Dark Thorns | Harry Styles AU

Prologue

                                                                   Prologue

Arabella prided herself on never being late. In her eyes, remaining punctual to every and any social event or class was the blaring definition of professional. Which was expected because if her parents taught her anything at all, it was to impress the right people and make them want her company. To make them desire  her around and offer her the best of the best; evidently, she was raised under this outlook and from this upbringing, she remained early to all meetings even after moving away to attend college.

That particular Monday morning, though, she found herself breaking schedule thanks to the common pull-over routine of the city's police station. It turns out, if you don't hold possession of illegal drugs or have an open bottle of beer in your cup holder, there is an even better chance that you will be pulled over for having a headlight out.

Or so the cop claimed.

Trying not to be swayed into a bad mood by the female officer who ticketed her unfairly, Arabella zipped through traffic to find herself fifteen minutes tardy and standing in front of the principle's office with rosy cheeks and fear engulfing her mind. If there was one thing that her art instructor hated with a fiery passion, it was unpunctual students, especially when this so-called 'tardy student' was rushing to school early for a planned meeting to discuss grades and further enrollment.  

All in all, as much as Arabella tried to convince herself that Mrs. Love would fall for the 'I'm-new-to-the-area'  trick, her pristine record for never letting-up was something to haunt anyone's nightmares. Her home in Australia had many different things to compare to and although she was absolutely thrilled to have been accepted into an art school in Texas, she was even more nervous that this change would only reduce from her chances at succeeding here.

Furthermore, that didn't stop the sigh of relief that slipped past Arabella's lips when Mrs. Love could be spotted down the hall, pinning up fliers for the end-of-semester bash that was bound to have the whole school in an intense frenzy.

"Thank the Lord," spewed from Arabella's lips, a little too loudly. "Mrs. Love!"

Visibly, her instructor and headmaster's response was to flinch at the sound of Arabella's exasperated voice. Instead of returning a smile or a half-polite nod out of respect, Mrs. Love frowned and picked up her pace down the hall, causing clumsy Arabella to pick up her skirt and stalk at a faster pace. It's quite ironic, really, how the headmaster's last name is extremely condescending to her attitude about life in general.

Waving her hand, the suit-wearing older woman demanded: "Arabella, come along," in the most monotone, unpleasant voice. Lightly wincing, Arabella obliged the command and was shoved a stack of fliers. Between tacking single sheets to corkboards spread all throughout the school, the headmaster's eyes would flicker back to her tag-along with a void of emotion.

Arabella was almost certain she'd never seen the woman smile before or show any type of remorse for any student on campus. The old woman was colder than a block of ice in the Antarctic. She'd probably watch documentaries about children starving and dogs dying of odd diseases before she'd commit an act of random kindness.

"About our meeting," Mrs. Love said, raising a finger in the air from in front, also walking so stiffly that Arabella was sure she could pole vault with the stick up her butt. "I want to discuss matters with you about your recent grades here at the institute."

"What about them? I work so hard; surely there can't be anything wrong." Arabella asked, the stem of her worry being added to at the realization of where this conversation could possibly be headed. It didn't give her a good feeling in the depth of her gut; instead, she clutched tighter to the stack of fliers in hopes that it would keep her from falling apart.