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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5. Chapter 5

Jamie's POV

Looking at the historic walls of Abbey Road Studios was an experience you couldn't explain; you had to be there. I loved the white wall that was covered in signatures and messages. This was the place played a huge part in The Beatles history. It was also where Adele, Pink Floyd, Kanye West, and many other successful artists recorded their songs.

I didn't know why Curly wanted to go here to meet up with his friends since he probably wouldn't be allowed in. Unless he planned to break in, but that was more of a something I would do. So imagine my surprise when he shook hands with the security guard and led me into the building. Perhaps he was one of the tech guys. I wonder who was recording today.

"Hey mate," a voice deeper than Curly's greeted us.

I turned. It was it a scrawny man, about the same height as Curly, with long, dark brown hair that reached a little under his collar bone. 

"Good afternoon!" Curly chirped.

Skinny Legend turned to me. "And who's this?"

I blurted out the first thing that popped in my mind. "You'd be a good Gucci model."

The two men laughed.

"Jamie, Mitch Rowland. Mitch, Jamie Evans," Curly introduced us.

"Seriously though," I continued. "Do you not eat?"

"Are you kidding? Do you see how much he eats?" Curly snorted.

Mitch shrugged. "I guess I'm just one of those lucky people that never gets fat no matter how much they eat."

They strolled away, abandoning me in the hall. I crossed my arms, annoyed. Where was I supposed to go now? Should I follow them? God, I hated men. That was why Amy and I made a vow never to date anyone after Amy's ex tried to rape me. He obviously didn't succeed. I guess those self-defence classes my mom made me take did come in handy after all.

I decided to just wander aimlessly around this place. I didn't know where I was, nor where I was going, but it somehow felt good to not have a place to be. I must've passed the same place 4 times before I finally settled into a bench. I pulled out my phone (which Curly had given back at the end of the car ride) and checked Twitter.

I suddenly had a thousand new followers. My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Did I do something? Did one of my crimes go viral and they somehow found my social media? Because if it was for that reason, it would not be beneficial for me. I went down my notifications. Who the fuck was Harry Styles? I felt like I should've remembered the name and it was floating in the back of my mind, but it was slippery. He was verified, too. 31.4 million followers. I scrolled down his tweets and found that he barely tweeted. If he did, it was usually a thanks to his fans or telling everyone he posted something on Instagram. I didn't tweet much as well. I mean, what was there to tweet? "I'm going out to rob a house today, yay"? That wasn't recklessness, that was plain idiocy. Apparently, he was having an album out on May 12 and he already had a song out called Sign of the Times. His album cover was a picture of his naked back against a pink background. I scoffed. With 3 clicks, I had him blocked.

I decided to text Amy.

Me: Hey Amy

Amy: Hey Jam

Me: I'm not strawberry jam

Amy: Who said you were that sweet?

Me: I am offended

Amy: Where are you?

Me: Abbey Road Studios

Amy: JAMIE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO IT?

Me: Nothing, relax. You know how I went out last night?

Amy: Yes, to buy a golf club to smash some innocent villager's car

Me: Oh yeah, I think the guy took it. Anyway, I got caught

Amy: WHAT? I'LL COME BAIL YOU OUT

Me: I'm at Abbey Road Studios, remember? For some reason, the guy didn't call the police. He did make me sleep at his house last night, but it was comfortable bed

Amy: What an idiot

Me: I know right

Amy: But thank god. Can you escape?

Me: From what?

Amy: Don't you want to come back?

Me: Yeah, but after. I wanna see this place more

Amy: Nevermind, you're the idiot

Me: Aw, why?

Amy: Any sane person would be running away the moment they could

Me: Yeah but he's nice

Amy: It could be an act!

Me: Bye mom

Then I closed my phone and wandered some more. I bumped into a woman. 2, actually. 

"Oh, hi!" the one with the tight bun said. She had darker hair then the other woman.

"Are you lost?" asked Lighter-Haired-Woman.

"Um, kind of," I admitted sheepishly.

"It's fine," Tight-Bun laughed. "I'm Clare Uchima."

"And I'm Sarah Jones."

I didn't need to know their last names, but whatever.

I smiled politely. "I'm Jamie Evans."

"So... is there anywhere you're supposed to be?" Sarah asked.

"Uh... I don't know. I was here with someone but he kinda left me."

"You can come with us for now."

I followed them, relieved to be with people who actually knew their way around this place.

Clare made small talk. "Where are you from?"

"London."

"You don't have a British accent-"

"I know. I moved here from the US a few years ago. You'd think I'd have adopted at least a bit of an accent by now, but I don't."

"Did you move back?"

"My parents were Brits, but they moved to Los Angelas shortly after they had me. So in a way, yes, I did move back. What are your roles here?"

"I'm a drummer," Sarah said. "Clare does a bunch of stuff. Mostly keyboard though."

"You give me more credit than I deserve," Clare protested.

I couldn't stand these kind of banters so I tuned them out, instead paying attention to our surroundings. It was basically just black walls, clocks, and recording signs. Finally, we reached a door with the recording sign off. Clare opened the door.

I took in everything, from the glass window seeing into the recording room to the buttons and switches on the side of the glass I was on to the Persian carpet on the floor.

"Jeff," a man quickly shook my hand and hurried to his seat behind the heap of equipment.

Clare and Sarah led me inside the recording room, where I saw Curly talking to Mitch and another guy (his name was Adam, as heard when I eavesdropped on their conversation).

"Jamie! There you are!" he exclaimed once I was spotted.

I rolled my eyes. "You were the one who went off with Mitch."

"To give you free rein of what you wanted to do."

"Take position, guys. Chop chop. We don't have all day," the speakers blared.

Clare sat behind the keyboard, Sarah behind the drums, Adam and Mitch on opposite sides with a guitar, and Curly behind a microphone. I kneeled in a dark corner. The real singer must be late. Although I hated when people were late, I was often late myself. Curly must've been good friends with the people here to be able to convince them to let him play around with the equipment. Or he payed for this himself. That would've been sad. I hated it when people, rich or poor, payed so much money and tried so hard to achieve something that was beyond their limits. My heart ached for them. I hoped they knew that they were probably never going to achieve that something.

His voice was good, I'd admit. Had I really not heard his voice before? I shook my head. Of course I haven't. The radio only played famous singers. He was also good at songwriting. These songs should be played on a radio. It was strange how the band knew how to play all his songs even though they weren't his band. Maybe they belonged to Rihanna? I didn't know.

I watched as Curly moved his lips along to the music, singing lyrics that only half-comprehended in my mind. I was sure nobody could move their lips as majestically as him. I stared at him as he rocked back and forth, swayed side to side, and danced full-heartedly. I noticed his body for the first time. His thin yet strong legs, his muscular arms, and his hair! Oh, his hair... I wanted to tangle my fingers in those soft, brown curls and attach my lips to his full and plump ones. My eyes filled with lust as I appreciated how his pants clung tightly to his waist and the way the short sleeved, black shirt did nothing to hid his muscles. How I wanted to fuck him...

Of course, fucking was okay. One night stands were perfectly fine. What was not fine was love. As I had learned at the age of 15, love can either turn out two ways. It can make you strong, make you feel invincible, and on top of the world. But it was dangerous too. It can tear you apart, pieces by pieces, take all that's left of you and leave an empty shell of who you used to be. It can make you insane as fear overtook you of ever losing them. For me, that's how love turned out. No, I wasn't insane, but it had made me like this. This... this criminal... this scum. I was too broken to ever be fixed.

When the session of 'recording' ended, Curly stumbled over to me, lost in a fit of laughter. It was so real, like I could almost touch it as if it was a solid thing. I reached out to steady him, smiling slightly, and patted his back. He looked like he couldn't breathe. I got him a cup of water and he gulped it down, still goofily smiling.

I told him stories of my life, leaving out any bad parts. If I was planning on doing anything... me-like, I would have to earn his trust. I had to make him believe I wasn't some sensitive, little girl, which he surely thought since last night. He looked at me intently, not in a judging way, but in a way as if to tell me that I had his full attention. Either way, it was uncomfortable but I forced myself to push on.

"HARRY!" I shouted in victory, earning myself a couple knowing grins. Knowing what? I frankly could not care enough to dwell on it.

"What?"

"Your name. That's your name." I still couldn't recall his last name, but last names were irrelevant unless it was a legal thing or whatever. Nobody was going to call anyone by their last names in a normal everyday circumstance where you meet them in the grocery store.

His mouth draped open. "You forgot?!"

It was funny that he had the same first name as that Harry Styles that had followed me. I liked this Harry more. I felt pitiful towards celebrities. You never knew who you could trust. You never knew if your girlfriend was using you for fame, or if your friends were using you for money. There was no certainty in anything.

I shrugged. "I guess you weren't important enough."

"I am so done with you."

Harry playfully turned around, leaving me with the view of his covered toned back. I wanted to rip the shirt off him and leave marks everywhere, marking this amazingly attractive man as mine. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I'm sowwy," I whimpered in a baby voice.

"Say that again in that voice and maybe I'll consider forgiving you."

"I don't want you to forgive me that bad," I scoffed.

"Fine, then no forgiveness."

He shook my arms off him and stood up. I could tell he was trying to hold back a smile. I pulled out my phone, pretending to be over him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him taking a few slow but long steps, stopping, and turning around.

"You know, I think I'm going to talk to Adam," he declared loudly. Another slow, long step.

I heard him sigh. He knelt back down beside me and I stuffed the device away.

I crossed my arms. "What do you have to say?"

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "What do I have to be sorry for?"

"Fine."

This time, I stood. I took quick steps to the exit, head held high. I knew he was watching me, waiting for me to turn around like he did. I had more resistance though, and I kept going. It was only until my hand reached for the handle that he realized I wasn't going to stop.

"WAIT! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Forgive me? Please?"

I faked a pained expression. "I don't know, Harry. I'm pretty heartbroken."

His lips grazed the base of my neck, making their way up to my ear.

"You don't have to be," he whispered. His husky voice flowed in my ear like a beautiful song.

His body came closer to mine, spreading the warmth. My lust for him only grew. How could someone be so sexy?

In the end, we burst out laughing. Everyone who was staring at us quickly looked away. And then Harry and the band of a to-be-determined artist sang some more songs.

My Saturday was okay. It was better than any other Saturday I've had. It was 12 am when Harry asked if I wanted to go home, but it was too late and I didn't have my keys so I decided to spend one more night here. I laid on the bed in the guest room, staring at the scabs on my stomach. I hardly felt any pain today. Maybe a bit of a burning sensation or a sting, but they were manageable. Had I really been through that much pain that I had gotten used to it? That was sad. Very, very, very sad.

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