Kiss and Tell

Emily just thought she was going to your average One Direction concert.
Emily just thought wrong.

Emily's 18, and when she and her best friend Jenny turn up to a 1D concert to find it's cancelled, they aren't pleased. All too fast, they're sharing a hotel with the boys, and Jenny's changed. Drastically. They discover parites, clubs, drugs and fame. Jenny's going off the rails, hitting headlines for the wrong reasons, though she's not the only one making mistakes. Emily gets pregnant, oblivious to who the father is. Let's just remember not all stories have a happy ending, and where there's love, there's drugs, and where there's drugs, there's guns..


8. The Dance


"He's just doing it to be polite," Jenny says. "Niall Horan can have any girl in the world, so -no offence babe- but why would he chose you?"

I stare at her. And stare. "Jenny," I whisper. "Let's not argue again, okay? You're just jealous. I know you are."

"What? You think I'm jealous?! Me?!" She throws her head back and cackles.

"Yep," I reply bluntly, spinning the straw round the brim of my glass, leaning back into the bar chair.

She raises an eyebrow, lost for words. "I have Zayn," she finally says, breaking a silence. I smile sympathetically.

"Do you Jen? Do you really?" I lean towards her across the table and lower my voice. "What about his date for the ball tonight. Will she be saying the same to?"

"He has a date?" Her voice is weak, and I begin to feel slightly bad for her, but quickly push those feelings away. I nod a bit too hard.

"He does indeed," I reply, matter-of-factly. "Francesca Clarkson. A very pretty girl, she is. Modeled for Teen Vogue, and various other big names. Gucci? Have you heard of them?" I'm quite good at this white lying game. Okay, the Teen Vogue part is true, but Gucci? Pfft, I'm surprised Jen falls for that!

"Yes," she gulps, blinking back tears. "And I also know that you're the biggest heartless bitch ever."

"We never really did make up, did we Jennifer McGuire?"

She grits her teeth, ticked off that I called her by her first name.

"Shit!" she cries, pushing over the table, rising to her feet. "Bullshit! You're absolute bullshit!"

With that, she storms away, all eyes in the bar on her, just how she likes it. I walk away casually, smiling pleasantly to people as I pass them, as if nothing just happened.


I finally release the curler tongs, and watch my hair flow into smooth, silky blonde waves. I smile at my reflection hopelessly, my green eyes glinting in the bathroom light. My fingers rub ivory foundation deep into my pale skin, my complexion appearing much more presentable. I select a maroon lipgloss, and apply a slick coat across my lips, and press them together, smothering the gloss evenly. I look at my reflection and sigh, opting back to the foundation. This time I get a thick brush and dab it into powder, gently brushing a generous amount across my face. There's a slight improvement, and I tell myself it will have to do. With the same brush, I apply some blusher to my cheeks, defining my cheekbones. Then I rub my finger into some nude coloured eyeshadow, and smooth it evenly across my eyelids. I then use an eyeliner brush round the outsides of my eyes, with a minor flick. Next I lick some mascara onto my pale lashes. Self-conciously, I apply another three coats until I'm convinced I look okay. I right my shoulders and look at the finished result. My lips twist thoughtfully, and I scoop my hair into a bun that sits messily on top of my head. Finally, I smile, a pearly smile, a smile that reassures myself it will be okay.


"You look gorgeous," Niall says, wearing a dark green shirt and jeans. I smile, and slip my arm through his.

"Thanks, so do you. Well not gorgeous, handsome, 'cuz you know." I blush rapidly. Oh man, shut the hell up. I'm blabbering. He laughs, thank fully.

"Yeah, I know."  He pushes open doors revealing a room lit by strobe lights that make me stumble back. A grin spreads across Niall's face. Bodies are squeezed together tightly, jumping up and down, arms thrown in the air screaming and headbanging. Someone who I swear could be Russell Brand comes over and waves, then casually flicks his fingers into the Vs. "Yolo!" He calls above the music before slipping back into the sea of bodies. Me and Niall exchange glances, and I burst into a nervous laugh. Zayn  appears from nowhere, his arm round a superduper pretty girl, who I pressume is Francesca. She smiles sweetly, although I can already suss out her type. Rich guy. Money. Uses him. Leaves him. She looks at him impatiently, drowning in boredom, nodding towards the drinks stall. Zayn sighs, but leads her over, quickly pulled back under her love spell. I look at Niall, and he's watching them leave. Finally, he meets my gaze, and I point to the crowd, shrugging. He nods, and we slip into the array of bodies lit by strobes and I lose myself in the beat, alcohol and Niall.


I wake up feeling dizzy, the taste of strong alcohol burning my lips. My eyes flicker open and I practically scream when I see Niall Horan in my bed. What. The Hell.

"OHMYFRIGGINGODNAILLHORANGETOUTOFMYBED!!!" I scream, oblivious to whether I should be excited or scared. A frown licks across his face.

"Emily, calm, jeez!" He grabs my forearm with one hand, brushing it gently with the other. I get out of his grip.

"How'd'you know my name?! And how'd'you get in? What is going on?!"

Then I remember. I remember the party. Getting drunk. Coming back to the apartment. Niall was out of condoms. He went to get Zayn's. I lost my virginity to a superstar. But I was drunk. I lost my virginty when I was drunk, to another drunk. My head hurts and I lie back and sigh, rubbing my temples.


I look down and realise I'm actually completely naked. In a flurry I pull my arm over my boobs and with my other arm, grab the bed covers and haul it over my body.

Me and Niall are naked in bed. Let me just repeat that. Me and Niall are naked in bed.

Damn my life rocks right now.


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