in which joelle d'amore is completing her final semester of university in the grand city of los angeles, california. when she finds herself in the presence of harry styles, a piercing man with dangerous agendas, she is permeated with fear. she saw s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
________
As I stand in the dark of a tightly closed space, the night in the alley comes back to me in flashes.
From hearing a cry for help to finding myself completely paralyzed over what I was seeing, the same fear I felt then is creeping up on me now. I try to regulate my breathing as the image of Harry's forceful and violent kicks into a boy's abdomen stays fresh in my memories.
Dante.
Harry said the name. I can still see the spit ejected through his gritted teeth as he muttered it. With the recollections I have of that night, I'm trying to search for any clues behind who this Dante is. Though, I can't remember what else Harry had said attached to the name. Not when my mind races to remind me of the gun held to my head.
Seeing Harry whip out the same gun from nowhere only seconds before I was put in a closet is enough to remind me I shouldn't be near him.
I pat the pockets of my pants in search of my phone, but I don't find it. Shit. I run shaky hands up into my hair as I remember I had tucked my phone into my bag—which is on the damn desk.
I needed my phone as a source light to help me see. My vision only darkens the more I stare into nothing.
I steer away from focusing on the dark to listen intently to what is happening on the other side of this door.
After hearing multiple footsteps, I then hear Harry say, "Dante."
"Pierce," another voice says. It's thick and hoarse. I can sense the unhealthy habit of heavy smoking belonging to the man I assume is Dante. I press my ear against the door, hoping I can hear things much clearer.
I only hear shuffling feet and the creaking of an old sofa.
"Where's my fucking money?" Dante says, but rather calmly.
I feel myself begin to sweat. There's a pang in the walls of my chest and I curse myself again because this is not the time to have a panic attack.
"It's all there."
I'm struggling to breathe. The more I try to quit my panting, the more I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I'm suffocating, dropping onto my knees because I cannot handle the trepidation that consumes me. I groan from the fall I took.
"What the fuck was that?"
I gasp for air the moment the closet door swings open. It takes me a minute to register I'm on the floor. I look up, past cuffed jeans and tattooed ankles, to find Louis staring down at me. With a cigarette balanced between his thin lips, he puts a hand out for me to take.
My vision is blurred from tears I didn't know I had. I look at Louis's hand. I don't think I have the tenacity to take it. I remain on the floor like a dirty pile of clothes.
