New Girl

Kay Brown is a foreign exchange student from America into the school Bradford of Doncaster. Upon arrival, she is surprised to meet three interesting men. The one who decided to help her and make sure she was okay no matter what. The one that plays hard to get but might actually be head over heels. And the one with tattoos that hide all of his secrets below the ink and the black. Their names? Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles, and Zayn Malik. What happens when your past keeps you from moving on and your future just seems like a murderer is disguise? Who will she pick? Read New Girl, to find out.

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17. Harry's POV

Harry's POV: -flashback-

“Where’s Darcie?” my mom questions, ripping open my car door to reveal myself and a phone glued to my ear.

I raise my finger to shush her as I talk frantically to the 911 operator on the other end, “Oh yes! I would like to file a Missing Persons report for my littlest sister, Darcie Styles? She went missing roughly two hours ago at the Stone bridge park on Main...”

“You lost my daughter?!” my mother screams, throwing me out of the car as she swings into the front seat and her eyes dart to me, “You keep trying, Haz. I’ll be back.”

She quickly inserts the keys into the ignition and pulls down the driveway into the calm street behind us. My thoughts flick back to the phone and I realize the woman did not have enough information to make any findings on Darcie.

“She’s three, looks five. Um...curly hazelnut hair that is shoulder-lengthed and green-gray eyes. She’s wearing a pink jumper with blue flowers on the front and a matching bow. She might have a small green bike with pink handles and a bell....” I list, running for the door of our house, hoping she just went home.

“We’ll send an officer out there as soon as we can,” the woman calmly states, getting ready to drop my call.

“I can’t wait for that long! A three year old is missing! Missing! Do you hear me? Get off your lazy butts and come help us!” I scream, running to her room and fling open the door to find everything still.

“We are trying as hard as we can, Mr.Styles,” the woman snaps, and I hear snickering on the other end that resemble middle-aged men.

“No, I’m trying as hard as I can! You aren’t doing squat!” I scream again, taking in a deep breath as I prepare to hit end, “Send your fastest car.”

I grab Darcie’s teddy bear and coat and flee from the house, running back to the park where she had disappeared. Oh Lord, I felt so guilty. I was watching her at the time. We were getting ice cream from the truck just a few blocks off and when I let go of her hand to grab her cone, she was gone. Disappeared in a minute of seconds.

“It’s your fault. She’s probably dead,” my thoughts rang out, threatening to bring fresh tears to my already stained eyes.

“Harry!” I hear a voice blast from behind me as a familiar car pulls beside me and throws the door open, Louis, “Get in.”

I throw myself into the passenger's seat and flick my eyes to him, “Drive. Go to Darcie’s friend, Allie’s house. No time to explain.”

His eyes flick to the radio and then back at me. My hands have gravitated to my eyes as the dig into them, bringing tears to the surface again. He drives forward, turning onto Allie’s house where all the lights are off. Not here.

“What happened?” he frowns, driving away from the house and stopping at the end of the street.

“Darcie’s gone,” I whispered, grabbing his shirt and pulling him close to me.

I feel him rub small circles into my shirt as he pets my hair and makes sure I’ll stop crying. But I can’t. She’s gone, and it’s all my fault.

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“Another story, young Darcie Styles went missing approximately 2:30 Sunday night. If you have any information where this child may be, please contact authorities immediately,” A news reader smiles, staring into the camera and then her eyes flick to me and my mother, “We have two members of the Styles family here with us today to discuss their daughter.”

“If you have our daughter, I promise I will pay whatever fee you require to bring my baby home alive. Please spare her, my baby,” my mother whimpers, grabbing my shirt and letting her mascara run.

“And you, oldest brother, Harry?” the woman chimes, looking back at the camera with a smile on her face.

“Rot in hell,” I bark, standing and looking back at the camera before trudging off stage, “You are going to pay you sick bastard. You are going to pay for what you have done.”

 

 

 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAY GIRLS. WELL, I KNOW THE BOLD FONT IS ANNOYING BUT I CAN'T FIX IT. I WRITE ON A DIFFERENT PROGRAM AND COPY AND PASTE IT ON HERE. WANNA BE MENTIONED IN THE STORY? OR HAVE AN IMAGINE? WRITE THE INFO IN THE COMMENTS!

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