Get The Girl [h.s] AU

42

"Ow." I whine as Delilah the stylist accidentally pricks me with the needle. It had been an hour since she had arrived with a whole closet, she had me up on a small stepping stage she brought in my bedroom and made me stand still in front of the full length mirror.

She peeks her head from behind me and looks at me through the mirror, her nose scrunched. "Sorry." She apologizes with a small laugh. "Can you move now?"

I get off from the stage and walk around, feeling better than I did when she first put the pins in the dress. Now I could actually move without feeling like any little movement I made would rip the seams right off. I nod. "Better." The dress was a deep red and had diamonds and sequins. It dipped low on my chest and had long sleeves, perfect for the weather.

I still had no idea why I needed a dress although it was clear they were preparing something. My birthday is in a couple of days and Harry said Vincent would be released the same day. However, none of that mattered to me. I wasn't in the mood for a party, all I kept thinking was how much I miss home and how much I want to go back.

Delilah brings out a box full of jewelry, the repeated brand of Cartier on most of the tags. She places a bracelet and some rings on my hands, very minimal and subtle but also very elegant. "Think of how you're going to want your hair and makeup to look, I will be back to fix you right up." She smiles at me. After carefully taking off the dress so as to not get poked with the needles, Delilah takes the it and leaves.

Harry had been keeping his distance since yesterday and I wondered why. Maybe he was still upset over what happened with Rick? It was hard to tell what Harry was feeling, he showed no emotion and the constant furrow between his eyebrows made him appear as if he was angry, even though that wasn't always the case.

Needless to say, I got the feeling that all this lavishing with dresses and jewelry was an attempt to let me know of the upcoming birthday party. I wasn't in the mood for a party, not after what I went through. Do they really expect me to believe or accept the fact—so they say—that this Vincent man is actually my father?

I lived 18 years of my life in Mexico with my parents to fall for that too easily. On the chance that that was actually the case, I wasn't just going to run into this strange man's arms. This place is strange to me, there is no doubt in my mind that I will be twice as uncomfortable as I am now.

Zayn hadn't been talking to me much either, not since he found out what I did to Rick. He seemed upset, maybe even more so than Harry.

"I didn't think she would kill somebody! That must've been something you taught her."

His words replay themselves in my head. It was like he was disappointed that I defended myself and I didn't understand why. Harry would've shot him if I didn't. I guess if Zayn were here he'd tell that they'd expect that from him. It seems like they have made up their minds about who I am and what I'm not capable of. They think I'm weak, nothing but a mere girl who needs protecting.

My whole life, men put their lives on the line for me under my fathers orders. Why should someone else have to suffer on account of me? My time with Harry, I grew to hate him. But only because he reminded me of my father in that sense. He never allowed me to breathe on my own, always had to stay one step ahead of me.

But I guess he began to trust me in a way that my father never could.

"What's your take on guns?" Styles asks, picking
up a magazine and puts four bullets in. He then grabs the black pistol and loads it. Watching him do this at such speed kind of made my skin crawl. I didn't necessarily have a phobia of guns, but I wasn't exactly thrilled about being at such proximity to them.