Ambition || Harry Styles

*4*

Moments after deciding a walk home will clear my head a little better than catching a train, I'm fishing my ringing phone back out of my bag with a dramatic huff.

A lit cigarette balances between my fingers while my other hand pushes the phone to my ear and I storm down the street to start the half hour walk towards my apartment.

"Ale-" I start to say into my phone but am cut off immediately.

"Did you just hang up on me, Ms Patterson?" The raspy voice is back and this time it's full of humour.

"Who's asking?" I snap, frustrated that I'm wasting my time dealing with silly games.

I'm normally impatient, my life too busy to wait for bullshit, but after the day I've had, my tolerance is at an all time low.

"I'm curious is it Miss or Mrs Patterson?" he questions, completely ignoring me.

"I really don't have time for this right now, so how about we cut the chit-chat and you tell me what it is you need, or I hang up again and go about my night."

I hear him laugh down the receiver and it takes me by surprise. There's something about his voice, smooth but with a slight gritty quality that gives in a spine-tingling edge. I have no idea who this dude is, but he sounds fucking hot.

That, or he's a serial killer.

I shake my head at myself, he's probably one of those people that sounds attractive but is really an overweight, middle aged man who gets a little handsy after a couple of drinks.

"You don't want to hang up," he says with so much confidence I almost believe him. "You're the one who said you wanted to chat." 

My eyes roll dramatically back into my head at how ridiculous this conversation has been.

Where does this guy get off and why does his cocky tone make me feel uneasy in a kind of addictive way?

My senses are preoccupied, my phone to my ear, carrying my heavy bag on my shoulder, inhaling a drag of smoke, feeling the satisfying burn as it swirls down into my lungs. I don't even realise I'm stepping out onto the road when I do, my head snapping to the side just in time to see the cab that screams to a halt, missing me by an inch at most.

For a split second, my world gets sucked into a timeless vortex, as if everything is standing still and I am so present in this moment that goosebumps break out on my skin, every hair feeling like it's standing on edge.

When my senses return, by god, do I hear it.

The screeching brakes, the deafening sound of the horn, the ear piercing scream that bursts from my chest.

Traffic all around me stops, more horns sounding as I literally halt movement on one of the busiest streets in the city.

"Oh my god" I exhale, my eyes wide and frantic, the cigarette dropping to the road immediately and I struggle to catch my runaway breath as I stumble to the curb, the driver yelling abuse at me for not watching where I was going.

I brace myself with my hands on my knees, tears springing to my eyes and threatening to spill over. Just briefly, for a tiny fraction of a second, I wonder what would have happened if I was hit. 

Would my father have cared? Would my brothers feel bad for not standing up for me every day? Would it have been better than dealing with my infuriatingly, pathetic, lonely existence?

I'm caught in a daze, the contents of my bag spilling onto the pavement next to me but I can't get my shit together as I rub my palm over the sharp pain in my chest that has returned.

My mind is still reeling when I hear a muffled voice coming from my other hand.

"Jesus, Alexa! Alexa! Are you there?"

"H-hello?," I'd forgotten all about this guy, but after just nearly dying I'm actually kind of glad I'm not completely alone right now. "Oh my god, I just nearly got run over," I choke back a sob.

"Shit, are you alright?" he rushes in a panic, sounding actually concerned.

I absolutely hate outward displays emotion, having been taught from a young age that it's a sign of mental weakness, but I can't get a grip on the ones running rampant through my mind and body right now.

"I think so," I tell the stranger, sinking onto my butt as I put my head and hands between my knees. "I mean, I've had the worst day, and this just tops it right off." Tears stream down my face, finally feeling a bit of relief after holding them in all day, and probably all year. "You know when nothing goes right? Nothing I do is good enough, nothing! I can't even cross the fucking street! I just-"

I realise mid-sentence that I'm blubbering to a complete stranger.

"I'm really just wanting to go home have a glass, no, make that a bottle of wine. So, please just tell me what you need. Is this a survey or are you collecting money for charity or something?" I sniffle, wiping my cheeks and wondering if it's too ironic to get in a cab to take me home as fast as possible.

"Um, no, my name is Harry Styles, I wanted to discuss the site I sent you." 

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My walls shoot up quicker than I ever thought possible and I am actually shocked by my own voice when it returns back to its usual icy tone. 

"Right, well, I will give you one hour tomorrow. Be at my office at 9 am. Don't keep me waiting. Good night."

I smack my palm to my face and take a good hard look at myself, sitting on the side of the street, crying, pretending to be everything I'm not and feeling shame when the facade occasionally cracks.

I message Katie while I'm still, literally, on my arse.

*Messed up. Need you at work at 8 tomorrow.*

*I'll be there at 7.45. We will fix it.*