Scrabble | Harry Styles

20

I was rehearsing a variation of things I wanted to say to Vic like an actor running lines from a script. I couldn't mess this up. 

I'd felt an underlying sense of guilt since I'd laid eyes on Harry; guilt about the possibility of leaving my best friend behind, and though I'd made attempts to cater to her, it was in this moment I felt I simply hadn't done so well enough.

She didn't trust Harry - but I did; I had. It was an instant jolt, an instant connection the second I'd met him on New Years' Eve, and even before I'd began to see him romantically, there was something about him. I'd told my mother that I'd fallen for his eyes, and I had. That twinkle of olive green occupied my mind constantly.

I couldn't wrap my head around Vic's disdain - though I didn't expect her to see Harry in the way I did, I couldn't comprehend her levels of dislike for him. Each time I'd bring my hand over the side of his face and trace his curls between my fingertips; each time I'd allow his eyes to burn into my own, allow the outline of his lips to brush over mine, I couldn't imagine anything but adoring him.

I held her letter tightly in my palm, the seal yet to be broken as I further neared her house. My feet were moving too fast for my mind to even dare to keep up, but regardless, the journey wasn't long, meaning I only had another block or two further to go. I breathed for the first time in what felt like several minutes, deciding I had better read the letter before I got there - then I'd at least know what she had intended to tell me, so that I could actually touch base on those very things. I lifted the envelope, continuing to walk as I slid my finger under the flap of the envelope and tore the adhesive apart.

I unfolded the piece of paper, tucking the envelope beneath my arm and eyeing it briefly, scanning the cursive of Vic's handwriting for a moment, before bringing my eyes to the first line. It was unlike her to write a letter, yes - it was more often than not a telephone call with a short-winded speech, if we ever had a falling out of sorts, then we would both laugh it off in a matter of moments - it was unlike her, but it wasn't beyond her to dramatise things into apology letters, or letters in which she explained her emotions, as that was just Vic.

It was due to this that a smile broke over my face as I read the first line, reeking of formality. 'My dearest Blair'. I read on.

'I don't know how this letter will find you - if it even finds you at all. Maybe he opens your mail now, I don't know. I'm writing this letter on January 23rd, because I think that Harry's going to kill me.'

My smile dropped instantly, as if it had ceased to exist to begin with. My throat was unbelievably dry, and I almost tripped over my own feet.

'He is threatened by me, in the way I am by him, only different - he is threatened in that our friendship prevails, and I am threatened in that he is willing to take my life to prevent it. I know he is - I see it in the way he glares, and hear it in the way he speaks. He wants to own you, and let nobody else within a mile. I can't compete, and I accept that - but my resignation is not enough. Harry wants me dead and he has told me so himself.'

I stopped in my tracks, reaching for a nearby fence belonging to a neighbouring front garden in order to steady myself. My chest was tight; it was heavy, the thickening air around me unable to penetrate. I couldn't comprehend the words in my grip, rereading them at least half a dozen times .

"If he has threatened me further, or more intensively - that is why you have received this letter. And if you're reading this, he has most likely got to me. Blair, I urge you to save yourself - please, give this to the police and stop him. He will not stop until he has segregated you from every other person in your life. I have proof that he murdered Finn, and I have undoubtable reason to believe he will go further. Harry Styles is psychotic - he is a liar, and he is insane. He will not stop. 

Do not forget how much I love you. You are my best friend through everything. No matter what, that is most true.

Yours, Vic."

My eyes lifted from the piece of paper, my hands shaking at the bomb-site Vic had just created with a matter of words.

Vic.

I was running now, at a pace unprecedented -  I was sprinting, desperate to reach her house before my mind dared to push any further against my own subconscious boundaries. I didn't dare to comprehend the words I had read.

I was going to get to Vic's and we'd both explain what a huge misunderstanding this was - what a rough few months we'd had, and we'd move forward - we'd be best friends, but I already feared it was too late for that, and I'd already pushed her too far away.

I sped around the corner, drawing to a halt as I was obstructed by a thick line of tape. My heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach, nausea flooding through my entire body. Flashing red and blue lights polluted my vision, the street packed with individuals crowding together. My feet carried me forward into the crowd, and I elbowed my way through, finding the root of it. 

Vic's mother stood outside at the centre, grocery bags at her feet. She must have been out like normal, running errands when she'd received word. Her hands were brought over her mouth, shaking and vibrating in bewilderment - I took a step to approach her, but my shoulder was tugged back - it was an older woman I recognised from town, her hand resting on my shoulder.

"Not too close, darling. Things only seem to be getting worse for us lot," she sent me a sympathetic look, before leaning around me to look at the scene, herself. 

"W-What's going on?" I dared to ask, my voice barely audible.

"That's what we'd all like to know - it's most definitely another body though. Bless her soul, that Victoria. So very tragic."

My hand flew to my mouth as an overwhelmed, harsh sob arose in my throat and threatened to become audible, my whole body turning to fire. It felt as if every waking moment since the evening of December 31st was replaying simultaneously through my mind, everything I failed in, and everything I could've done differently to stop it from coming to this.

"Oh, pet, don't worry," she rested her hand upon my arm. "They'll find whoever it was soon enough - we can't be scared. I heard they're already real close to catching him already. Got a witness this morning, saw a curly-headed lad leaving the house - don't fret."

My heart broke in that very moment, my knees wobbling and my hands shaking, turning horrifically cold. Tears began to stream down my cheeks, my face burning and my lips trembling. My mind flashed back to Vic's letter, still enclosed in my free hand, and what she had stated.

'If you're reading this, he has most likely got to me.'

'Harry Styles is psychotic - he is a liar, and he is insane. He will not stop. '

Sure, Harry was my happy place, but I felt it that very premise shatter at my feet, as I realised that he was merely a fabrication -  one in which he had painted and conjured before my very eyes.

Harry was a murderer. And he had just murdered my best friend.

-

all your comments hmmmm. continue speculating, its fun to watch

thank u for being patient. watch this space, love u <3