RUNAWAY [[A Harry Styles and Marcel fanfic]]

c-twenty two-

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

~.*.*.*.~

Harold, however he may be, is at the end of the day, a freaking bipolar guy having some serious issues. One minute him and I are like runaway couple and the other I'm like a runaway prisoner he is doing a favour on.

I lay there until a barely audible knock and the pushing open of a door seeks my attention.

"Dinner's ready. Shall I bring it in?" he asks avoiding eyes.

"I'll come outside."

"I can bring it in if you want?" He is polite. However, there's still an icy edge cutting in his voice.

"I can walk Harry." I snap. "I'm coming out in a minute, thanks," announcing his cue to leave.

This wonder man gives me a headache for almost the entire time and yet I am here in love with him. Have been in love with the guy I thought he was? The thought is unwelcoming. I stretch a little and get up to leave...

Outside in the dining area are the woven tablemats laid neatly on the dark wood. On top of them, are two plates containing our very basic dinner.

I smile apologetically when my eyes catch Harry's in the kitchen. Why am I apologetic anyway?

"I'm sorry I wasn't of much help." So this is why.

 Harry loses the stoic look. "You weren't of any help Abby." Oh! The sass. I can sense the humour in his voice and his charm is working it's way through my system again. I'm no longer mad at him, I'm no longer annoyed at his bipolarity; but there's a thirteen year old trapped in a twenty two year olds body, grinning ear to ear for being called useless.

"Alright there, let's eat." Pissy Styles is back.

"Why not." I smirk at him and pull the chair out to sit in it.

We sit in silence mostly doing the small talk. Living with Harry has somewhat made me cautious of what to speak when, so for most of the meal I don't piss him off unless we're done.

"Let me do the dishes today Harry." I ask and he laughs.

"What? I'm serious, I wanted to help with dinner, I couldn't. Let me do the dishes."

"Either you're playing smart or you're stupid." I widen my eyes at him. "Your wound's dressing genius. You can't get it wet without the gloves.

" Oh. Yes.

"Alright, I'll just stay here until you're done. Wipe the table maybe?"

"Let it rest for one day Abigail, we'll try again tomorrow." FULL NAME ALERT, RUN! Screams my mind at me. I smile. Just the way Harry said it makes it so fucking romantic, I want to jump on his back and kiss him all over his body. Had Mike, Carly or Caty had been using this tone with me, they'd find themselves being dragged all across our house in Maida Vale.

"I'm going to sit and watch you work then." I am so clingy. But I just want to watch this handsome, arrogant and bipolar man working in the kitchen. I would have jumped at the opportunity to take pictures of him, and tweet it, let the world know the goodness in him, but at the same time, there were two things that cross my mind at the same time. One, the IP address would retrace it back to this location, and two, this piece of art is living with me, and not anyone else. The intimacy I share with him...well okay, maybe not intimacy but the apartment stories I share with him, is his and mine. No one else needs to know it. The thought of all of them being directly reported to half-naked turns my stomach and I shoo away the thought.

Harry huffs a deep breath in response. Am I bothering him? Of course I am. He advances towards me. Is he going to hit me? Fucking god he's coming to hit me. I screw my eyes shut and the next thing I know is I'm flying. Wait, what?

Harry had lifted me up and was carrying me across his shoulders, just as toddlers are carried to their rooms when they do some mischief. This is ridiculous and why the fuck am I enjoying it in the first place?

My legs dangle in the air, bumping against his chest lightly, one of slippers falling off as he makes a slow and careful turn towards my room and drops me from a foot's height on to the bed.

Why didn't I scream at all in protest? Maybe by the time my body processed it all, it had already been done.

"Stay in bed Abigail." He winks at me. What was that all about? I shiver. Is he coming back to my room later? Of fucking course not, that's not even an option. Maybe he winked because he wanted to let me know that It was all done in good humour? That seemed about right. But with the time being around just 10:47pm I wasn't going to stay in bed just doing nothing.

I've been gone from home for about more than a week now and I have been sober since then. I don't feel like drinking. For once in life I feel and act as a responsible adult, and drinking can't distract me from that. There's no urge in me to drink. I drank to distract myself from facing my real issues. I can't do that anymore.

My thoughts wander off to Caty and Carly back in London. What were those two tramps up to these days? I want to call them, talk to them, meet them even since this is the longest we've gone without meeting each other.

Meanwhile, the other hemisphere of my brain wanders off tp why my parents haven't shown attempts to find me yet. Was I such a trouble that they're completely okay to get rid of me either ways? Not that I give a hooting shit, but it would be nice to know some squad is taken off their real duties to look for a runaway bride.

That's unreal and too stupid to wish for.

 Still, no one has reported me missing, or is it an entirely different scenario in London? I have to ask the boys. Maybe they know.

There's some crockery clinging and clanging against each other then the lights go off and all movement ceases.

***

Another week has gone by. There is no sign of my parent's investigation, no missing complaints, no flyers with my face on it. It is like they have assumed, and accepted that I am dead. But I don't think I seem to mind it.

For this whole week, Harry is either busy with his photoshoots or reversals. Some super sad days, Claire pays us a visit, as for the rest of the boys, I haven't seen them since the day they hung out at the apartment. However, harry does someday tell, "Niall says hi" and I smile it away.

Niall and I would get along all right, much better than my quotient with Harry, and quite sometimes I am sat wondering how things would have been if it was Niall's car that I had sneaked into. But beggars can't be choosers, so be it.

Tomorrow would be Saturday. Exactly two weeks and two days since I've left home. Two weeks and two days and I've grown up better than I could in the shithole.

Life was tough, but it was going good.

~.*.*.*.~

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-Bumblebee_Payne