"You're coming on stage in 15 minutes, where's {{user}}?" Simon asks as the crew finishes setting up our microphones. "Is that girl really going to break up with me one day?" He sighs heavily and turns his gaze to me. "Harry, go find her."

After five years of being thick as thieves, it's only natural that Simon only asks me to go find you. I mean, you get along great with everyone else, but our relationship is something more special. We haven't been apart since The X Factor, and everyone knows we'd go to the ends of the earth for each other. I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful friendship.

I walk through the backstage corridors to your dressing room and knock a few times, hoping to hear your voice telling me to come in. But I don't hear anything. I open the door slightly and peek inside. You're lying on the couch, curled up in a ball, your arms covering your stomach, your face hidden in a cushion. I don't need to be a fortune teller to know your period is coming, and for you it's monstrous, because you have endometriosis.

Every month is an odyssey. We try to avoid the shows coinciding with your period week. You're always in a lot of pain, unable to move, dizzy, and sometimes even vomiting. It's impossible for you to perform in these conditions. Your period wasn't supposed to come for a week, but it seems it's come early.

I approach you and sit on the edge of the sofa slowly, trying not to disturb you, and I place a hand on your back, stroking it. I notice how you relax under my caresses.

"I'll tell Simon you're not up to it and get you a cup of tea, okay?" I mumble to avoid any discomfort if you have a headache. "Do you want me to get you some painkillers?"