Contrite ✓

Chapter 15.

New York — 4 years ago

"Mr. Styles?"

The gruff voice coming from behind me had me jumping slightly by surprise and I turned to the police officer with a nod.

"I'm Brian McGregory. If you'll come with me," the burly, bald man muttered and gestured to what I assumed was his office.

I followed him inside, a feeling of despair settling in the pit of my stomach.

"Please, have a seat. May I offer you something to drink?"

"No, I'm good, sir," I mumbled and sat down by the wooden desk. I didn't want shit to drink, all I wanted was to get this mess over with.

Officer McGregory gave a court nod and sat down across from me, a frown covering his features.

"Well?" I prompted.

He cleared his throat lightly and picked up a paper that had been resting on the desk. "Mr Styles, what you have been through is very unfortunate but also much common."

I nodded slowly, fighting the urge to smack him in the face. I was more than aware of my situation and how unfortunate it was, he didn't have to rub it in my face.

"We have all the reason to believe you've been scammed and I'm afraid there isn't much we can do to help you since you're not an American citizen," McGregory said, not sounding the least sorry.

I let out a low groan and rubbed my hand across my forehead. "What do you suggest I do then?"

"If I were you, I'd call someone and ask them to finance your ticket back to England," he offered with a shrug.

"And how would I do that exactly, with my phone being stolen?" I snapped, starting to get way past frustrated.

The officer rose from his comfy looking chair and shuffled over to a cabinet in the corner. After rummaging through it, he soon pulled out a phone. Walking back over to the desk, he laid it in front of me and I shot him a suspicious glance.

He chuckled. "Don't look so surprised. It's my old one, you can have it. Just go buy some credit and you'll be able to call for help," he said and probably thought he'd done me the biggest favour in the history of ever.

Standing up, I flung my backpack over my shoulder. I grabbed the phone in one hand and my guitar case in the other. "Thanks for your help, officer," I bit out and left the room.

"All the luck, Mr Styles!" I heard him call after me and rolled my eyes.

Luck. I hardly believed in such a thing anymore.

.

.

Some hours later I found myself in a rather shabby bar, the cheapest beer placed in front of me. All of my remaining belongings rested on the floor beside me and I contemplated what to do.

Since I got to New York mere five hours ago, I had managed to get robbed and find out that the flat I was supposed to rent didn't even exist. What a great way to start my new life.

I glanced at the phone I got from officer McGregory and knew I should probably call Mum. And Ella. But somehow I didn't want them to know I messed up, nor did I want to come across as a failure. The last thing I needed was Mum's money, she needed them herself.

Fucking America. I should never have come. What did I think? That some producer would see me at the airport and just realise how good I was with the guitar? Yeah, that didn't happen.