The Code [Harry Styles]

Chapter 1

I feel the whole world shaking.
Sweat drips down my forehead, my boots clamming up with my socks, my hair stiffen with hairspray overdone by my mother.

My dress is took big for my body.
Very, very bright yellow striking the eyes, making my stomach churn. What if it was too much?

Did I over do it?

"What's your code?" Mr. Lean says, sipping on his glass of wine, hearing the slurping- he's taking him time tasting the deep color of wine. "Oh, would you like a cup?" He asks, motioning to the wine cellar, holding over thousands of wines.

"No thanks," I pass the offer, sitting in a very comfortable chair sofa thing, giving me an impression this was an interview.

But it wasn't.

"Again to the question," he restates, placing his glass on a coaster, making sure he swirls the glass before actually placing it down.

"143," I whisper, I felt a yawn come up from my throat, giving an impression of me being rude, I cough.

A very big notebook thingy was
crossed his legs, a pen sitting down in the notebook, obviously he has nothing to write down.

"Speak clearly, I need to hear you darling," he smiles, his fake teeth giving me a headache.

"143," I say more confidently, pushing my back straight.

"How old are you?" He now opens the big notebook, picking up his pen, clearly costing more than my dress.
"I'm 17," I say, laying back in the couch, feeling my muscles loosen.

"What's the number one law?" He asks, he writes my name pretty big on the header of the sheet of thin bleak yellow sheet.

LEORA REDS

I stutter, holding my breath and closing my eyes, I respond, "The law's about marrying your future partner, you cannot be gay, you cannot not believe in God, and you cannot wear black."

"Excellent, excellent," he repeats, writing down words that I could hardly read since the distance between us. "Did your parents explain what a code was?" He shuts his notebook closed, tossing it onto the floor underneath his feet, going back to his glass, he takes a large gulp.

"No, not really, sir," I reply, looking at Mr. Lean's deep chocolate brown eyes, he responds immediately.

"It's where you don't have a choice," he spits out, smiling. "They choose who you marry, your gender of child, everything."

I thought God did that?

I nod, feeling Mr. Lean get up, his clothes shifting downwards.
I nod, clarifying that I understand.
"You'll find your perfect match, in this case who is a young chap by the name of Harry Styles," he smirks.