Dangerous: A Marcel Styles Fan Fiction

11: Again

Part Two: Bad Boy

11: Again

   About a week passed and Marcel did not show up to school, or to work. Rumors piled on top of gossip and soon enough the story had morphed into “Marcel had even been grounded from the outlets that would affect his future after the fight.”

   Kevin, however, still continued to show up at school with a split lip, black eye and purple, bruised body. He and Cory had called off our dates – to Georgia Rose’s disappointment – which left me alone that Friday night.

   At HJ, every few days the boys continued to show up, acting as if nothing had ever happened, even when it was just the six of us alone. They carried on inconspicuous conversations with me not once mentioning Marcel.

   This gave me time to be alone, as I liked. Most of it was spent trying to figure out the math homework I didn’t understand – typically ending with me chucking my textbook against a wall in frustration – then moving on and writing songs.

   It was the next Saturday night, after work, when finally some information about the nerd’s whereabouts came to me. I lay on my stomach, sloppily jotting down rhymes that came to me and attempting to form them into a song, when my cell phone chimed with a text:

   I miss you. Wanna come over tonight? – xMx

   The only person I’d ever socialized with whose name began with the letter “M” was Marcel. His invitation would have been vague if not for our previous activities. Admittedly, I’d liked the sex the first time, but would I do it again? If it meant I’d get to speak to him again since the fight, I’d go. I took in a breath and texted back a yes. Around half an hour later, I pulled up outside Gemma’s house.

   I strutted up the cobblestone walkway, standing tall and rang the bell, waiting until Harry answered with a dimpled grin.

   “Oh, hey, Veronica,” he purred. I melted as my name left his mouth, spoken in that sexy, deep accent. “Marcel should be up in his room.”

   “Thanks,” I sang back as I stepped in.

   I would have made my way to the stairs, but Harry’s voice stopped me again. I looked into his perfect green eyes expectantly, hearing him say words which made my heart melt.

   “Since you’re technically in the music video, the lads and I wanted to know if you wanted to watch a premiere of it with us when it’s done being edited.”

   With a rapidly pounding heart and cotton mouth, I somehow accepted his invitation. He asked me for my phone and, thinking nothing of it, I handed him my cell. He tapped a few things pressed a few buttons and said the words, “Text me later and I’ll get back to you when we’re planning to watch it.”

   Take that every fan girl ever! I thought in a mental scream of glee, I have Harry Styles’ number in my phone! What does a heart attack feel like?

   My phone was returned to me still warm from Harry’s hands. I tried to make myself focus again and remember I was here for Marcel, not for Harry. Marcel was the one who wanted to see me. In a mood of happiness now, I left Harry and made my way to the stairs. Marcel’s bedroom door was left open a crack.

   I pushed the slab of wood open with a quiet greeting. Aside from a lack of boxes, increase of objects and the absence of homework sprawled on the bed, not a lot had changed. The most of the change came from the boy sitting in the desk chair.

   Like the night of the fight, his hair was left in loose curls and his eyes weren’t framed with thick, taped glasses. He was dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt which exposed the muscles on his arms. A familiar, dimpled grin appeared on his face when he laid eyes on me and he spoke in a deep, sexy accent, “Hey,” as he rose from his seat.