Ready to Run - Harry Styles AU

Jamie was reckless. She didn't care anymore. About anything. Anything and everything was overrated in her opinion. One night of vandalizing the car of a certain Styles sets her life into the rollercoaster of emotions she desperately wanted to avoid. It's only starting to ascend the first hill. *TRIGGER WARNING*


1. Chapter 1

TRIGGER WARNING (the majority of the fan fiction)

She is a forest. There are many trees. In each core of a tree lies a shimmering sphere of love, protected by the rough of the bark and the beauty of the leaves. There’s a fire. It burns everything away until all that remains is the bright light.

Jamie's POV

"Hey, Amy, do you think I should get my hair curled tonight?" I asked the raven-haired girl beside me.


"I have a date."

She raised her eyebrow. "You mean a random person you found on the subway?"

"A rich one, indeed," I corrected.

"Jamie, we live in a pretty nice penthouse and we both come from wealthy families. Why the hell would you need to steal from someone, let alone not thinking of how rude it is?"

"Yeah, families who are dead."

Amy winced. I was numb to the fact; I couldn't find it in me to care. Sometimes I would look at one of our photos and smile, but I never wasted time crying. Sometimes I even joked about it.

Our families both died in car crashes. Amy's because her mother was an alcoholic, and mine because the other driver was. My parents died when I was 15. I lived in an adopted family for 3 years before I was allowed to inherit all the money from my biological parent's will. Then I set out to the world, meeting Amy in New York. We live in London now.

Amy was my best friend. She understood me most of the time. The only thing she didn't understand was my incapability to feel, but she never tried to 'fix' me or anything. She just sat there and listened to my stories, tutting a little after each sentence.

"Sorry-" I began.

"It's fine."

The conversation ended there.


I came home, drunk and annoyed.

Amy didn't look up from her book. "What happened now?"

"He was so BORING! I fell asleep and when I woke up, he got angry at me and stormed out of the fucking restaurant. So I went to the nearest club."

"Good. Not that you got drunk, but that you didn't get to steal. You're practically a criminal!"

"Relax, they'll never find out."

She rolled her eyes and put down the third book of the Harry Potter series. That was what? Her 30th time reading it again?

"I'm going to bed," she announced.


"You're making breakfast tomorrow."

I'd just order pizza and call it that.

After Amy trudged sleepily to her bedroom, I decided I was tired too. I quickly took a shower, threw on my pineapple pyjamas, and brushed my teeth.

My eyes flicked up to the mirror, meeting the hazel orbs on the other side. They ran down my body, examining every part of it. My legs were out of shape, my waist needed some thinning, my boobs could be a bit bigger, my teeth whiter, and my dull brown hair less messy. The scars on my wrists, stomach, and thighs were still there from when I used to cut, before I was enveloped into the addicting world of illegal activities. Everything about me was ugly. I could feel the tears, but somehow, they couldn't escape. My eyes weren't even a little red. I was left with that heavy feeling in my heart, pain and nothingness at the same time. This was why I did everything I did. I needed feeling. Something other than this. I needed the adrenaline of running from the cops, the pumping of my blood through my veins, and the gleeful joy when I've lost them. Of course, all that disappears right after and I start craving another adventure all over again. I knew this was bad. I knew I should go to therapy. But somehow, it felt better this way. I was tired of the endless nights of tears, tired of feeling everything all at once.

As I fell asleep, a memory flashed through my mind: me toilet papering my adopted family's house, then acting all innocent. I was a good kid back then. Well, it was real until my parents died, then I started pretending. See, the thing about being good is that no one ever suspects you.

And that was yet another thing I needed.

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