte sauvage”. The wild coast, where furious waves attacked the beach. He showed her all of the Charente’s secrets and more; a courtesan’s life in La Rochelle, the mermaids in l’Estuaire de la Gironde, the eccentric house of Loti… She loved them all but what she preferred was the concerts. The voices singing Bach’s Cantatas, rising to their god in l’Abbey aux Dames. But July was always forced to give his time to August. Her parents would pick her up in front of her grandparents old house. Their black and grey suits out of place in the middle of the colourful flowers.


“- Are you lost?”, a man’s voice asked behind her.

“- Not really, only in my thoughts.”, she answered her back still facing the unknown person.

Slowly Amber turned around not knowing who to expect.

M. Liam Payne. Real leader of PaHoTm. Not the one who’s lost in same passion as her, nor the one who is lingering for a love he can’t have. The most powerful of the them all. Rivalling M. Styles skills, wealth… Weren’t they all the same anyway? His black cloths too stern for the vibrant flowers. But he was smiling at her. As if his deep thoughts or boredom had also led him here. The cool autumn wind blew through the few strands of hair who had escaped the chignon. She was tired, and felt very single bone, muscle and limb. She tightened her shawl around her frail shoulders. With a weary eye she glanced at Liam. He was such a powerful man, maybe he could help her out of her misery?


“- Beautiful, aren’t they?”, he said admiring the roses.

“- Yes they are.”, she answered with a long sight.

“- You seem to be in another world.”

Amber didn’t even answer, only looking at the endless field of flowers.

“- May I bring you back to ours?”, he continued, picking up a young rose, almost a simple bud.

“- Is that how you charm all your suitors? With a bud?”, Amber disapproved with a softness she didn’t expect. She smiled tenderly, he was being sweet to her.

“- Suitors… That’s a funny name. I’d rather call them woman.”, a wide smile on his lips. He swiftly put the rose in Ambers fingers. “I have to go back to my obligations, but it was nice finally talking to you.”

“- It was nice talking to you too…”, Amber answered already somewhere else.

Notes

Hey so sorry for the looooonge wait but the new semester started and it's real torture ^^

anyway hope you enjoy it ! it gives you a little insight on Amber's childhood :p

don't worry a new sensual scene is coming, but when?... And between who? Do you think Liam will win her over?

LOVE YOU ALL

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Chloe