In the British Rain (A Harry Styles Short Story)

Chapter Two

People say when you travel to countries with great food, like Italy and France, you gain ten pounds. You gain weight off of spaghetti and Crepes and never look back because the food is so delicious.

It turns out you gain the same amount when you're in a country, not known for it's food, eating snacks from a mini-fridge. My hotel didn't have room service, but it did have a quality collection of junk foods in the fridge. Oh and the peanuts, those are healthy and were in stock.

"House cleaning," the women sang from outside the door after a knock. I looked at the room surrounding me. There was the unmade bed, the clothes scattered on the floor, the overflowing trash can, and then the window streaked with rain. Every time the lady would come by to clean I'd still be in my room, watching BBC, and trying to convince myself I was having fun. Six days into my stay, I finally decided to leave that room, and let her do her job. My giving in may have sprouted from the fact I was disgusted with my living space, or from the fact I was going stir crazy. Whatever it was though, it got me out of that room.

"I'll be out in a minute," I shouted in reply, hopping out the still unmade sheets, and searching through my luggage for my wallet. After digging through a pile of dirty clothes mixed with clean I found it along with my purse.

"Should I come back later?" The women asked, I quickly stood up so my voice could be heard quickly.

"I'm coming out the door right now," I replied, shuffling over next to the TV stand and slipping on my tennis shoes. I had planned to wear cute little sandals and such throughout my stay, but when I arrived I was thankful I had packed one sensible option.

When my hand clamped down on the handle and I pulled it open I was greeted by the cleaning lady I had heard the voice of for days, but never seen with my eyes. "Thank you," I said quickly, a smile on my face when I could smell the cleaning supplies against the waft of a mixture if candy, soda, and potato chips.

"Enjoy your visit in London," she replied, only a hint of emotion in her voice. I followed her gaze to my bedroom, or lair, and bit my lip. Judging on the woman's reaction to the mess I decided it'd be best to stay out of the room for a few hours.

In my elevator ride down I was able to look at my reflection and tame my hair into a ponytail. I also had time to realize that I had no umbrella, and no idea what to do. As I grew up I imagined flying to London, somehow meeting a handsome boy with an accent on the flight, and have him show me city. Now I only had me, myself, and I to keep company with. The reality was that I had no idea where I going.

When the doors opened, and I stepped out into the lobby, the first thing I heard was the sound of heavy rain fall, and then a sports game. The sight of the lobby was pretty bland. The only other person to be seen was a man at the front desk, watching a tennis match from a small television across the room.

"Excuse me," I blurted, making my way toward the man, as he acknowledged that he had guests. He pushed himself up from the counter and gave me a quick, forced smile. "I was wondering if you had any umbrellas for sale?" I asked, and the man gave me a look.

"The hotel doesn't, but I know that there's a store next door that does," he answered, "Marie's, that's the store name." I felt a genuine smile creep onto my lips. I could grab an umbrella and walk the streets, the rain wicked away from me. I'd wander the streets and go into places that seemed interesting to me. The rain wouldn't ruin my trip, I was as free as a butterfly. "But miss, everyone's advised to stay indoors," he added, and my happy visions halted. I should have known a butterfly can't fly in the rain; it just stays on ground, unable to fly.

"Can I go outside?" I asked, and the nabs lips were in a thin line.

"Well yes but-" he started, and I knew a protest was about to begin so I cut him off. With a shake of my head, and a look cast in the door's direction I had shut him up.