A Girl Named His [Liam Payne AU]

Prologue [0]

Click, snap, click, snap...

The sound of my black heels, now scuffed and stained crimson, resounded from the cement below to the breeze above as I stomped on the littered twigs in my path. My ankle twisted painfully a few seperate times as a result, but, albeit wincing; I ignored it. A twisted ankle was fickle compared to what I had endured, and what I was about to reveal in a few short moments.

Whistle, cling, whistle, cling...

The various assortment of bronze and pale pink beads and sequins sewn into my couture dress hung on each of their last thread, creating somewhat of a chiming sound against the late winter winds of London. The once shimmering and perfectly crafted dress that created shapes against my acceptably thin body now fell dully and tattered off my repulsive, bony frame. And now, unlike before; the dress was similarily splattered with the same rouge as my shoes.

Inhale, exhale, exhale, exhale...

As the destination became visible through the midnight, the breath that was once restricted to my lungs now released harshly into the bitter air. I couldn't emphasize enough how both incomparable excitement and unthinkable anxiety raced throughout every violet vein underneath my skin. I was so ecstatic that it was over, that now when I peeked behind my shoulder as I was walking, no one was following suit behind. But my anxiety was the derivative cause of this simple fact; I had freed myself only to be locked up in a different type of way. And because of that, I couldn't truly believe that either the excitement or anxiety was greater.

Sooner than I would've liked, I found my bloody footprints stain a linoleum surface rather than the one of cement and my windchime of a dress lay still against the dry air of indoors. The precinct was bustling with various walks of life, even at this time of the night. In the old chairs to the side were sobbing mothers and victims of various crimes alike, while heaps of flannel and bandana toting thugs were being escorted in silver handcuffs and taken behind a single, metal door in the back of this space. One of them, before disappearing behind the same door, winked suggestively at my lack of clothed self before mouthing the rather eloquoent phrase, "fuck me." Shuddering violently, I clamped my eyes shut and waited for the usual sounds of both colorful curses and pitiless punches to be delivered by my famous counterpart and boom throughout my eardrums. But in this case, the unfamilar silence was deafening.

Squinting my eyes open hesitantly, I shuffled closer and quicker to the main desk as the sight of a seated, short and chubby police woman with stringy, raven hair became visible, her eyes locked sternly on the flashing computer screen in front of her. She glanced down to an apparent color-coded paper beside her every few seconds, and then proceeding to type the paper's information into the computer. I waited some time for her to notice me herself, to acknowledge my presence so I could do what I walked over two miles to do; confess. But the plump officer never did, as she was far too entranced by her task. Before I could even consider fleeing the building to avoid my palpable harsh consequences from what I intended to say, I decided to conquer the first move.

"I'm here to report a murder."

The police clerk didn't even remotely lift up her head at my statement.

She must've heard this same exact sentence being repeated many times over the fifteen years she had held this job, I figured, as her badge stated.

"Mhm," she murmured as she typed using various keys on her keyboard. "Of who?"

I stood as still and stiff as the air surrounding me for a moment, before saying the name that would inherently change my relatively simple, quiet life forever more.

"Liam Payne."

Indeed, I was correct. The once indifferent lady behind the desk snapped her head upright as she gawked at me, her wrinkly mouth agape and her hazel eyes stunned. In this same expression, she scanned my body every which way and I already suspected she had taken notice to my ragged and bloody apperance, as her eyes grew even more horrified and enthralled; that she was the one to have first known about the murder that would surely plaster the Daily Sun and multiple other news sources headlines for months on end.

Raising her sight back towards my purple and blue splotched eyes, she reluctantly cocked her head towards me, questioning me telepathically if I, in fact, was the one who committed such a heinous crime against a man of such prestige and fame.

I now knew which of the two emotions I had debated about before weighted heavier against me, as I was terrifingly despondent for a few instances more. A second before the clock on the wall loudly struck 1:00 A.M, I nodded my head both up and down.

As she hesitantly murmured various codes and immediate requests for arresting officers to make their way over here, I realized how much not only my lifestyle, but my reputation, would change. This is what I'd be remembered as for the rest of my miniscule life on this planet; the girl who murdered Liam Payne, the girl who had supposedly, "turned his life around," before taking the same life away, a girl who was never thought about in the slightest without him appearing next to her.

A girl, eternally named "his."

A/N:

Man, I am so excited to write this story! It will be more female character centered than Liam, a sorta've behind the scenes of fame and the extremes that can come with it. A warning, however; this is intended for a mature audience, with vivid and graphic mentions of sex, murder, drugs and such. DO NOT READ if you don't think you can stomach those things.

Oh, and merry /almost/ Christmas!