Fashionista

Five.

"I know Angella is mad but I said I'm on my way! Can't you wait for fucking five minutes!" I throw my phone on the side passenger seat and focus myself on the road. That fucking wound won't stop biting my foot away and I fucking forgot about today's show because I was wasting myself with that asshole, concentrating on every detail of his personality.

Pulling into the parking of the Today's show venue, god knows what the hell is this place, I rush to the backstage door, well, I try to rush. People are going nuts and this is, by far, the most unorganised show I've done. I'm gonna eat Angella's brain out.

I'm literally being dragged to the make up area and forced to sit on the bench and covered with shit smelling make up. I never liked the smell of make up. My costume is thrown on my face to change and I swear to god Angella has to answer each and every fucking piece of this shit.

"Ciara! Your Queue in Five!" A shrill voice girl announces through the loud speakers and I step into the shitty heals that I have to wear for this collection. My bloody foot is hurting like hell, it feels like Icould cut of my foot any second and throw away, but I can't let this small wound to get in the way of my career.

I walk out as soon as the previous model returns back. All eyes shift in amazement, I am so used to this now, but only one pair of orbs that I didn't expect to see here are expressing something else. What is it? Concern? Anger? bullshit.

The show is over and every model is busy in gossiping about random stuff that I don't give a shit to discuss about, or either they're busy in woo-ing the handsome faces among the guests and are extremely failing in it. I can see "I'm pissed of and leave me alone" clearly written on their foreheads.

I fall back in the chair and close my eyes to recover through the pain of  the wound. I feel someone enter my personal space and holding a gaze on my face. My eyes open to see him again. Styles.

"You should've stayed home today."

"Fuck off. You're no one to tell me what should I do or not." Why does he always has this image in his mind that I will actually listen to him. The world might blast, but that's the last thing that will never happen. The only person I listen to is me.

In another swift move, same as last night, he picks me up from the chair and throws me on his shoulder.

"You're going home right away."

"Fuck it Styles put me down right now!" I yell and hit his back and kick my legs hard in an attempt to get off of his shoulders but my actions seem to have no effect on his grip or decision.

"My car is in the parking, I have to get that!" I say in a hope that he will put me down and I can run away.

"I called Louis. He took your car and It's already parked at your home." What the actual fuck is this guy. He's getting on my nerves so easily and I'm letting him do so! What the hell is happening! Why the hell did he came and encountered me out of all people!

Again I'm in the passenger seat of the same car, the same minty fragrance covering the air in the car. Somehow, this fragrance sooths my nerves and relaxes my senses but sitting in the passenger seat makes me feel like I'm being controlled, being ruled over. That's one of the million things that fucking irritates me and it tops the list.

"So I was saying-"

"Shut up." I cut him.

"But I-"

"Shut the fuck up!" I repeat. And this time he obeys what  I say. Why can't he always be like this everytime?

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"It hasn't been taken care of and that's why it has turned to worst." The old wrinkled, white head doctor has to put me on the bed for three fucking days.

"I'll make sure its not disturbed anymore for the next three days doctor. Thank you for dropping by." Styles greet the doctor and exits the room to drop him to the exit. I pull out a cigarette from the box lying on the side table and bring it to ignition. The heat of the cloud of poisonous gases fills my lungs and brings my nerves to their normal state.

I just started to relax and Styles enter and ruins the funby snatching away the cigarette and dumping it into ashtray.

"What the fuck Styles!" I yell and all he does is smirk back. I hate it! Each and every time he does that I fucking hate it! I hate each and everything about him! I hate him.

sighing, I throw the covers on my face and drift to sleep, ignoring the presence of this huge disturbing element entering my personal space  and disturbing my aura.

My eyes open and I see no sign of Harry in the area of my sight. My lips form a curve and I stretch my arms on the sides. My right arm touches something soft, like hair. I turn my head to see him snoring softly beside me. His glossy curls falling on the neck tempt me to touch them and feel the softness as much as they appear to be.

Before I could even realise my hands already are playing with his hair, each finger tip touching and feeling the soft curls of his hair. From his hair my fingers trail to his face, tracing his jawline and then to his lips. As soft as they felt on my forehead, they're still the same on my fingerstips and I wonder what would it be like to kiss these plump lips.

I move my hand away but his hand grips my hand and places them on his lips, softly placing a kiss on my finger tips. The adrenaline is rushing through my viens, I feel like I could burst. I feel the heat on my cheeks and they turning to bright red.

I felt him.