Labels 2

2 - Not You?

I open my eyes, and begin to wonder when I actually fell asleep. The last thing I remember was Harry's hand arching my back and quite a few too many moans here and there.

I grasp the sheets hoping to find a warm body but my hands come up with nothing. I sit up and look around.

The time showed 3PM. I check my phone and realize it's the same day.

Harry's inauguration has already begun.

I quickly throw on a robe and run to my window just by the garden. The music is slow and sweet as I watch Harry sit on a throne covered in flowers.

Many of the people sitting in the back garden are cheering. I spot Queen Annabeth sitting directly on the right of Harry. Her eyes looked grim and tired but a seed of excitement was still there.

On Harry's right was Dasnia. Her hair was professionally done in curls that wrapped into a bun, she was in a striking white dress, so long you couldn't even see her shoes while she was sitting.

But it didnt seem as they were married yet, in fact it seemed as if they were about to get married. Like in a mere few minutes. A priest appears from a wagon and stands right inbetween Dasnia and Harry as they both stand up.

I decided then, that I would not let this happen. I was not going to let Harry marry this woman. A woman that didn't love him, a woman that didn't know him or care about him like I do.

A woman that was marrying him partly to get back at her daughter.

I hurry down the steps which take me a good few minutes and put on my slippers.

Once I get to the door leading into the back garden I untwist the knob and sneak into the ceremony.

"-I do," Dasnia says.

My breathing hitches.

"And do you, Harry Styles, take Dasnia Walker, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer?" the priest asks.

There is a momentary pause, one I think that means something.

"No!" I scream running over to where Harry was standing.

A large gasp erupts from the audience.

"No Harry, please no, I love you, you know that I love you, and you know you want to marry me over her so please don't do this," I whisper.

Harry's face doesn't show even the slightest bit of anger.

"I was scared you were going to make me say those 2 words Paris Hansen," he says barely audible.

"Marry me."

Harry's lips press against mine and I feel like the whole world has stopped and my life is no longer a mess, and every single thing in the world that I loved has now come back.

I felt like poverty had stopped, and world hunger was a thing of the past. It was over. It was just Harry and I. That was all I could picture.

The kiss ends abruptly.

"Harry, what the hell?" Queen Annabeth yells from her chair. I gulp.

"Run!" Harry whispers.

We run to the door and exit the garden, making our way to the parking garage.

Harry fishes out his keys from his pocket and we both enter the expensive black car.

He sticks the key in the ignition and the car booms to life.

Before I know it we're driving down London. The city was not busy at all, people were screaming, cameras were flashing. Harry groans as he makes a sharp turn, I then realize we're headed down a rocky path.

"Where are we going?" I ask him, beginning to grow worried.

"Taking the private jet," he mumbles his lips pursing.

I sigh and look around as the road gets narrow-er and the path grows dirtier.

We're driving for about ten minutes before the road clears up, theres a helli pad near a small building and a jet parked right on top.

"Okay, when they ask your name, its Dasnia Walker got it?" he asks.

I nod my head although I have many many questions.

Once we're out of the car Harry goes inside of the building leaving me trailing behind. But before we enter the building Harry pulls out a black hoodie from his bag and hands it to me.

I tie it and hide my face.

"Yes, Harry Edward Styles, and my beautiful bride Dasnia Walker," he says lowly to the man who gives me a strange look.

"Is she alright?"

"Your concern should not be whether or not she is alright, is the jet ready?" Harry snaps.

"No sir, not for another half hour," the man says.

"Oh for fucks sake! You're paid thousands of dollars a month to make sure my jet is always fucking ready, get the hell out of here and dont come back!" Harry yells.

"Harry stop!" I yell back.

Harry twists around and his face is stained with tears, his eyes red, his face red.

"What.. What's wrong?" I ask.

His eyes move from to me to the floor. He wipes the lingering tear in his eye and takes a deep breath as he turns back to the guy manning the counter.

"I'm deeply sorry," he mumbles.

The man nods as if he were used to this. Was he used to this?

Harry walks to a set of chairs and sits down. I sit across from him.

"Harry why are you crying?" I ask.

He rests his face in his hands for a moment before finally looking at me.

"What are we doing?" he asks me. I don't know why but those four words cut through my heart like a knife. I swallow the gigantic lump in my throat and look down at the floor.

It was a white floor but there was not even a trace of dirt, almost as if no one had ever walked on it. I noticed how uncomfortable the chair i was sitting in was. As if no one had sat in that very chair before me.

But the thing I noticed the most were the portraits on the wall. Different men and women, dressed in expensive attire. Their faces grim and unexcited. Almost haunting.

"I don't know Harry," I finally respond.

His face remains solemn.

"But what I do know is that I love you, and that you love me, and-"

"But I don't think that's enough, I just gave up becoming the king of England, I just gave that up, I don't know what i'm doing anymore. Everything I do is on impulse now, I was never like that.. Until I met you," he says.

His eyes look painful.

As each word passes through his lips it's like a stab through my heart.

"You didn't have to give that up," I say.

"How? I can't have you and all of England-"

"Why not?" I ask.

His eyes grow wryly.

"Let's go back." I say.

Harry smiles at me, the first genuine smile Ive seen from him in ages.

"Let's go back," he repeats.