redemption: harry styles

Chapter Seventy

Afraid, The Neighbourhood

Me, The 1975

Medicine, Daughter

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// two days before the incident //

"Listen to me, Evelyn." His hands pressed to either side of my face and his emerald eyes stared coldly back. "They've been looking for us for years, ever since I committed my first homicide--we've been ten steps ahead, but now they've caught up."

"I don't understand," I said, gripping his forearm. He dropped his hands to his sides and rushed to the bedroom.

"We need to leave," he muttered. "They're coming."

"What about the others?" I asked, referring to the rest of his gang, and followed him. "Are they here?"

He rummaged through the drawers and took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out, shoving them into a leather black backpack, and grabbed his jacket from the floor. His back turned to me.

"They're all downstairs. Just gather things you need, quickly," he said sheepishly and yanked the luggage up. "You don't need clothes. Don't waste any time. They're on their way right now."

I breathed out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Harry wasn't collecting any clothes besides the jacket, so I pulled out a jumper, slipped it on and grabbed my phone and its charger.

"What else do I need?" I asked, feeling weight on my chest. I felt stupid for asking such questions when he clearly was in a rush to leave the room. Or the fricken city.

"Uh, could you grab everything from the fridge and, just shove it in here-" he gestured to his bag, "-that's all. We're going to be in the car for hours, so get what's useful for a long drive."

A long drive? I thought. Fleeing from the people who were looking forward to stop our hearts from beating. Lovely.

I shoved my phone's charger in his bag and brought it along with me to the kitchen. Three bars of chocolate, two cartons of milk, a water bottle and a tiny sealed milk for coffee was in the fridge. I grabbed everything and shoved it in the bag, including the milk--because who doesn't enjoy drinking milk from those cute little cartons.

I also grabbed the complementary coffee, hot chocolate and teabags from the counter and the snacks Harry bought when we first moved in. Not everything fit in Harry's backpack--a killer with a backpack.--so I found a plastic bag and shoved everything in there.

After clearing the hotel room of everything we needed--that belonged to us--Harry and I left the room. He placed the key on the windowsill of a window in a hallway because he didn't need it and if we returned it to the receptionist they'll ask us to check out, sign stuff, waste time, et cetera.

Harry rushed me outside where the weather wasn't hot--thank God--but it wasn't cold either, just a mild breeze. He had one of the bag's straps loosely thrown over one shoulder and I had the plastic bag in my hand, our hands tightly gripping each other's. According to him, one of the boys should be here with a black van with plenty of room and comfort for a night drive.

I soon spotted the described vehicle and we rushed to it. Harry threw himself to shotgun and I slid the side door open and stepped inside. Our driver; Niall.

"You said two minutes," he roared and slammed his foot onto the pedal. The car jerked forward with an earsplitting screech, and threw me back into my seat. I groaned and put my seatbelt on.

"What?" Harry yelled back and practically melted into his seat, exhausted. Sleeping all day and night for two days at a hospital, then suddenly running back, probably. "It's not like they're right behind us!" Says the one who rushed me out of the room.