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..

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14. The Day

This week has actually gone past in a blur. I slam shut the suitcase, and roll it to my bedroom door. I sigh, staring at the cold, empty room. Realising this will be the last time I ever see it, I flick the light, and shut the door.

***

Dad doesn't seem to understand how much I hate this. I roll the windows down, and let my arm dangle out.

"Three more hours to go-oooo!" Dad sings.

"Brilliant," I growl sarcastically, shoving earphones into my ears, turning on my turqoise iPod. A cheesy One Direction song fills my ears, and I scowl. Ew. In a flash, I flick it to the next one, an Emeli Sande track, Suitcase, which I can kind of (completely) relate to right now. 'Cus all I did was love him...tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. No. I'm not gonna cry. Especially not in front of dad. Too far.

The road rolls away behind us, replaced with a stoney countryside track. Goodbye, my good life.

*******

Turns out Manchester got worse since I've been away. The city is illuminated with the blue glow of police cars, and the whir of sirens.

"Typical Manchester, eh?" Dad teases, laughing at his own joke. I roll my eyes and sink further into my seat. Life is just getting worse. "So, where's this hotel?"

My lips twist. "I dunno, you're the one who booked the whole damn thing!"

Dad sighs, looking hurt. "I thought you'd be grateful. I thought I was doing you a favour."
I don't reply, just stare out the window in silence, as a recognisable road rolls into sight.

"Here we are," Dad says, juddering the car to a firm stop. "Get your bags out the boot."

All friendliness in his tone is gone.

I sigh and open the door, breathing in the polluted Manchester air.

The glamorous hotel stands tall and proud, like a slutty girl showing off everything she's got.

It makes me sick just to look at it, so I quickly open the car boot, distracting myself by unloading the old tattered trunks. Dad's figure is leant against the bonnet, smoke trailing from his lips. He never really did give up smoking. And he wonders why he's poor. The price of cigarettes these days is mental. I frown, and shut myself back in the car, rubbing my head with my hands, and fumble for one of dad's cigarettes.

Smoking kills.

Good.

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