Falling Hard for Louis Tomlinson

Chapter 9

My phone lit up with Allisons name. It was 9am so I assumed something was going on.

"Hey Allison."

"Rach, please tell me it isn't true."

"What?"

"You haven't heard?"

"What?" I say angrily now.

"There's stories that, um, youre pregnant."

I drop my phone in horror. The ends of my palms are pressed into my eyes trying not to cry.

"Rachel!!"

I pick the phone back up, put it next to my ear, but don't say anything.

"Rach it isn't true right?"

"Of course not! You think I'm that sick?"

"No, but Hollywood and the press make up terrible rumors."

"I can't believe it."

The few tears sliding down my face became more consistant.

"Dont cry Rachel."

"Too late." I sob into the phone.

"I'll tell Louis. He'll be over later. Do you want me to?"

"No, Im fine."

"Okay. Well, I have to go. Stay strong girl."

"Ok." I hang up and throw my phone to the end of my bed.

I pull out my laptop and search my name. Tons of articles show up from the last 12 hours. All of them are about me being pregnant.

"Oh my gosh." I sob and crash my face into my pillow.

My tears flooded out of my eyes until I couldn't cry anymore. Then I slowly fell asleep.

It was noon and the soft patter of rain on my window woke me up along with a crack of thunder. I rolled over to check my phone. 3 messages from Allison and 2 from Louis.

Allison: Hey Louis said he'd be over at 12:30.

Allison: Rach?

Allison: Are you okay?

Louis: Hey Rach, Im comin okay?

Louis: do you need anything?

Crap. I had 30 minutes to look somewhat decent before Louis came over.

I jumped out of bed and took a shower really quickly. Then, I blow dried my hair. With 10 minutes to spare, I straightened my hair, put a minimal amount of make-up on, and quickly put on some sweatpants and a neon green Pink shirt. I looked good enough for Louis to come over, but I looked way better than I felt.

While reading through all my hate messages and tweets, the doorbell rang. I walked slowly down the stairs and opened the door to see Louis with a bag of stuff.

"You look cute." he says and smiles.

"Thanks. I look better than I feel. Come in."

He steps through the doorway, kicking off his white Toms and brings the bag of stuff into the kitchen.

"What's that?" I ask curiously.

"Dinner, I can stay can't I?"

"You don't even need to ask."

"Okay. So how you feeling?" he asks and hugs me.

"Terrible."

"Its just a rumor babe. There will probably be more in the future. If the paparazzis can't get good stories, they don't sell anything. So I guess making up stories to get people's attention makes it in the money making business."