What Makes You Beautiful? | h.s.

31: the devil himself

*Charli POV*

We stopped off at Harry's so he could change before we went to hell. I sat in his car, clutching my phone. I still haven't turned it on since last night, and I have no clue how many messages I've received.

I decided to turn the device on, letting it power up. I placed it on my lap and leaned my head back, waiting for everything to load.

It vibrated continuously for what seemed like ten minutes before it stopped. I dared myself to look down.

31 New Voicemail(s)

406 new message(s)

Are you shitting me?

I opened up my texts and started on Georgia's.

From Peach: Charli, is everything okay? You left kind of quickly. Let me know.

From Peach: Charli, you still haven't answered me. Are you okay?

From Peach: Charli... please answer.

From Peach: Charlotte.

From Peach: You aren't answering my calls. Please let me know if everything is all right.

From Peach: I just spoke with Harry, he wouldn't tell me what happened. He said you're okay though. Please talk to me.

I ignored them seeing as we already spoke earlier today.

From Brookie: Charli girl. What's wrong? You left in tears, is everything okay?

From Brookie: Char. I don't want to bug you, but please let me know if you're okay. You're my best friend; I need to know if you're all right. I love you Charli...

I typed out a response to her.

To Brookie: Hey B. I'll call you later, a lot of shit happened and I don't want to text it. It's bad. I broke up with the asshole. That's all I want to say right now. I love you.

I opened up a couple other messages.

From Nialler: Charli, not sure what happened but I hope you're okay. If you need to talk, I'm here for you!

From Lou: Charles! Never got to see you last night! Where'd you run off! Zayn said you weren't feeling good so you left? I hope you feel better!

I wanted to reply, but didn't have the nerves to do so. I'd see them both later, and it'll be awkward enough.

The next messages were from Zayn. He had managed to send me almost 400 messages. The last one that showed was a simple "I'm sorry."

I swiped left on his message, and quickly clicked the red delete button. I don't need to go through them to see his lame excuses as to why his tongue was down her throat.

I'm going to have to listen to the voice mails in order to delete them. There's no other way.

The driver door opened and Harry sat down in the seat, tossing a backpack into the rear. He had changed into a pair of black skinny jeans, a black muscle tank, and black and white a polka dot shirt that he had left unbuttoned.

He had thrown some random bandana around his head, obviously in an attempt to tame his mass of curls.

"Mr. Fashion Show over here," I laughed as he got back in the car. "So fancy Styles."

"Hush," he laughed and started the drive to the venue. "So, I don't want to pressure you, but you're sure you don't want to come in just for the performance? We can leave right after."