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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
________
Sin City.
I've never been to Las Vegas before. It's a place Matt and I had planned to go to for my twenty-first birthday, but it never happened. I was afraid of what August would say to me if I told her I'd be celebrating my birthday with my boyfriend instead of with her.
In the backseat of Harry's car, I scoot forward and wrap my arms around the headrest of the passenger's seat. I peek out the windshield then glance over at the dashboard.
He's going ninety-almost-a-hundred miles per hour.
"Harry, we have to go back home," I say. I don't think this is the time to go to Las Vegas at all.
"We can't."
I frown, watching him bring a cigarette to his mouth. "Harry, please... First, you said we shouldn't call the cops-"
"Just trust me." He meets my eyes in his rearview mirror. I see his frown furrow soon enough. "And sit back and put your damn seatbelt on."
I sigh, staying put because at this moment in time I don't care for a seatbelt. I let my chin rest on the chair I hug. "You killed her and now we're escaping? Is that what this is?" I ask, my eyes leaving his from the mirror to look at his side profile. I watch his jaw tighten as he takes the stick out from his mouth. With his cigarette balanced between his two fingers, he brings his hand back onto the wheel.
"I saved you," he corrects me in a mumble. "We're just spending a couple of days away, alright?"
"Right, you saved me," I repeat and let myself scoff when bitterness replaces the strawberry sweetness on my tongue. I let go of the seat to let myself slump into the leather seat again. I hug myself.
"Do you not think so?"
I don't have to look at him to know he has a cocked eyebrow. I only look out the window as I watch Harry swerve through the I-10 and it's as if he's driving the getaway car.
He might be doing just that.
"D'Amore, I asked you a question."
I turn my head to look over at him again. "Are you searching for a thank you?"
Too numb from all the crying, I think my sadness has been altered into pure ire. Can he blame me?
Him showing up at the right time doesn't override the fact that he walked out on me hours before. I'm mad at him, but the way he remains quiet over what I had sourly said only made me feel guilty in the end.
"Sorry," I say softly. "I'm just hungry."
"I can stop by a diner," Harry offers and I'm surprised when he does. I swore he would've just scoffed and kept on driving.
