Handcuffed To An Idiot

Six:

"Where to, Styles?" I ask, backing his car out and pulling onto the road.

"Well, I've got to go to the studio today and then we've got to go hang out at 2:00." He grumbles.

"Okay, then. And we're still on for this, why, exactly?" I ask, looking at him and back at the road. "I mean, we're handcuffed together! Do you guys really want that in the media?"

"Well, Vanity, it's not like we can hide it!" He yanks his hand upward to show me our cuffed hands, making me swerve, almost hitting another car.

"Harry!" I gasp, pulling the car correctly onto the road.

"Are you trying to kill us?!" He shouts, anger evident in his voice.

"Me?! You're the idiot who yanked my hand off of the wheel!" I shout, pulling into the studio and parking his stupid car. I hop out, dragging him with me, ignoring him as he growls loudly and slams his door. 

"Yeah, well you're the one who got us into this mess in the first place!" He takes the car keys from my hand and begins walking toward the building, but I stop.

"No, it was your stupid band mate! Remember, Harry? We were screaming at each other outside the management building? Right before you threw my mother's death in my face?!"

"Yeah, I remember that! It was right after you were being a total pain in the a-!" He laughs sadistically.

"Ooh!" I growl loudly. "You know what, Harry? I'm done! I've been done with you!" I walk past him, but he doesn't budge when I yank on his arm.

"You're done? You think being, 'done' is gonna get these cuffs off?!"

"No! I think that I've spent less than twenty-four hours cuffed to you and I'm already considering cutting my hand off and bleeding to death if it's what it takes!" I scream, my anger toward him reaching it's top and boiling over. "Heck, I'd probably jump off a bridge if a freaking super-star wasn't attatched to me!"

He chuckles in disbelief, running his fingers through his hair. "Oh . . . Super-star. That was childish. Especially since you were a fan, meaning that you should know that I cannot stand to be labeled like that!"

"Yeah! You know what? Maybe I did! Maybe I did use that, because I'm tired of you using everything you can think of against me!" I shout again. I don't think I have ever screamed so much in my life!

"Maybe I wouldn't feel the need to throw anything in your face if you weren't such . . . "

"Harold Edward Styles, you get your a- in here right now before I kick it back to Holmes Chapel!" Paul shouts, looking very angry as he marches toward us.

"Thank, God!" I groan and turn away from Harry, pulling him with me as I walk toward Paul.

"You too, young lady. You're both knee-deep in a pile of-" I wince as he curses. I nod and look at the ground, walking into the building in silence, but freezing when I see something flash from the corner of my eye. I slowly turn to see about three men with cameras, flashing and filming. They just caught our entire argument on tape! I continue to stare, but then Harry grabs onto my wrist and yanks me into the door, harshly.

"Ow!" I yelp, pulling my wrist away, looking down at the red marks from him squeezing so hard. But the pain turns into more anger. "You abusive, obnoxious, jerk!" I shove him, looking at my wrist.

"Should have kept moving while paps were snapping pictures. Lesson learn-" He's cut off by my hand colliding with his cheek in pure anger and hate. "Obviously, you haven't learned to keep your hands off of me!" He growls, pushing me into the wall, making my heart hammer against my chest in fear.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Paul is quick to grab Harry, trying to pull him back.

"Harry, what the heck are you doing?!" Liam shouts, helping Paul to pull Harry off of me.

"Are you okay?" I look up as Marty runs over to me, looking around to check and see if I've been injured in any way.

"I'm okay." I whisper, nodding and looking at the floor, but my eyes are filled with tears. He sees the hurt in my eyes and pulls me into a hug.

"Geez, Vanity . . . I'm sorry. I know you watched your parents . . . And I went and hurt you too." He pulls away and rubs his thumb gently acrost the bruise on my cheek and the cut on my eyebrow. "We're going to fix this. Paul called in for another key, this morning. They'll have one in about two weeks." He reassures me, but I gasp instead and widen my eyes.

"Two weeks?!" I cry. "Marty . . . I don't think I can go that long!"

"I'm sorry. The key was specially made for those cuffs, and it was made in a different country, so it is going to take longer than expected."

"Marty, 'longer than expected' is like two days. Unreasonable is two weeks!"

 "I'm sorry, Vanity . . . That was the quickest time it would take." He sighs, leaving me wondering, counting, planning in my head how long I will last before I can't take it any more. It really is a nightmare being handcuffed to an idiot!