Holiday Inn, Anaheim, Orange County, California.

I hold my hand to my mouth to try and steady my breathing, to abate the coughing fit which is itching its way up my windpipe, eager to announce my arrival to everyone.

'Knock, knock Niamh is here!' And everyone will turn around and stare wide mouthed, thinking 'like yeah, so this is a hotel reception. We all had to arrive at some point, but you didn't see us making a big deal about it.'

The cough had started two days before departure, right as I conducted the official final run through of packing my suitcase. I knew it wasn't an actual proper cough, the result of a cold or ten years of smoking twenty cigarettes a day, but instead a creation of my over eager mind. But at least it was better than vomiting. The Prozac had dealt with that, butstill the residual tremble of my nerves bubbled to the surface, introducing themselves as my new friend the nervous cough. Somehow I know that it will be following me around for the duration of this trip.

But is there really any wonder that I'm choking? This place is just like Sixth Form all over again. Only worse since I've actually paid to be here, as opposed to the experience being forced upon me as part of compulsory education. So many young people thronging about the halls chattering 'ya, ya, ya.' Except the kids here are better looking, like way better looking, or maybe that's just what good lighting and a European accent can do for you? Yet all I am is pasty white and English, stumbling about like an undercooked sausage. It almost makes me wants to see Lottie again, to have her reassure me that although European girls might look effortless now, that all their chain smoking will catch up with them eventually and they'll end up turning in to their fat over fed mothers, whereas will just remain pasty white and English forever.

'Easy now fella!'

The voice I will always recognise speaks behind me. A husky drawling tone drowning in a history of working class England. So typical it is that we have to be surrounded by so many cheerleading / surfer chic / prom queens right now, that I worry he might not recognise me as the thorn amongst this high class crowd. But if I am to survive this trip then this constant posse of VS Angel wannabes is something I will just have to get used to.

But everyone else aside I still need to think about this; I can't just turn around and jump right into it. What if he looks different? What if I look different? What if we're not the same as before? Plus he wasn't actually addressing me, since I am certainly not a 'fella', and so I can only assume he is talking to Harry. His best good friend in the whole wide world don't you forget; the one he grew up with. Oh wait that was me; he only just met Harry a few months back.

'Niamh, you made it!' He sounds excited and so I need to put to bed this paranoia.

'Just.' I at last turn around and mumble, my voice sucked straight from my lungs like Ariel making a deal with Ursula. Just at the sight of him. He was always good looking, but he was never THIS good looking. Maybe it's the tan, maybe it's the low slung board shorts and the dark shades resting on his head like he's Adonis in slow motion, or maybe it's just the fact that the hair on his legs is blonder and thicker than I remember, but suddenly he looks like he is auditioning for a part in the 'The OC'. Well we are in the actual OC, so maybe that's what hanging around the place for a while does for you? Maybe if I stay here a few weeks such a transformation will happen to me too, and instead of waking up each morning with dark shadows under my eyes, hanging heavy like two over stocked wheel barrows, and my hands clutching eagerly at the daily dose of pills that I need to restrain me, that I too will just glow, my light from within finally switched on?

'So, erm, how was your flight?'

'Fine.' I whisper.

'You look well.' We both speak. Whilst I am not lying, I know the Louis is just being polite.

'She never said a word for the entire flight, man, God I was so bored.' Harry butts in, his arrogance saving us from the escalating tension, the awkward glances at the floor, the door, the anything that would allow us to ignore the fact that Louis has yet to hug me.

'I was thinking,' I struggle for a comeback to Harry's ridicule, 'plus I drank all that Benylin, oh and let's not forget the only time you did try to speak to me you were a jerk.'

'Maybe so, but at least I'm an honest jerk. You're starting to realise that now, right?' Harry raises an eyebrow at me, as if trying to will me into answering his unconscious question; that he is right about Louis.

'Shall I take your bags Miss?' A porter interrupts us; interrupts me from nearly crying, again, for the second time in twelve hours, and all because of Harry and his stupid world view and inaccurate observations of my relationship with Louis. Like he would have any clue what he is even talking about. I bet he's never even had a girlfriend and so I really need to stop letting the opinions of such an inconsequential person get to me so readily, and instead focus on listening to myself, on listening to the truth.

Authors note: Since we have arrived in Anaheim I have uploaded one of the greatest songs to ever come out of there; Don't Speak by No Doubt aka the sound track to my life aged 15. It's such an amazing song that it stands just as strong now as when it was released in 1996. How cool was Gwen then? I still want to be her in this video.

This chapter is dedicated to lunihar for all the votes and comments whilst I was writing this story.

Please be kind and remember to vote and comment. Love Ally xx