Life on the Run (Harry Styles)

Chapter 4

Becca

Rain slams against the rental car's windshield as Liam pulls through the drive-thru McDonald's. We both order a cheeseburger, fries, and a coke. Liam hands the worker a ten dollar bill.

We had traded our English currency for American money. Things are so strange here. The cars drive on the wrong side of the road, the money is different, the people. Everything is different.

We scarf down the food. The airplane peanuts didn't satisfy our stomachs.

Liam drives steadily in the pouring rain in search of an okay-looking motel. He pulls up to a dingy looking one and parks. We both pull our hoods up to save ourselves from some rain, and with our backpacks on we run into the lobby. We drip water onto the surprisingly clean tile and the woman behind the desk looks at us with annoyance.

"Can I help you?" The woman eyes us up and down.

I put on my best American accent and smack my gum in indifference. "We'd like to book a room for the night."

She takes my money and hands me two room keys. "Check out is at 11."

She smiles and winks at Liam and I'm filled with disgust. Obviously we look like we're together. People here are much more forward.

I take off up the stairs and Liam follows after me as I find our room on the third, and top, floor.

"314." I slip the key in the slot and push the door open.

"Wasn't expecting this," he says with astonishment.

There are two double beds, equipped with white sheets and a red floral comforter. A large TV sits on a large light wood dresser. A white swirl bathroom counter is attached to the wall, and a sliding door holds a toilet and tub inside. I sit my backpack on a chair and Liam places his on the same one.

"I'm in desperate need of a hot shower," I say, pulling my hoodie off over my head.

"Don't use all the hot water," he groans and picks up the remote, flopping onto the bed. The TV flickers to life and he messes around with the stations.

"No promises!" I call, already inside the bathroom. I turn the shower up to its full heat and climb in. The water pressure from the shower head hits my back and I moan involuntarily.

After a good while, I reluctantly turn the water off and twist a towel around my hair and wrap a second one around my body.

I hold the towel tightly around me with one hand while I dump the contents of my backpack onto the bed with my other. Liam disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door and a moment later the noise of water hitting the tub fills my ears.

I pull grey sweatpants and a long sleeve navy shirt on. The room is kept freezing, probably to keep some sort of fungus or disease away.

I flop onto the bed, flipping through the channels as I run a comb through my hair. I stop on a news station, my curiosity getting the best of me.

"We've gotten an anonymous tip that Harry Styles, pictured to the left, has left England. We're not sure where he's moved on to, but please if you see him or have any information or suspicion, please don't hesitate to call 911," the TV reporter says. My eyes dart to picture. It's him. Liam. Harry. I don't know what to call him.

"Styles, along with fellow help that have been arrested, have murdered a total of seven people in the past two weeks," the reporter starts the story but after the first sentence, I don't hear anymore. I can't. I don't notice when the water turns off, when the door slides open, when the murderer steps out of the bathroom with water droplets trickling down his tattooed body, or even when he stands in front of me snapping his fingers.

"Becca?" He waves his hand in front of me. "Becca!" He grips my shoulders and shakes me. As my brain rattles, I come to my senses.

"You're disgusting," I whisper, feeling bile slosh around.

"Wha-"

"You're disgusting!" I shout. "Don't touch me! Get your hands off me!" I scream, flailing under his touch.

"Becca, I don't get-"

"Harry Styles is 22, roughly 6'2 and 160 pounds." Harry, Liam, Andrew, I don't know what to call him. I don't know who he is. His jaw slackens and he turns around to face his mugshot from what looks like a year ago. His eyes darken and he clenches his fists and slams them into the wall.

Harry

I slam my fist against the wall, leaving a nice sized hole for the maintenance to fix, if this motel even can afford maintenance.

"Am I next?" Her small voice squeaks, reminding me this isn't a crazy dream. I turn around and face her. She's standing wide-eyed with her hand on the door, ready to run.

I let out a strangled sigh. "I'm not gonna kill you, Becca."

"I don't know that. I don't know you. I need to go home, I don't care if I get caught. Please, let me go," she begs.

"Fuck, Becca. You can't go. You have to trust me."

"How do you expect me to trust you?! Why am I even having this conversation with you? A murderer!" She laughs manically.

I grab her bag and hold it out tauntingly. "How are you gonna get home? I have all your clothes and money."

"Harry, please," she whimpers. I feel a stabbing pain in my chest.

"I don't have anything to kill you with, I left my gun and knife and everything at my flat!" I protest, desperate to prove to her I won't hurt her. She twists the door and steps slowly outside.

"Fuck!" I scream, sitting on the edge of the bed. I bury my head in my hands thne I hear the click of the door and I know she's gone. I shouldn't be so attached to her anyways. Maybe it's for the best.

The bed indents with the weight of something, but I can't bring myself to look.

"Against my better judgement, I trust you."

Sorry this chapter is so short, it's mainly a filler! They'll get longer soon but school starts tomorrow so I might not update as much! -Sydney