21 Murders | Harry Styles AU (discontinued)

XLV. Exoneration

exoneration (noun):  the action of officially absolving someone from blame; vindication

Harry's POV

The plane's jets screech loudly as we swiftly glide on the surface of wet pavement. In harsh gusts of wind, torrential rain downpours on the thick windows and makes everything look more dreary. For some reason, when I thought about arriving back in England, I thought it would be drastically different.

That time would mend the cracks of broken concrete in each sidewalk and the trees would all of a sudden look more lively. Instead, I'm just reminded of the exact reasons why I left this country. Every step I take down the road in my flimsy rain coat proves me more wrong for coming here. I instantly regret it, but truth be told, there are problems here that I have to fix before moving on with the case. And El - if I even plan to do that.

Right now my head is so confused. Clouds fog my reasoning between being rightfully pissed off or just plain overdramatic. The bottom line is, I know that everyone has been keeping secrets from me and at that moment, in the bare minimum truth, that was enough of a solid decision to force me into such drastic measures.  I was pushed over the edge by my own friends, family, and heart; now I have to pick up the pieces starting from the beginning.

Which is here, in Holmes Chapel, England.

"Have a nice day," the polite air hostess smiles and I do my best to reciprocate the action. It comes off slightly forced and awkward, but she doesn't take notice as the next passenger- the man who sat behind me- gawks at her and slips her his number.

I roll my eyes but focus more on the thick strap cutting into the skin of my boney shoulder. Noelle always picks on my posture, saying that one day I will be old and walking through the supermarket with my head under the cart's bar. This humors me to this day because I know she finds the utmost amount of annoyance at my hunch, which I undoubtedly find adorable. 

The last thing I need to be doing right now, though, is thinking about the good times we had. Unless that is what I should be doing? I have no idea. Focusing on us when we weren't arguing- which was mostly all the time- is the only distraction from pain and heartbreak, but it is also the most important factor at why I'm here.

Shuffling through the airport, I call a cab and manage to find a some-what dry spot to wait until it arrives. The clouds are a dark grey and swirl fast with the wind. People rush down the streets in thin, brightly colored garbage-bag-looking coats and umbrellas.

I will never understand the need to have the most blinding umbrella color.

Finally, after twenty minutes of people-watching, a yellow cab pulls up to the curb and the burly man sticks his arm out the window while hollering, "Oi! I don't have all day!" Disregarding his harsh tone, I pinch the sides of my hoodie that cover my cheeks, and run toward the backseat door.

"The rain is really coming down today," he announces more to himself as we pull off the curb and fight the traffic exiting the airport.

I feel for a woman standing in the rain on the street, clutching a dog kennel and a baby stroller. I'd offer her my cab if she weren't blowing smoke straight into her child's face. Looking back between both passenger and driver's seat, I flatly respond to the man. "Yeah."

"Where to, mate?"

After informing him of my destination, I have to force myself to endure a long and boring speech about how he grew up in this part of town, and that it is far from what everyone believes it to be. I agree with him on this one and continue to silently nod as he goes on to speak about the run-down village with little-to-no purpose.