A Shot of Reality [Harry Styles]

XIX. Monster

A/N: I ALWAYS PUT AN AUTHORS NOTE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY. AND THIS IS ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

I AM SORRY OK.

“So boys, how’s L.A been treating you?” Amy asked, disregarding the printed interview card that she held between her pearl pink acrylics.

“Everyone and everything here has been lovely. Thank you for asking,” Liam consecutively answered, giving the boy’s a once over for eminent approval nod.

When they nodded in response, he repeated it again.

“Yes, very lovely.”

“And Harry, I understand you brought a girl by the name of Sydney along for the ride?”

Harry felt the creeping of his grin reach his ear lobes, as the audience of fans “oohed” and “awed” teasingly at blushing boy-bander, to which the boys nudged their mates shoulder in suggestion.

“That, I did,” he announced, discreetly locking his eyes on Sydney’s shying ones from behind the backstage window.

Apparently, it wasn’t secretive enough for Amy had leaned off her designated maroon love seat and against Harry’s shoulder.

“Is that her?” Amy interrupted as she maneuvered her head quickly in effort to find her, her platinum extensions whipping Harry beneath his nostrils as he sought out the slightest smell of rosemary, bergamot, and vodka.

“Um- yeah. That’s her,” Harry said, the slightest dosage of puzzlement and nervosa sponging throughout his tentative tone.

Amy hardened her cool blue, calculating stare on Sydney to which Sydney, being the wonderful, trusting person she was, smiled politely at her. The blonde only cocked one of her perfectly plucked eyebrow in amusement, to which Harry instantly found odd but as soon as he found it strange he brushed it off, passing her off as just another nosey interviewer.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” She denounced after some awkward silence, raking her eyes over the rest of the boys, who skewed their eyes at her,

“Yes, she’s very beautiful,” Harry spoke truthfully yet rushed as he shook off her manicured hand off his shoulder in the most disguised, cold way possible.

He blinked his alarmed gaze towards Sydney. By the way the pools of her sea eyes doubled for a second and faltered in size after and how her pointer finger twirled and tugged a wavy lock like it was a strand of limp spaghetti, he could tell she had grew increasingly aware of the vagueness surrounding the perplexing compliment.

“She must get around then, huh?

“What the-“

“Just like she got around June 26th?” Amy articulated slowly yet at full volume, her masochistic grin growing wider and wickeder at each passing word and each boil of blood bubbling underneath the pop star’s face.

The studio was suddenly absorbed with pin-drop silence and undeniable tension between the Harry and the interviewer, as he sat planted in his sofa raking over every possible and plausible way this random, American stranger could have gotten a hold of this information, for the only individuals that would even know the smallest mention of this tiny yet vital date of a detail would be him, Sydney, the boys, the police, and the monster himself.

Harry already shook off the idea of Sydney releasing anything pertaining to this certain date, for it was stupidly offensive to think otherwise. He knew he never even breathed an undertone of her assault and neither had the boys, since he was around them 24/7. It was probable that the police could’ve let a detail or two slip, but so far they had been increasingly and consistently tedious regarding the secrecy of the case. All he wanted to know was how; how did this random citizen know about Sydney, and what happened to her?