Insecurity drained my eyes dry that night as I cried myself to sleep. No one liked me anymore… I'd been getting so much hate – only a few people seemed to hold any understanding for me, and even they seemed false and unnatural.

By midnight there was even a hate campaign against me. By one-am, my eyes were red from crying, red from the abuse that was being fired at me every few minutes. Everything about me was wrong in the eyes of the fans… My hair, my clothes, my name, even my age. I was going to university in September, and even that seemed to be a problem – apparently I was too dumb to make it to Manchester University.

My two-am, my self-esteem had fallen to rock-bottom.

So had my popularity.

But then, amongst the floods of hate I was getting, came an explosion. It was Dan… He'd messaged me - a private message this time; almost destroying my already emotionally drained heart.

It contained only two words, and a number.

'Call me.'

I seized my IPhone, my vision blurred through the tears that were crowding my eyes. My fingers hovered nervously over the screen as I added Dan to my contacts list, my lips still trembling from the crying. I didn't know whether to call him or not… He'd asked me to, yes. But no… I didn't deserve him and I never would. The fans were right – he was too perfect to have any time for someone as insignificant, stupid and ugly as me… But I couldn't resist; the desperate temptation to hear the sound of his voice was too much for my willpower to manage.

I called him… Just like that.

What if he doesn't pick up? Maybe he doesn't like me; I worried to myself as the phone rang slowly – painfully slowly.

'Bella?' he asked. His voice was anxious – almost ashamed – so smooth and perfect even through the mixed emotions I could sense.

'Dan.' I said, my voice thick from the tears. 'I'm sorry, your fans – they hate me…'

'Forget them.' He murmured. 'I like you, and they'll have to get used to that. I'm really sorry about that; I never meant that to happen to you…'

I felt a lump form in my throat. 'Don't be sorry. You don't need to be- '

Dan interrupted me. 'Bella, I… I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am, but maybe this will help?'

'What is it?' I asked, my curiosity taking over.

'Can I come in?' he asked.

'Dan… I don't understand.'

'I'm outside your flat, Bella.' He said, laughing softly. 'You are so bad at picking up hints.'

'Oh my god, what if my Mum wakes up?' I whispered, suddenly feeling so childish. Dan didn't live with his Mum – he was three years older than me and had his own flat. I cringed internally.

'Don't worry - I'll be quiet.' He chuckled.

'You better be.' I laughed shakily through the fading tears. 'I'll be right there.'

I hung up and began to frantically tidy my bed, throwing my clothes and shoes in my wardrobe and slamming my laptop and box of tissues onto my desk.

Oh shit, I have a famous, hot boy outside and I have underwear scattered on the floor, I thought, hastily throwing a pair of socks in behind a cupboard.

Adrenalin coursed through me. I looked awful, I realised; makeup was smeared across my face and as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I cringed. My eyes were black with eyeliner and most of my foundation has washed off, revealing blotchy tear stains and smudges of concealer.

Hurry up, you twat, I mentally screamed at myself, padding across the landing and turning the key in the door, wincing at the noise of the gyrating metal that hurtled through the air.

I pulled open the door and tried not to gasp. Dan stood there, his hands in his pockets, smirking in the moonlight. But ask he caught sight of my tear-streaked face, his smile faded and he pulled me into an embrace, suddenly making everything okay again.