VICE [H.S]

PROLOGUE

6 November 1998

A YEAR EARLIER...

Aurelia Price

I knew it was him. I know that look anywhere. The one that's plastered on every single magazine in pop culture today...

Harry styles.

The notorious bad boy of the music industry, the guy every aspiring musician wants to be and who every clingy teen girl has a heart throbbing crush over. Pathetic. I won't deny the fact that he's walking sex though...

Thirty minutes ago Harry styles were dangling from balconies overlooking the dancing crowd egging him on for his lunatic actions, spraying thousands of dollars worth of champagne over girls and guys crowding around his private booth like he's their fucking king or some weird-ass shit looking well, completely fucked. Safe to say Harry styles lives up to his reputation and is an extremely arrogant playboy. Girls hanging off each inch of his body, tearing at the minimal clothing he's decided to cover his body with tonight.

It's weird to see it upfront although, not pictures in magazines labelling him as 'Heroine Harry' or 'The male prostitute of the music industry' which even though seeing him in the flesh tonight not defying those stereotypes and being the 'saint' that he's expected to be, I still think there fucking gross. Even though he probably gets himself off with those labels, his ego soared through the roof as the king of rock. And a privileged psycho.

I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled an Ozzy Osborne at this point, and I'm pretty sure teenage girls would still be devoted to him.

Fifteen minutes ago I spotted Harry styles trying to climb onto a small podium where a performer was twirling herself around a chrome pole presumably wanting to start dancing around it himself due to the one sweaty hand reaching toward it, though before he even reached the cool bar the tacky performer grabs his muscular biceps with her slender fingers, pulling him in close to her thin, tanned body. His lazy eyes take her in as though devouring her, roughly pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as she hikes her toned leg up his slightly swaying body clawing at her thigh on his waist not caring about the audience of drunken bodies watching him like hawks.

Although as she starts to drop lower down his body grabbing at all the clothing she could he's abruptly ripped off the stage by two stern, hunch looking bodyguards locking their arms around him until he's getting dragged away with his head flopping towards onto his chest ultimately giving up.

The crazy thing is that no one in here blinks an eye at his behaviour, no one cares about the immense line of people trailing behind him eager for a grab at him, no one questions his swaying body, flushed yet pale-looking cheeks, the endless amount of deadly drugs getting tipped into his mouth, snorted up his nose, cigarettes hanging off his plump lips, it's just usual rockstar Harry Styles behaviour and it's disgusting.

But he doesn't show a care in the world, letting the world be an audience to his actions,

So I'll just be a part of that audience,

So here with my best friend at my side I ignore the presence of the so-called rock legend in the same building and sway our bodies to 'Believe' by Cher rather awfully, I turn towards her my drink splashing around in my hand as one of mine reaches for hers bringing our hands above our heads bouncing around singing toward each other feeling the alcohol hit me, 

I don't drink much, only a few glasses when I'm out with Adriana when we go out, it scares me how just next year we'll be on totally different sides of the country. Me at UCLA and Adriana back home in South Carolina. I mean South Carolina isn't exactly the most interesting state but it's home...to me anyway. Which is exactly why I'm stunned about why Harry Styles is here, my best guess is he's on tour at the moment but coming to South Carolina's most alluring club on a Friday night isn't ideal fun for a lunatic rockstar.