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His breath tampered on my neck as he backed me into a corner.
"Look at me." he demands in a disturbingly-menacingly-calm tone.
I couldn't.
He wants to hurt me. He wants me dead.
I felt his paradoxically gentle, soft hand grip my chin...
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Charlotte Thompson
If it weren't for the circumstances, I think I could really fall in love with New York.
Sure, there are lots of cons...but I do like the skyscrapers, and the street performers. I like the fact that you have to wave down a taxi.
It's like the movies. Like Home Alone...or Elf.
I'm now realizing that I've only really watched Christmas movies that are set in New York. Still counts, though.
Harry and I left Niall's party an hour ago. It was hard being there with Liam...it was like I felt him breathing down my neck. It's not very comforting knowing he wants me dead.
But Harry was almost more stressed than me, to the point where he nearly spiraled into a panic attack.
It was resolved though, with our little...rendezvous in the bathroom.
We went back to the suite to share a joint, but eventually both decided we didn't want to fall asleep.
We're in New York. I want to explore it a little.
Harry holds my hand tightly as we walk through the streets of New York City. There's plenty of people around, so that's why I'm not as worried about something happening...too many people will see it.
I look down at my hand in Harry's grasp as we walk. It's not a sight I'm completely used to yet, and I felt my cheeks burn.
He holds my hand when he feels like he needs to be protective. And I guess, in this case, he feels that need very strongly because my fingers are literally being crushed by his.
"Slow down." I chuckle as he pulls me through the streets. His legs are longer than mine.
"I just wanna get away from the crowd." his low voice mumbles, not letting up on his grip around my hand.
He looks handsome in his black dress shirt, his hair a bit more messy from the bathroom situation.
We probably stood out a little bit, both of us dressed up from the party.
Maybe that's why he wants to get away from the crowd, to avoid fans or paparazzi.
An idea suddenly pops into my head, causing a small smirk to spread across my face. He'll probably think it's stupid, because that's just like him to be no fun...but I don't care.
I clear my throat, taking my other hand and holding it up as if there was a microphone in it.
"So, Mr. Styles," I say, "how do you feel about performing in New York?"
He turns his head to look at me with lowered brows, examining my gestures. "Sorry?" he shakes his head.
"Will you come to New York more often, Mr. Styles?" I keep pushing.
