Conceited [H.S.]

FORTY

HARRY STYLES

Where the fuck is Nate? I texted him before I had even left my house and he still isn't fucking here yet.

My hands twist and jiggle the lock pick and torque wrench, but let's be honest, I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. I could be locking the door even more than it already is. The only reason I brought my Range Rover was because Nate drives me in it all the time and leaves shit like this in the glove compartment. Never knew why until tonight.

I didn't think that I'd need the taser, pepper spray, switchblade knife, or stun gun. All things he has never even used when with me.

"Fucking piece of shit," I mutter under my breath as my hands aggressively shake the two tools.

I groan as the movements seem to do nothing at all, the knob still refusing to turn. Being able to hear her faint crying through the door and being stuck on the wrong side is fucking killing me. Her not responding or opening the door after my nonstop knocking made me get desperate enough to try out my lock picking skills. Didn't take long for me to figure out that I have absolutely none.

My heart nearly stopped completely when I heard our phone call end, and I have no idea what happened on the other line. She could have just been overwhelmed, she could have dropped the phone, she could have hurt herself. Shit, I don't want to think about that.

I want to kill that fucking prick. He couldn't just keep his worthless self out of her life. I don't even know what he did or said to her, but I swear to god when I fucking see him...

The elevator doors ding loudly behind me, but I ignore it and keep shifting the tools in my hands aimlessly. By the sound of running footsteps coming my way, I think dick wad is finally here.

"Mr. Styles," I finally hear from behind me, and I turn to see him jogging towards me, and he looks confused by my actions.

"Took you fucking long enough," I grunt as I focus my attention back on the doorknob in front of me.

Nate's hand grabs onto my shoulder to try and get my full attention, and normally I would want to kick his teeth in for it, but the only thing I care about right now is getting this door open and helping Andrea. My movements don't let up until I feel him pull me away slightly.

"Harry, respectfully, back up and let me do it," he says in a serious tone. His hands reach out as an offer to take the tools out of my hands.

Him calling me by my first name is another thing that would normally piss me off, but right now I could care less. It still catches me off guard, but I back up nonetheless. I want to be the one to open it, but I have no idea how to use these or how to get the door unlocked. I pull the tools out of the small keyhole and hand them over to him before standing up and watching him get in the exact position I was in.

As he sticks the tools into the keyhole, he pauses at the sound he's able to hear up close to the door. He swiftly recovers and attempts to get the door unlocked, and I'm nearly ripping out my fucking hair impatiently. Waiting is much worse than at least trying to get it unlocked.

I didn't even change before I came, and I nearly threw the guitar that was on my lap across the room the moment I heard her crying. I moved even faster when I heard her say that he came here. I just slipped a pair of shoes on with my shorts and jumper. All I cared about was getting here and making sure she was okay.

"Is that her?" He asks me quietly as I start to hear faint clicks from the lock.

I hum in response, not really trusting my own words at the moment. I'm also not necessarily in the mood to fucking chit-chat right now. Who else would it be? Use some common sense. Any other day I would say this shit out loud, but he's helping me. Consider my silence as a thank you.