Idiosyncrasy (Harry Styles AU)

7

           Harry's POV 

   Let's just say trips to the grocery store for me are always so eventful. Something always happens to me whether it be hitting a monkey with my car, or some old lady asking me to help her find her glasses.

And of course I'm not completely cold hearted, so I checked to see if the monkey was okay and I found the old lady's glasses.

But nothing like this has ever happened to me on a grocery trip.

The feeling of continually being watched hangs over me like a cloud. Shivers run up and down my spine and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

As I look around the store, everything seems normal.

Stop it, Harry. You're just paranoid. I try to tell myself.

But the feeling stays.

I buy my groceries and head back to the car. Shutting the door after me, I reach into my glove compartment and retrieve my pistol. Shoving it into the back of my pants, I look around again.

I know its dumb to feel like this, and to carry a gun in my car. But I'm always prepared.

When I reach the lobby, I race to the elevator. Tapping my foot impatiently, I jump every time it dings at each floor.

I duck into my flat, shutting and locking the door behind me. I drop the groceries on the floor and press myself against the wall, breathing heavily. I can feel my heart beating in my throat and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on my forehead.

I know I've been followed here. By who, I have no idea. But the feeling is unmistakable.

I don't know how long I've been standing here against the wall, but my breathing and heartbeat don't slow down a bit. And it gets even worse when there's a knock at the door.

I close my eyes, reaching for the pistol I hid earlier.

I carefully take a peek through the peephole and breathe a sigh of relief as the person calls out "room service".

But then my anxiety returns as I think of the possibilities. That person could have a gun or some kind of weapon.

I mentally slap myself though when I realize I'm being paranoid. All these years in solitude have really messed me up.

But I have to make a decision, and quick.

I take a deep breath and yank open the door, grabbing the girl's arm and pulling her inside before she can scream. I press her back up against my chest and hold her in place, clamping a hand over her mouth.

I then decide I have to say something.

I still have the pistol in my hand, which I know is a mistake because now she thinks I'm going to hurt her.

My breathing is still heavy as I lean down to her ear. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm being followed . . ." I trail off, realizing I sound ridiculous.

She grips my arm that's around her waist tightly, not responding in any other way.

"If I let you go, don't scream or I'll use this gun," I threaten through my teeth.

I decide against searching her for a weapon since she already seems terrified.

She nods vigorously against my chest, and I release her.

She cowers against the opposite wall, clutching something in her hand. She's basically disappeared into the shadows, as I've forgotten to turn on the lights.

"What's that?" I demand, motioning to whatever is in her fist.

She eyes the gun in my hand, and I carefully shove it back into the waistband of my jeans, rolling my eyes.

She still hesitates, but slowly reaches her hand out to me. "A m-massage came for y-you," she stammers, voice quiet as a mouse.

I squint my eyes, looking at her in the dark. I recognize that dark blue hair instantly.

"Bethany?" I chuckle, quickly taking the paper from her.

She nods slowly. "Harry . . . I didn't know you lived in this room."

I laugh dryly, ignoring her statement.

Bethany doesn't say anything else as I rip open the envelope.

"Been moved from receptionist to room service, eh?" I can't believe I'm making small talk with someone. And I can't believe I'm a little disappointed that she won't be at the front to annoy anymore.

She shakes her head. "I'm just filling in today." Her voice is still quiet, and I have to lean forward to hear her properly. My spirits lift just a bit at her announcement.

I read the note, chewing my lip. Someone is indeed following me, and this message makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

It takes me a few seconds to recover, and I remember that Bethany is still here.

"I-uh . . . Don't tell anyone about this . . . I was just being paranoid," I whisper.

She nods, and I don't know it I can fully trust her not to tell the cops, but she seems sincere.

I unlock the door again, and she scurries out.

As soon as she's gone, I read over the note again and shivers run up and down my spine.

Styles,

Nice groceries.


I lay awake in bed that night, exhausted but too scared to sleep.

Questions are filling my mind. Such as, who's watching me? How do they know me? What do they want?

My mind spins with curiosity, but I'm also frightened.

More like terrified.

I lay there trying to answer these questions for myself, but I know it's useless.

Getting out of bed, I stumble over to my kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge.

I seem to drown my anxieties in alcohol more than usual lately. I feel like something is about to happen, something terrible. But I can't put my finger on it.

That just makes my anxiety even worse.