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*

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3. Chapter 3

Jamie's POV

"Shit," I muttered.

Still, I intended on finishing my job. The lights on the upstairs floor turned on. I could hear his footsteps running towards the stairs. I clumsily smashed the other windows, in too much of a rush to care if they were fully in pieces or not. Just as the front door opened, I dived into a bush with my duffel bag. I groaned silently: I had left my golf club. I peered through the thin branches at the man. He was tall, about 6 foot, with curly hair. It seemed as if he was wearing a robe with fuzzy slippers. I almost snorted. Those were the only things I could make out in the dark. He was hot, I'd admit. If I wasn't already ruining his car, I would've been flirting with him, planning on when to take his wallet.

He picked up the club, examining it. Then his eyes looked up. I swore our eyes met for a split second before his went to his car. They were a beautiful shade of green. I had no time to admire the memory of his eyes because he was drawing nearer, his hand running over the hood of the car as he walked. Finally, his feet were right in front of me. He was wearing fuzzy Gucci slides. I focused on making my breathing as slow and soft as possible. Minutes passed. I figured he wasn't leaving. I had to get out of here.

I took a deep breath and stood up. He smirked, as if he knew I was there the whole time. He probably did. 

"Bastard," I spat.

Before he could grab me, I brought my knee up to his crotch. He doubled over, groaning. I made my escape. Running as fast as I could, that adrenaline came back. I grinned into the night air. It slowly dissipated as strong arms wrapped around my waist. I screamed.

"LET GO OF ME! KIDNAPPER!" 

"Don't you dare scream," he warned. "You'd be the one getting in trouble anyway."

I slumped over in defeat. It was true. This was the first time I've ever been caught. I didn't know what I was supposed to do.

"What are you going to do to me?" I sighed.

"You don't sound scared," he stated. He began carrying me back.

The word caused something in me to snap. Scared? I was never scared. Fear was for cowards, for the weak. I had trained my whole life to be strong, and now it was the only thing I could be. No. I wasn't scared. Never.

"I'm not."

"And why's that?" 

"Why should I be?"

"What if I were to call the cops on you?"

"So be it."

"You wouldn't care?"

"Nope." I popped the 'p'.

"So if I pulled out my phone right now and dialled 101 you wouldn't try and stop me?" 

"Go ahead. I dare you."

I watched him tap on the screen of his phone, which was covered in a pink case. We glared at each other while the phone rang. He wouldn't. I could see the mercy in his eyes, what a coward. I didn't care if I landed in jail. Amy would bail me out. 

"Hey," Curly said into the phone. "We're having a guest tomorrow."

Then he hung up.

"Scared?" I teased.

"Of what? I'm doing nothing illegal. I'm simply taking the criminal to my house so she doesn't run away."

"That's called kidnapping."

"I don't see you trying to escape," he pointed out.

I looked at my arms wrapped around his neck and hastily brought them to my chest.

"As you said, there's no point."

The inside of his house was way better than the outside. It was decorated with chandeliers, paintings, potted plants, and mirrors. I found the mirrors weird, but I assumed it was just because he had a big ego. He had a huge shoe rack, and over half of them looked new. The house was big and obnoxious, but Curly somehow made it cozy. 

He put me down. Another bad move for him. I could just run out of his house. I decided not to mention it to the idiot because if I wanted to go, there would be an easy way out. Leaving me in the living room, he went to the kitchen. Again, what a stupid thing to do.

My eyes roamed the place. It landed on the electric fireplace. There was fire when my parents died. It engulfed both cars in flames after my lucky escape. I was the only survivor of that crash. I could remember yellow and orange flames blocking my view of my dead parent's bodies, and perhaps that was for the best. Eric and Jessica were their names. 

My mom's voice was the best. Her lullabies would pull me to sleep in seconds when I was younger. It was sad that the last thing I heard from her was a horrified scream. I could hear it again. It filled my ears until all I could hear was itself. 

My dad's strength was his courage. He was my brick wall. I could always rely on him. It was sad that the last thing I heard from him was my name. He was warning me to get out of the car. Too bad he only had half a second before his life was ripped from him. Now his voice repeated along with my mom's screams, yelling my name over and over again, creating a perfect harmony.

"Uh, are you okay?" Curly's worried voice snapped me out of my trance.

I realized my hand was slightly curled on the glass of the fireplace and tears were streaming down my face. Was I crying? I couldn't be. Crying was also for the weak, when fear or pain overtook them. I didn't feel, I was strong.

"I'm s-sorry. I've never done this before," I apologized. I leaned down and wiped the water from the floor with my sleeve.

Curly took my chin in his hands and forced me to look into his eyes. Well, I could've actually looked away, but his eyes had me in a captivating lock.

"You wipe the tears from the floor, but who's going to wipe the tears from your cheek?" he mumbled.

I felt his thumb gently run over my cheek, right under my eye where more tears were starting to pool. Why was I losing control all of the sudden? And why the hell was he so nice?

Pulling myself from his grip, I took deep breaths. Calming down was what I needed to do right now. No one has ever seen me cry except for Amy and now, Curly included. I managed to hold my tears back, pushing them down to that fold of my heart that hid all my feelings. My heart felt heavier but at least I looked composed on the outside. The inside didn't matter. Even if you were the kindest person in the world, if you looked ugly, nobody would like you. Cruel society didn't give a shit if you were nice or not. As long as you looked good on the outside, they would assume you were good on the inside.

I turned back to the man in front of me and smiled. Not a real one. I couldn't remember the last time I had given anyone a real one. I was an expert at fake ones though.

I made myself comfortable on the love seat. "So what's your name?"

He glared at me suspiciously but sat down on the other cushion. "Harry."

"Well my name's Jamie. Jamie Evans."

"Pleased to meet you Jamie Evans. My name's Harry. Harry Styles."

"Okay Harold. Let's play 20 questions."

"Do you want some tea?"

"No. That was a stupid question."

He looked at the coffee table in front of us. Sure enough, there was a cup of steaming tea.

I waved my hand to signal he could have it.

"Your British accent isn't very strong."

"Your accent is barely British," he scoffed.

"I. Come. From. America." I spoke slowly as if I was speaking a foreign language and was trying to make him understand me.

"Oh. I travel a lot. A lot of American accents. I guess I've kind of developed an accent of my own."

I yawned. 

"I should probably go home-"

"You're staying here."

I paused, trying to figure him out. I just recked his expensive car and he took me into his house for tea and chatting? He must've been planning to kill me or something. All the better. The sooner I escape this retched world, the better.

"Obsessed with me that much, Styles?" I chuckled.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe a little intrigued."

He pulled me towards his chest. Against all common sense, I curled up to him and closed my eyes. Now, that was a stupid move of me, but I was cold. Ironically, it was the fire that gave me goosebumps. A voice flowed through the air. It took me a minute to realize that Harry was singing. It was good, really good. I thought I had heard something like that deep voice before, like on the radio or something. I focused on it to stop the memories that usually penetrated me before sleep. Sometimes they were good, sometimes bad, and sometimes, they were neutral. Before long, a sleep so peaceful that I could actually feel myself relax pulled me under its strong waves.

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