in which joelle d'amore is completing her final semester of university in the grand city of los angeles, california. when she finds herself in the presence of harry styles, a piercing man with dangerous agendas, she is permeated with fear. she saw s...
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I don't know how he's managed to get me to do what he's asked me to do, but he's done it again. I'm walking out of the tattoo parlor to follow behind a bothered and short-tempered man.
It's mind-control that he's mastering. It has to be.
He walks ahead of me. His long legs carry him faster than mine do. He's running his hand through his hair again and I hear him scoff to himself. He then notices I'm a few feet behind. "Will you hurry the hell up?" He has stopped in his tracks, turning to look behind at me.
"You're walking too fast," I point out as I approach his side with a light jog.
"Maybe you're walking too fucking slow."
I keep from walking any further after what he said. With arms crossed, I shake my head at the rudeness this man can't seem to shake out of. "I'm not doing this," I then say. "I'm not going on a walk with you if you're going to continue being rude to me. So quit it before I find myself a way home."
He thinks I'm so easy to walk all over, I have to prove him wrong. I shouldn't have to tolerate his arrogant and insolence demeanor when I don't know him. He's a mishap I've encountered and nothing more.
Harry only huffs and reaches into the pockets of his black jeans. "You want to risk going home all alone dressed like that?" He looks me up and down, noting my short dress. "You wear that a little too good, Elle."
I watch Harry fish out a carton of cigarettes. He picks out a fresh stick to bring it to his lips. He holds it there as he then searches for a lighter in the same pocket. I'm standing still because he's right. Having to rely on public transportation, I tend to avoid wearing dresses or skirts most of the time. I've come across one too many creeps in my life; enough to instigate the fear of being assaulted. The only reason I wore the damn dress today was because I felt safe enough to.
"Don't call me, Elle," I say and I start to walk in the direction he was first heading towards.
Harry releases his cloud of smoke into the air and begins to walk with me. He chuckles low as if he's had a victory. "Why? That's your fucking name."
"No... It's a nickname I'd rather you not call me." I try my best not to look over at him. I can feel his eyes on me as we head west.
"Why not, Elle?"
I break the promise I made to myself and look over. His eyes are red around his emerald irises. Agitation and no sleep is what his face depicts. My lips part before I say, "That was my granddad's nickname for me. Elle. Only he called me that, alright? He died only a year ago... so please, don't call me that."
Harry hums as a breeze caused by the nearest beach runs through us. "What did he die of?" He asks. Not expecting him to care or feel an ounce of sympathy for me, I'm surprised by his curiosity.
