Prologue

My fingers covered the strings firmly as my hand slid effortlessly up the fret board of my guitar. I had taught myself how to play the instrument with the aid of some internet tuition sits, and now I was pretty decent. I could play some of my favourite songs but- all in all- I preferred to write my own music, not that anyone ever heard it.

I stopped playing as there was a knock at my door, “Tom?”

My fingers relaxed on the strings and I looked in the direction of the voice. I hadn’t even heard the doorbell go off- I guess Mum had. I smiled at the sight of my boyfriend of eleven months, Dougie Poynter. “Hey.”

“That sounded very professional.”

I frowned, glancing down at the guitar, “Did it? I only wrote it in twenty minutes.”

“Well, I envy your talent.”

As he moved further into the room, I set my guitar to the side of the bed, and reached out to pull him onto my lap before he could protest. Even although it was the summer holidays, he was wearing a pair of smart black trousers and a loose shirt.

“I missed you so much…” I murmured, lacing kisses up his neck so lightly that he shivered. He had been in Montreal with his parents for the first fortnight of the holidays.

“I missed you, too. I was so bored. They wouldn’t let me take any of my books or anything,” he responded, so I could feel the muscles in his jaw working as I kissed along it.

“Bummer,” I sympathised, kissing him lightly on the lips. Then I gave him a firmer kiss just to judge his reaction, before coming in a third time and slipping him the tongue. Dougie was a good kisser, but I longed to know what I could do to make him lose that sense of restraint. He was holding back, and I wished he could lose control around me.

He allowed me to lower him down onto my bed so I was on top, still kissing me back. I broke away from his mouth, trailing kisses up his cheekbone. “So, what did you do while I was away?” he managed.

I shrugged, “Hung out with Harry, wrote songs.” I moved down to kiss his neck again softly, wishing his body would relax beneath me. He was so tense. I slid a hand up under his shirt to feel his flat stomach, but he pulled my hand back.

I would have tolerated it had it been the first time this had happened. But lately it was like Dougie didn’t even want me to touch him, and it was driving me insane. I felt like I wasn’t good enough for him, and I didn’t know how much more I could take.

I sat up abruptly, “Right, this isn’t working.”

He blinked at me in shock, “What?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, or what I did to make you hate me so much, but we can’t carry on like this.”

He gasped, a look of terror coming onto his face, “What do you-?”

I rolled off him and leaned against the wall, “Dougie, you’re clearly disgusted by me! You never let me touch you, you never want to cuddle, you only ever kiss me if I initiate it,” I listed. “Why are we together if you don’t want to be?”

“But-”

I shook my head, staring at my knees that were pulled up in front of me, “We have nothing in common, Dougie. We can never talk about anything, and we can’t even be one of those couples who falls back on their sex life, ‘cause that’s non-existent!”

“Tom-”

I stared at him, “You’re not the person I asked out anymore, Dougie.”

This was true. When I had asked Dougie out, he had been fun-loving and laid back, and he had sounded so when he accepted. Then he seemed to change. His enthusiasm to kiss me as he had on our first date faded, and he seemed to become more seriously involved in schoolwork and books. He wasn’t as excitable anymore, or as fun.

Even his dress sense changed. Gone were the cool skater clothes and stylish hair. He was still attractive, but not as he had been. Not as himself.

“But I-” he protested, sitting up finally.

I took him in slowly. “You need an intellect, Doug,” I told him. “Someone who thinks like you do, acts like you do. I’m nothing like what you need out of a boyfriend.”