It was 2010, and a sixteen year old boy was standing by a bus stop alone. His hair was damp from the rain that poured down upon his football team as they fought to win. He smiled at the memory of assisting his last minute goal.
He heard footsteps getting louder and turned to find three teenage boys who were all unhealthily skinny. The tallest one stepped forward. He had hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, his hands were big and bony and he had a hood covering his forehead.
"You," he said. "Got any joints?"
"What?" the boy murmured, his brows burrowing.
"Cigs," another said.
"No, sorry," young Harry Styles said and turned his gaze back down the road, hoping his ride home would arrive soon.
The three boys approached him silently, their hands in their pockets.
"Money?" the third one asked quietly.
"No," Harry said, annoyed. Clearly; the other boys noticed.
"If you can afford a taxi ride, 'think you can afford a pack of smokes," the third one sneered.
Harry said nothing.
"Just hand us some fucking money or something," the tall one said calmly and grabbed the backpack on Harry's back in attempt to search for loose change. Harry jerked back and shoved the stranger onto the dirty ground.
"Fuck off," he snarled just before one of the boys ripped the bag off of him and the other grabbed his arms. The boy tossed the bag to the side and helped his friend hold Harry against the glass wall of the bus stop. Harry grunted as the glass cracked beneath his head and stopped fighting as dark circles began to eat the edges of his eyesight, like mold.
The tall boy pushed himself off of the ground and raised his arms, showing his soaking sleeves and shook off a bit of the water.
"You asked for it," he said, pointing, and rammed his fist into Harry's stomach.
It was 2014, and a twenty year old man was standing against a brick wall in the rain. His leg bounced in impatience, his jaw locked. His friend stood by him, his eyes sweeping across the road.
"That one," Harry Styles whispered as a drunk body moved towards them. His friend whipped his head to watch a young man stumble passed them.
"Why?" Louis asked, his eyes still on the man.
Harry pursed his lips. "Nobody will care if he died tonight," he said, then trailed behind the clearly stoned man who just exited the bar.
In ten minutes, Harry, Louis, and Liam, who had recently appeared from his hiding spot, were all watching a body squirm in the air. The drunk man who had pleaded for his life and resisted the suicide request now hung from the ceiling in the abandoned school. His body twitched once more, then stopped moving completely, his face in a frozen snarl. Harry motioned to the wall, and Liam grabbed the spray can from his pants' deep pocket. He wrote on the wall May God forgive my sins.
"Harry Styles commits suicide," Louis said. "Genius." And then they left, because their job was done.
-
Harry was to pick me up at three, and it was almost one. I couldn't sleep after lying in bed for two hours--maybe it was the adrenaline that I might actually be considered a criminal; I did take somebody's life, and saw others die in front of my eyes but did nothing but fall in love with the man who caused it. So I took my duvet and pillow downstairs and decided to watch television until I fell asleep on the couch.
I was watching this TV show I've never heard about when a patrol rolled by outside. I ignored it, used to it. Too many complaints about how fucking irritating the Stalker Choppers were so they thought of a brilliant idea; trucks.
The show was getting too dramatic so I changed the channels until it landed on some news thing, I left the couch for two minutes to get my library book and a cup of water. I still hadn't finished it. It was an interesting book, the page I was reading consisting of a conversation that went like:
"What?"
"Oh, nothing. Thinking out loud."
"That's who you really like. The people you can think out loud in front of."
"The people who've been in your secret hiding places."
"The people you bite your thumb in front of."
"Hi."
"Hi."
"..."
"Wow. My first Lindsey." (As he only dates girls named Katherine "coincidentally". 19, to be exact.)
"My second Collin."
"That was fun. Let's try it again."
"Sold."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
Seven pages later, I had finally finished the book and curiously began to scan through the end where there was a sneak peek of the author's other books--I don't know, something about a supposedly depressed cancer patient who was checking some "hot boy" out--when the TV finally caught my attention. Not really--I just flickered my gaze to it a few times and the last time made me stare at the headline.
Body of world's most wanted man found after a three hour siege.
I didn't move. My heart didn't even pound, but my breathing quickened. My legs tingled as I watched two people hold something covered in a white sheet on a stretcher. My mouth popped open as the book fell from my hands.
"Death was too good for him." Harry Styles commits suicide.
I shoved myself off of the couch and snatched my phone from the coffee table. I immediately scrolled up to Harry's number, labelled as 1hs, the 1 so his name was right at the top, and quickly called him. It didn't even ring.
Hello, your call-
I closed my phone and redialed, my chest heaving. It was until the woman on the speaker began to talk when it felt as if someone kicked my chest and I stopped breathing for a moment. And still, all I thought about was Harry.
Because that's what love does; its makes people selfish. Though they have their loved ones around them--a sister who's irritatingly jealous ninety nine percent of the time but had the best days with, a brother who sleeps at three A.M., playing on his PlayStation and wakes up at four on the weekends, and a dad you barely see, a mum who is afraid of you, a friend who began talking to you because they were possibly the reason you were kidnapped, a friend that's awkward and inconceivable, a friend who's popular and you barely talk to--all they think about is love. Love turned me into a fugitive, almost. Love changed me too much. Because even though he had murdered people in front of my eyes and was one of them most wanted people on the planet and was the reason my life changed, I loved him. No wonder why he hated being in love.
It was only a matter of time until I realized it was another panic attack hitting me slowly, and then my phone rang.
I was gasping for air--the attack hadn't hit me yet, I was just gasping to prevent it from happening--but I still answered the call, ignoring who it was from.
"Evelyn," someone cooed on the other end of the line. "Sorry, my phone's battery-"
"Harry, is that you?" I shouted.
"Uh, yes," he said nonchalantly.
"Oh, my God," I breathed out and sat down before my legs gave out from under me. My breathing eventually slowed but my heart was still thundering in my chest. "I thought you were dead, you bitch!"
Harry laughed in his throat. "What makes you say that?"
"You're on the news-" I squinted my eyes at the television, "-Harry Styles commits suicide. What the fuck is this?!"
"Told you I'll fix it. Be there in ten minutes, bebeh." He hung up. I took that advantage to wear clothes that were comfortable for a long ride and brought my luggage downstairs. It was only a small bag and it was half full, anyway.
In exactly seven minutes, I saw the headlights of a car shine over my window. It turned off, then back on, then off, then back on. I grabbed the bag and my phone and quietly exited the house. My chest felt tight. I didn't even say goodbye to my family. It took all my energy to hold back tears as I approached a tiny blue car in my driveway. I smirked as I opened the passenger door.
Harry sat beside me wearing a thick jersey that looked as big as a blanket and a beanie. "Sup."
"Sup." I threw the luggage at the back of the seat and put my seatbelt on.
"You look beautiful," he said and stared out the window. I narrowed my eyes at him. "Wonderful weather we're having."
"What happened?" I asked bluntly.
"Flight's delayed two hours," he said and rolled out of the driveway.
"Really? A plane?" I gasped.
"Place is too far by car, sweetie." He smiled at me.
"Where are we going?" I asked. "And just to be one hundred percent, completely and utterly certain, though it makes me sound like an idiot which I kinda am, we're not coming back here, are we?"
"Nope," he said, popping the word, "And we are going to Candyland."
I pursed my lips. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Nope," he repeated.
-:-:-:-