New York [harry styles au]

19

19.
January, 1973. It even felt strange to write that date, never mind live it. 1972 had slipped through my fingertips, the fingertips that were now wrapped in warm knitted gloves as I stepped routinely along the sidewalk with Angelina. It was the first Saturday of January and she was still searching for employment. She hadn't been as lucky as me and I felt bad for her in that way-- if anyone deserved another career more than I, it was Angelina. Store after store, step after step; it all began to get tiresome and even she realised that. It wasn't that she didn't have the money to support herself, it was the job itself-- working for Jonathan didn't aid the stability of her already deteriorating frame of mind.

When it was 6pm and we had been defeatedly situated in a coffee house for a lengthy period of two hours, Angelina decided that enough was enough and that we should travel back to Harry's apartment. His apartment was a safe haven for times like this and I was thankful for it's existence. We linked arms as we stepped outside into the chilly air. At the exact moment of the sharp breeze hitting us, small snowflakes began to gracefully cascade from the sky. Not much longer and a blanket of snow joined them, causing a circular storm of snowy winds. Angelina hurried as I held her tightly and guided her through the blurry streets to the apartment. She stopped halfway and grabbed a handful of the cold substance, creating a ball and throwing it at my shoulder; we burst into laughter. Laughter that didn't subside until we were in the corridor outside Harry's apartment. Just as we entered it, the door to his home swung open and outside stepped Mr Golden. His presence silenced our laughter, my giddiness halted mostly because of the seriousness of his character, how much he intimidated Harry and I. Angelina stopped laughing for a whole other reason. Her mouth was wide as I peered at her and I raised an eyebrow of confusion, glancing at Jonathan to find him sending a strangely curious look towards her. That's when she began to scream.

"That's him!" She yelled, forcefully grabbing my arm and almost pushing me to the floor in shock. My other arm held the wall as I tried to steady her frantic movements. Jonathan just stood still in disturbance, staring directly at her with a deafening scowl.

"He did it! He's the one who raped me!" Her screams were hauntingly loud as she backed further away from him in fright, hiding behind my back as I kept my arms spread as a guard around her; I was stood between them like a gate, my deepest disgust laced through my facial features as I stared at the devil himself, Jonathan.

Her screaming instantly caused Harry's door to open with a bang once again, Harry stepping out with concern. His furrowed eyes searched Angelina's traumatised face before instantly flashing a look at Jonathan.

"He did it!" Angelina repeated and that's all it took for Harry to pounce towards him, fists clenching at his sides, Jonathan swiftly turning and running towards the exit of the corridor just as quickly.

"Stay there." I instruct a hysteric Angelina as she slides down the wall and falls to the floor in defeat. My hand gently squeezed her shoulder in an effort to comfort, draping my coat around her shoulders, before I rapidly turned on my heel and raced behind Harry. Jonathan was quick, running down the stairs two steps at a time and Harry tried to grab him with all his might. I eventually caught up to him.

Jonathan stayed silent for the whole trip outside from the apartment block, his panting breath the only thing to be heard from him. Harry was piercingly silent, his face was a melting pot of anger, disgust, hurt and frustration. "I'm going to kill you," was the only thing to be shouted from him as the two of us paced outside to follow the villain and hit the chillingly cold air; snow was still gracefully falling from the clouds above, only now the sky was a pitch black darkness. Jonathan raced to his ebony Mercedes-Benz, shimmering with reflection of light from the streetlamp above. He swung the driver door open, quickly fetching something from the glove compartment. Before I could see what it was, Harry stopped dead in his tracks before me. There was a safe distance between him and Jonathan, and that's when I noticed the .44 magnum revolver in his grip. The end of the gun pointed towards Harry's chest. Harry's breathing was rushed, so rushed I thought he might collapse, as he flung his arms up in the air as an act of defence. I stopped beside him, Jonathan quickly pointed the gun in my direction to prevent me moving any closer, before returning it to Harry again.

"Any of you come near me, it'll be your blood splattered all over this pavement." Jonathan screeched. It was the most vulnerable I had ever seen him, sweat beads fell from his forehead even in such icy climate and his breathing was even more rushed than Harry's. His face was beet red and his hands, wrapped in black leather gloves and clutching the pistol, were shaking with adrenaline. His suit suddenly seemed untidy and his professional aura had escaped him as soon as the gun appeared into view.

"Don't touch him!" I yell and Harry immediately falls back to reality, his right arm swinging out to push me away from Jonathan's direction of the gun. I keep my resistance and he looks all the more hurt with my disobedience.

"Shut up, bitch! Don't get involved with shit that you can't handle." Jonathan scowled at me like he had to Angelina.

"Don't speak to her like that!" Harry yells, stepping closer to him in anguish and I nearly scream.

"Shut up, Harry!" I shout, my arm pushing him back away from Jonathan.

"This won't end badly," Jonathan begins, "If you will just let me leave. Let me go. It was only one time. I'll never do it again. I'd hate to see your remains on the side of this road, Harry." Jonathan says, but I only keep my eyes situated on Harry. His pupils were dark and I notice him gulping in utter hatred, eye contact never leaving between him and Jonathan's deadly stare.

It took all of Harry's might to eventually gesture towards his car and Jonathan's mouth curved into his usual satisfied smirk in reaction. He nods towards Harry and says, "you've made the right decision" before cautiously entering the vehicle. His stare never left Harry as he did so. The engine suddenly roared to life just like Harry's tears as they raced down his cheeks. Harry's fists pounded the metal of the car, his knuckles quickly becoming bloody, as Jonathan speeded off onto the road like a disappearing magic trick into the night. Harry stayed still for a while as I looked at the ground in the now deathly silence.

He muttered nothing as his body turned and headed towards the entrance of the building again. I glanced up to see the towering main door being held open by a female figure, moving closer to find that it was Angelina. Her red eyes were brimmed with pearly tears. As soon as Harry reached her, she swung her arms around his neck and they both sobbed into each other's shoulders. I used my hands to guide them inside as Harry held Angelina close, like a daughter. His arm stayed around her shoulders as both of their waterworks wouldn't come to an end. They slowly entered the apartment, dragging their feet as they did so and I took my coat from Angelina's shoulders, returning it to the back of one of the dining chair. My eyes searched for her after I did to find her sat with Harry on the sofa, both of them engulfed in another deep hug and the reality of the situation hit me once again as I heard her frantic sobs. They couldn't escape the reins of Jonathan's business, they were much too deep now and they knew it, they had always knew it. That was why Harry was so defenceless against the tyrannous power of his manager; the manager that he convinced himself was a good person but was so wrong that it now made him sick. I don't doubt for a second that Harry initially held suspicions of Jonathan, but it was never enough to prevent such a hateful act as this from happening. Harry was much too weak, and the sad part? He had always been weak, and realistically, he always will be. A small boy from England, now living in New York, how much more vulnerable can you get? He didn't board that plane knowing what was coming for him once he arrived in America, so he had felt the delayed wrath of it all at once. I couldn't help but feel that the powerful visage that Harry held was now finally coming to an end.

It was merely an hour later when Harry clutched the white rum from the cupboard over the sink, placed it before Angelina on the coffee table, gave a sorrowful look to me and rang Beatrix and Smith to come over and drink with them. It seemed the best thing to do for Angelina at that time, home comforts.

Silence rang through the apartment as Beatrix was sat beside Angelina, her shoulder occupied with her friend's head. They were both clutching small glasses with straight white rum. Smith, who couldn't quite believe what had happened and failed to wrap his head around the situation, was sat alone at the dining table with his head in his hands. I was situated on the other sofa, staring at the blank wall before me and wondering how such a dreadful occurrence could ever be resolved. And Harry? He slowly paced around the living room like a runner warming up for a marathon. We did nothing to stop him because we all finally understood the act was up. The show was over, Harry had showed a rebirth to all of us-- the rebirth of his true self, his true fragile self-- the type only showed on the pages he wrote on. It was a transformation like no other. His fingers speedily ran through his chocolate locks as his eyes caught mine for the millionth time that day and I saw it. He didn't know what the hell he was doing anymore. And neither did we.