Dust Bones [Harry Styles]

003

        Movement was stirring me in my sleep. The faint sound of an engine roared in slight vibrations beneath me. I opened my eyes quite rapidly. I tend to wake up abruptly, questioning my whereabouts and my surroundings before I begin to remember.

        My neck was craned back, lying lazily against the leather seats of a car. It hurt from the odd position, but I didn't mind it very much as I lifted my head from the seat. 

        Outside to my right was a pool of darkness. In front of me were the bright lights known as headlights that guided us through the night. My head turned as I rubbed my eyes from sleep, quietly taking a glance at Harry's figure.

        His posture was straight, perfectly situated and his position the same as when I fell asleep; one arm on the center console, one large hand wrapped around the steering wheel. By the alert look on his face he barely seemed tired. It seems to me we've been driving for hours now. I don't understand him. There has to be some robotic explanation to him.

        Instead of asking him what the time was -- being more than aware now that he won't answer me -- I checked the time near the car radio, blowing air out of my mouth when I saw it was three in the morning.

        Was he aware that I was awake?

        Did he care? 

        Probably not. Having woken up, I rubbed my eyes again, yawning softly before staring ahead at the road. I'm curious about his voice, the way his lips move when he talks. No one would be able to sit here for hours in a car with the silent company of a stranger like Harry. One that talks with his actions rather than his words. 

        I sighed, placing my hands on my lap. My tongue skimmed across my lips, moistening the slightly dry skin. I wanted to eat something, but was too afraid to ask. Plus, it was three in the morning. Eating would just have to wait. I ate before I left, but unfortunately I enjoy food a lot. 

        My lips pressed into a firm line, trying to avoid making even the slightest bit of conversation. I know the gun he had loaded was probably put away now since I fell asleep and stopped irritating him so frequently. Even though my mouth was going against my own control I wanted to say a few things, prod him until he spoke to me. 

        "We're not stopping at a motel or anything?" I asked finally, turning my head to look at him. The light from the headlights reflected slightly into our car, illuminating the small area a bit. I could still see every inch of his flawless skin. 

        Harry didn't reply -- as usual. His only reaction was to keep his head straight. 

        More than ready to shout at him, I inhaled deeply. He was driving me crazy, without having said a word. I angrily bit on my bottom, almost drawing out the metal taste of blood but I refrained from doing so. Searching into my pockets, I brought out my chapstick. These days I've been getting cracked lips and it's been annoying. I can't seem to understand how some people deal without chapstick. 

        The fruity smell made my stomach a bit queasy. It was a sweet smell, inhaled with an empty stomach. Somehow the smell triggered my hunger to turn into little stomach pain. 

        "Are we ever going to stop and eat somewhere?" Once again, I'm the one asking questions. 

        "I'm really hungry. And I'm sorry for bothering you and I know it's three AM but I'm --" 

        "Don't make me shoot you."

        My mouth went dry. It didn't matter what kind of chapstick I wore, it went completely dry and I'm sure my astonishment stretched considerably far like the drop of my jaw. His voice was so...deep, husky, smooth like butter, yet raspy like a rough surface all at once. His accent was thick, British, and infatuating. It made my heart drop into my stomach, my eyes widened in horror, yet it was mostly consumed by the shock.