RUNAWAY [[A Harry Styles and Marcel fanfic]]

c-six- (chapter seven BONUS)

CHAPTER SIX

~.*.*.*.~

He hops out, as soon as the engine is put to a complete stop, and starts to walk in the direction of his house. It is a modest three storied building, with a parking lot supported by pillars on the ground floor. Now i start to debate if he owns the whole of this building, or just an apartment in it.

I hear a knock at my window, and i raise my eyebrow at Harry. “Are you going to come out, or do you expect me to carry you inside ‘bridal style’?” He says using air-quotes. He is more than amused, and i still can’t figure out the reason why.

As i open the door, Harry moves to one side to give me, and my stupid, stupid gown space to walk out. “And please don’t make wedding jokes, not today at least.” I roll my eyes, and drag my tired feet. My heels have been a real challenge. I never fancied wearing them even as a child, and now, i had survived maybe three hours in them. Its like my feet have been buried under ground.

“After you ma’am.” Harry chuckles behind me, and stop dead in my tracks and widen my eyes at him. He smiles widely, and raises his hands in defence.

The yellow lights in the lobby are really depressing and sadly also go well with the brown and cream interior of the large hall. The lift opens and i lean against the railing at the back of the lift, while Harry presses the button to the top floor. There is some sick music that plays as long as the lift is moving and it makes me want to break the small speakers, seal it or break my head, so that no noise escapes.

I am oblivious of Harry’s facial expressions as he stands with his back facing me. The door opens at the third floor, with an animated high pitched automatic voice announcing its the “Third Floor” as if all those that use the lift are blind.

Harry steps out first and i follow. I feel like he doesn’t even regard my existence, and i am following him like a dead ghost.

Dead ghost?? If you are a ghost, it’s most likely you are dead. I have a word with my subconscious. Apart from her, no one understands me. She is so phenomenal; it makes me want to marry her sometimes. ‘No marriage jokes Abby.’ She scolds me.

There are two flats on this floor, the doors facing each other. The number ‘301’ is embossed with black on a golden plate against the dark brown door with a golden knob at the left side corner. There are two potted palm plants on either side of the door.

Harry squats on his haunches and digs a bit in the mud and i observe him, clearly confused, until a bunch of keys emerge like hidden treasure from the inside.

“You keep your keys hidden in a pot of palm?” i ask, trying really hard to not laugh.

“yeah, i don’t really trust myself with priceless things like these, you see.” He smiles, jingling his keys in front of my face, like every second person says this.

I have seen people hide keys under the doormats, but this is a first.

“Welcome to the world of Harry Styles.” He proudly announces, and i expect something extravagant as the Harry pushes the door ajar, and lets me in.  My mouth hangs open.

~.*.*.*.~

CHAPTER SEVEN:

~.*.*.*.~

Harry walks in first after he hangs the key at a nail in the wall, and taking off his coat and placing it on the arm rest of the sofa.

I take in a second to realise the air surrounding me, is Harry Styles’ apartment. The door shuts on its own behind me and I don’t bother to turn around to look at it. The house smells orange fragranced room fresheners and I instantly get a headache. Harry vanishes somewhere, and I didn’t see where he went to.

I take in the look in front of me- a tattered carpet takes the most of the room and sofas sit at its edges from three sides. Just opposite to it is a wall mounted television, unlike the fifty inch screen that I expected. This one was half of what I had imagined and two wooden planks sheltered a bunch of CDs. The living room is half of what I live in, or for that matter, used to live in and I feel myself being suffocated in the enclosure. A pair of heavy, large curtains falls down in pleats from a pelmet that almost touches the ceiling.

Since Harry is nowhere around, I presume I am welcomed and I help myself in. The living room opens in a small kitchen-cum-dining space. The kitchen is an absolute mess. Doesn’t he have cleaners? I have three of them back at my place. Or my ex place. Hey there subconscious, thanks for the interruption.

The dirty dishes are still in the sink and the pans on the stove. An incandescent bulb is lit and the only neat thing present there is a dark coloured wooden table, that can seat four people. Interwoven bamboo mats are already laid on the table, and i imagine, he barely uses the dining table since he lives here alone.

Harry’s voice startles me when I am running my fingers through the table mat.

“What are you doing?” He asks, quiet and yet demanding.

“Umm… nothing. Where were you?” I furrow my eyebrows. I don’t know why, but I think I want him to be near me. He pulls out a phone, it looks like a blackberry.

“I had an extra connection, you can call your friends and they can take you.”

“Isn’t it too early to call? I mean they still may be somewhere near my parents, and what if they come to take me?” I start to panic.

“You aren’t helping, you know that, don’t you?”

“The caller ID is restricted. No one will get to know what number this is, and no one would be able to call back, or track our location. Technology.” He says, rolling his eyes. I sigh and take the phone from his hands.

The word ‘technology’ sends the thoughts of Marcel running in my head. Would he be hurt? Did he actually like me, or was he being forced into this, just like me? Why the fuck do I care anyway?

The biggest problem with the invention of the cell phones is that they don’t let you remember contact numbers. Speed dial makes things worse. However, after a few failed attempts, i am successful in dialling Carly’s number. The call goes straight to voice mail, and I am pissed at the bitch. That’s the only fucking number I remember, besides my own.

My own number! I hurriedly type the digits, with my small trembling fingers, while Harry is gathering a bunch of his underwears that were spread across the table in the room opposite to where we were standing.

“Sorry, the drier broke and this was the last resort.” He says softly looking at the ground, a prominent shade of scarlet flushed across his cheeks. I am smiling like an idiot, not at all concerned about what I am going to say when someone picks up. The last thing i remember is, shoving my phone in Caty’s clutch purse, and I really hope it’s her who picks up.

And so she does.

“Hello?” I hear the familiar voice.

~.*.*.*.~

 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VOTE IF YOU HAVE READ THROUGH THE END. AND PLEASE LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS AND REVIEWS. THEY WILL HELP ME TO BE A BETTER WRITER. :)

LOVE,

-Bumblebee_Payne