A very Harry Summer

At such an early stage of writing, the story is set to develop over time depending if anyone is interested in it :)

Phillipa Oakley and Harry meet when Pippa, a model, is doing a shoot with teen boy band One Direction. We join the story when Phillipa, a girl of natural beauty is forced to hide under thick coats of makeup after been severely beaten up by the night before by her dominate ex boyfriend. Harry, who's mood mirrors Phillipa's of emotional exhausation when he finds out his girlfriend has been cheating on him, notices a sadness in Phillipa and finds himself engrossed by her. Can the two act as a distraction from their problems or does their past make it hard for them to love again?


2. Suave suits.

The day went by painfully slow. The photographer was running late, meaning the shoot was delayed for an hour or two. At around 1 I got into costume, and the photographer went through the shoot with us. I would first look by as the boys posed walking. I was photographed getting autographs with them. It was the last photo I was dreading the most, where I had to be in the middle of the boys, with Harry placing his hands on my waist. My waist, that was still burning with pain and if someone touched it I think I would scream. Harry, who had been particularly quiet throughout the photoshoot had kept his distance from me until now, obviously still hating me for ruining his top.

‘Just get the picture taken Pip, then you can go home’, I found myself encouraging myself in my head. We got into place and I felt Harry move towards me. He placed his arms on my waist and I couldn’t help but wince slightly, his hands landing right on my bruise. As if he could read my mind, he then slackened the grip on my waist and lay one hand gently at the small of my back and  rubbed it gently. For the first time that day, I felt somewhat relaxed, getting goose bumps from his touch. Embarrassed, I snapped myself out of my trance and smiled for the camera.

‘And that’s a wrap thanks Phillipa, if you would just mind stepping aside, I want to get some pictures of the boys alone’, said the photographer whilst adjusting his lens. Harry’s hands were still resting gently on my waist.

‘I really am sorry Phillipa’, was all he said before letting me go.

Watching the boys from the back, I noticed they were all knew exactly how to pose infront of a camera, in particular Zayn, the way he would look out the corner of his eyes at the camera, pouting slightly.


Exhausted, I went back to my dressing room and lay down on the sofa in my dressing room, nudging Frankie to budge along as he sat scrolling through his twitter feed.

‘How did it go sweetie?’

‘Fine thanks, I just really want to get home’

‘Youv done brilliant so far Pippa and we’ll sort all of this mess out tomorrow. We’ll have a film night babe, get a take away maybe?’

‘Yeah, why not’, I smiled, desperate to show him I appreciated his effort.

‘Well I’ll leave you to get changed, I’m going to go and steal a pic off the boys for instagram’, Frankie stood up and headed for the door, after glancing in the mirror and tidying his hair.

Rubbing my sides, I stood up and sat at my dressing table and started to take my make-up off. I was repulsed by my reflection, my eye looking swollen and sad. I felt numb and empty, not wanting to carry on with this pain. I felt my eyes pricking with tears and wanted nothing more than to break down and cry.

‘I won’t be a minute Frankie’, I said as I heard the door creaking open, dabbing my eyes to hide the redness.

‘Urm, its not Frankie’, alarmed by the voice, I stud up and spun round, shocked to find Harry In my dressing room, standing awkwardly in his modelling suit rubbing his hand nervously across his lips.

‘Sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you, I was just, before I was confused’, I felt my face burning and immediately turned around, panicking he had seen my bruised eye and I didn’t have time to hide how I got it.

‘Harry what are you doing, you can’t just walk into peoples room’, I said through my sniffles, trying to stop myself from sobbing.

‘I’m sorry, I was just concerned, I wanted to make sure you were okay, after well, you know, before. Phillipa, forgive me for asking, but was that a bruise on your eye’. I could feel his eyes burning through the back of my head.

‘Listen I know it’s none of my business’

‘Damn right it’s not’, I felt my hands shaking in annoyance out how presumptuous and nosey this boy could be, how dare he think it acceptable to come in my dressing room and question me, I didn’t care how famous he was.

‘It’s just, you, urm you’, he stammered before pausing, obviously chewing over his words,’ Did you think I was going to hit you before?’

Something inside me snapped and I spun around forgetting all about my bruise and hurled towards him.

‘Get the fuck out Harry Styles’, I snapped, pushing him towards the door in a fury. He grabbed my hands and tried to calm me down, shushing me.

‘Phillipa, are you okay, have you been hit’? He tightened his grip on my wrists that were so desperately trying to get him out the room.

‘Harry I’m not kidding now please get out’, but he pushed me back, loosing his grip on my wrists and placing his hands on my waist, refraining me from pushing him.

‘I just want to know you’re okay, I don’t want to hurt you baby’, and right then he moved closer and stared down into my eyes. His bright green orbs started to relax me and I gave up pushing him away. Right then, I couldn’t handle it anymore, the pain and suffering of the last day making me feel shamefully weak so like a baby, I cried in front of a complete stranger. All the while, he pulled me closer, rocking me gently as he held me against him.

But he never spoke. He never told me everything was going to be okay, because he couldn’t guarantee that.

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