Yours, Clara- A Harry Styles Love Story

Chapter Three

The long-ish walk home gave me plenty of time to second guess myself.

I finally stripped off my heels and I slung them by their shimmery straps as I walked and thought.

It was cold out, despite the still aflame car just behind me, and I struggled to keep warm by rubbing my arms. The air smelt of burning rubble from the crash, and it was clouded with a thin veil of smoke. Birds fled from the smoke, and I envied them for it.

I felt a lump in my throat, but I couldn’t go back, for what’s done is, unfortunately, done. I thought of my parents. Once they stumbled home and learn of the crash, will they even care? I shook my head no, they didn’t really love me. They’d probably be overjoyed for all of the press that they will get, or at least, relieved that they don’t have me to tarnish the imfamous “Braxton Family Name”, as Mother puts it.

My thoughts wander again, this time, to what the hell I was planning to do after this. I honestly was not going to “die” tonight, it was more of an in the moment decision. I made an imaginary list in my head:

1.       First, I would go home and collect just a few nessacary things: some money, a bit of extra clothes, but not much, because I was supposed to be dead, not AWOL.

2.       Then, I would catch a plane, it didn’t matter wear I went, as long as it was far, far away from here.

3.       I’d change my name and start a new life for myself, get a job or an education, and live in peace, and most importantly, normality.

4.       I’d die a happy, un-famous old woman, satisfied with my rash decision of pretending to die.

I smiled to myself, simple enough.

My phone, which was inside my clutch that I managed to save from the explosion, buzzed and I checked it.

A text from Matt. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Oh. No ‘xx’ at the end AND he used correct grammar and spelling? He must mean serious business.

I knew what I had to do.

I sighed, stroking the smooth black surface of my iPhone’s screen, kissing it goodbye, and threw it down on the concrete street, shattering the screen, but not totally destroying it.

“Damn lifeproof case,” I muttered as I picked it up and threw it again, this time, impaling it several times with the heel of one of my shoes, as if it was a symbol for the life that I wanted so desperately to excape.

Satisfied, I walked the rest of the way in silence. Complete, utter silence; even my mind kept it’s fat ass mouth shut.

When the door to my house swung open to reveal a sad, empty house, I shut my eyes and ran quickly up the winding staircase and up to my room, making sure not to upset any unwanted memories that have been dormant in my head for months.

I called for a cab so it would be here when I was finished up here.

I grabbed a nondescript, boring dufflebag, and hurriedly began stuffing things into it. I grabbed a few pairs of skinny jeans, I had loads so I doubt anyone would notice that any were missing. I took some tee shirts, my second-favorite Jack Wills jumper, knowing that my favorite had to stay, to preserve the lie. I added almost nothing else, just two pairs of shoes: navy converse and peach Keds and a picture of my, err… ex… Eric.

Saying that our relationship ended badly was a horrible understatement.

Remembering that I was still in my dress, I changed into a pair of the skinnies and the jumper and put my dress and shoes in the bag.