Ripped Away (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Harry handed his boarding pass and passport to the woman behind the desk. Her eyes shifted between him and his photo, probably not believing the two were the same person. His passport picture was taken when he was considerably younger. He raised his eyebrows, wordlessly challenging her to vocalize her doubt, and instead, she just pursed her lips and said, “Enjoy your flight.”

A wave of artificially chilled air washed over him as he stepped onto the plane, and he found his seat quite easily. Anne and Paul accompanied the boys, for security purposes as well as to enjoy some time away from the world. They all just needed a break.

Settling into his seat, Harry breathed a long, deep sigh. He thought it was a little ridiculous going on a vacation under the circumstances, especially with a homicide and hit-and-run still unsolved.  But when Anne suggested they find a quiet, small town to escape to, Harry found himself very appealed to the idea.

They were headed to a medieval town in France called Eze. The town, built on a hill, is wrapped tightly with stone walls, and has preserved its ancient history successfully creating a seemingly perfect getaway destination. Harry was stoked to see it. He loved France. The language, the food, the people. And the fact that the town was so small would mean that he could enjoy himself away from the flashing lights and screeching fans. Not that they were all bad. He just needed a break once and a while, as anyone would.

On this flight, the first class seats were individual, and extremely comfortable. Too bad the trip lasted only about a half hour.

Zayn settled into his seat across the aisle. He looked exhausted, bags under his bloodshot eyes and all. Poor thing. Probably hasn’t slept for days. Not that any of the rest of them had it better.

They were travelling at night, the day after Richard’s visit, to make it easier to evade the public eye. Come to think of it, Harry hadn’t had to deal with paps or publicity of any kind for a long time. Not since Crystal died. Maybe they knew bad stuff was going on and they decided to back off. At that thought, Harry laughed out loud. Yeah. Right. If they caught wind of Harry’s misfortunes, it’d be ALL OVER the tabloids. As much as he hated it, he had to agree with Richard. He should be grateful for the extended privacy, and not question its cause.

He decided to listen to Crystal’s iPod for the rest of the way, and quietly observed Zayn fight with his seat in search for a comfortable position to take a power nap.

~

Paul drove the rental Enclave to the Chateau Eza, where they were welcomed with jaw-droppingly spectacular buildings – more like castles – and it was almost as if they’d travelled back to medieval times themselves. The view was unreal.

Their room was gorgeous too. The history coordinated nicely with the modernism that was demanded by the hotel, creating a comforting and rich accommodation. Paul, Anne and the five boys were all thoroughly pleased, to say the least.

It was late, so they distributed themselves into their respective bedrooms. One of the perks of being a celebrity was that you got to book massive penthouses that could comfortably accommodate ten people.

As Louis tried to lift his bags carefully, Harry took his shoulders and gently held them still. “Ah, ah…” he chastised. “You are on probation, mister. No lifting allowed.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “It’s a bag, Harry. You’ve carried it far enough, I think I’ve got it now.” But despite his words, he didn’t try to reach for it again, firstly because Harry still held his shoulders, and secondly because, well, bending down wasn’t exactly a picnic. Even breathing still hurt like hell.