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...
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I can't help it.
With every passing second, I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. From Finny's blunt description of the person who had been following me, it was hard not to suspect every skinny and tall man with a beard that I spotted.
"Thanks," I say to Harry after he had given me a ride to the donation center. I pull at the seatbelt to strap me in once I returned from dropping off my bag of unwanted clothes.
He nods, bringing his cigarette up to his lips for a slow drag. As he inhales, he begins to drive out of the lot. He then lowers the music down. "Cut the shit," he then says, glancing at me before recklessly merging onto ongoing traffic. "Why are you acting like that?"
"Acting like what?"
"Since we left the hotel room, you've been looking around every five seconds. How come?"
I shrug, wishing I could sweep the whole concept under the rug. I still don't think telling Harry would help me. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say with a laugh. I look out ahead as he drives towards the strip again.
"Oh, you don't?" He must think I'm bullshitting.
"How long are we staying here for?" I divert. "When I asked you, you never gave me a clear answer."
"Why? You want to go home now?" He asks me.
Not really. Going home would mean facing reality. Again, I don't think I'm ready for that—for the aftermath of a tragedy Harry and I were seemingly a part of and for all my other responsibilities I've seen to forgotten all about.
"Because if you want to go home, just say it. I mean, I come all the way down here for you to chill the fuck out for once."
I frown and look over at him. "Why are you acting like that?" I shoot back after being met with misdirected anger. Unless he's mad I edged him on?
"Don't turn this around."
"Why not?" I raise an eyebrow as he continues to drive. "I just asked a question, Harry. I never said I wanted to go home already. I'm only asking in case Matt asks when I'm coming home-"
"Have you been talking to him?" He shoots a glare at me.
I glance at the road ahead as we've been met with traffic. "I have," I tell him the truth. "I wasn't going to, but you went MIA. I didn't know what else to do when he kept calling me."
Harry takes another drag of toxins to blacken his lungs. He then shakes his head. "You could've—I don't know—not fucking answer?" He scoffs and then looks at me. "What did he say to you?"
I shift in the leather seat and avoid his stare. "I said I wasn't going to, but I did. He was asking to talk to me again, but I said I was out of town. Then when he kept asking questions, I told him I was in Vegas for an internship thing."
