Haunted. {a harry styles one shot}

They say that murderers are cold blooded, heartless monsters. That they have no regard for human life. Almost everyone would agree with that assumption, and truth be told, I do too. I used to not though -- I used to believe that they had some sort of purpose; an excuse, to what they did. Sure, it was a hit and run. Yes, he didn't purposely try to kill me. But he left me there, freezing, in the middle the cold concrete, alone and hurting. He left me there to die.

My name is Alma Moore, and today is the one-year-anniversary of my death. For months my face was on every news station, on every newspaper. For months my name slipped out of radio host's mouths. The headlines would read, Harry Styles' best friend killed in a tragic accident. I was famous, not in life -- but in death. Up to this day he has gotten away with it. By the looks of things, he's forgotten all about me and all about that night. In order for me to be set free, I needed to find peace. In order to discover that peace, I need to haunt. I need to make him feel what I felt. I need him to know what it's like to be... nothing.

 Harry Styles was my best friend. Harry Styles killed me. Harry Styles got away with it. Harry Styles was about to become haunted. Harry Styles was going to wish he were dead.

*****

I stood in the shadows as I watched him exit the club. His wide smile that once made  my heart flutter, made me sick. His blazing green eyes that once made me melt, now made me tremble with anger. How was this fair? He got to go about his life without a care in the world, while I stayed this way; alone and invisible. My eyes widened when the leggy brunette groped him from behind. His too familiar smug smirk appeared on his face while he took her bony hand in his. I could feel my lips drip with venom and my eyes darken in anger. I rolled my eyes and scoffed at the length of her dress, her ass was basically hanging out of her dress. Did no woman have respect for themselves these days? She had Harry written all over her scrawny body. She's just his type, classless and easy. They kissed sloppily as they made their way into the car. The sight of them made me even more determined to find revenge. I decided to beat him back to his apartment, his haunting would start tonight.

*****

 Harry's Point of View.

I didn't even know her name, but I needed something to numb the pain I was feeling in my heart. The moment I opened my apartment door she pushed me inside, her lips fiercely connecting with mine. I smiled into the kiss as my hands caressed her soft skin.

 "Would she kiss you like that if she knew you were a killer?" I heard a whispered hiss, causing my head to snap up. 

I looked around the seemingly empty apartment, but there was no one in sight. I shook my head. It's was my imagination, just my conscience haunting me. No one knew I killed Alma, no one but her and me. 

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?" she laughed, running her fingers through my curls. 

I shifted my gaze back to her, nodding my head as my lips lowered back onto hers. Things soon became heated, and it wasn't long before I was leading her into my bedroom. I took a step back, pulling her along with me when I heard a loud crack. I could feel something uncomfortable under my shoe, something that felt like shards of broken glass. I looked down, and when my eyes landed on the broken photograph on the ground, I felt the life drain from me. It was a photo of Alma and I, a photo we had taken at the tender age of fifteen, and a photo I had kept well hidden. So how did it get here, how did it wind up broken on the floor of my hallway?

"You need to leave." I choked, pushing myself away from her. 

"What?" She laughed, looking at me like I had lost my mind.