Sold // Harry Styles

Chapter 42

“Have these documents been updated in awhile?” I ask Harry.  He glances at the papers in my hands as we drive down the dirt road back to our hotel.  “Because, if they aren’t, how will we know if a slave moved or something?”

My eyes shift hastily across the papers, trying to register at least one word that’s written in Eastside’s secret language.  The odd shapes and symbols seem to jumble and mesh together the more I continue looking at them.  And though I can’t read one word from this list, Harry has read several names and addresses with one swift glance while still keeping a good eye on the road.

He shrugs his shoulders.  “They should be.  Someone still works at the security building.  They just weren’t there when we went.”

The old, dilapidated, office building fills my mind.  The grass was yellowing and the walls were dull and faded with slowly graying bricks.  The inside was ice cold and the lights (which was a single bulb with a string attached) was turned off.  The whole atmosphere felt dead. 

My mind can’t fathom the thought that someone actually works in that building.  It seems too run down and damaged to be suitable for a secretary.  All the documents were stored in a filing cabinet.  There was one telephone--a large black machine sitting on the corner of a large table with scratches and sharp edges.  And one large, bulky computer sat in the middle.  It looked like the office hasn’t been updated in years.

“What was it like working there?” I ask Harry, voicing my thoughts.

He doesn’t answer at first.  He stares straight ahead at the road, fingers drumming against the steering wheel before he turns to glance at me.  His mouth opens slightly, as if he was going to say something, but then he lets out one loud, humorless laugh, pulling his eyebrows together in the middle.

“The office alone sucked.  There’s no other words to describe it.  But adding A.J. to the mix just made it ten times worse.”

I hum at his response, leaning my head against the window.  The landscape flies past us, and only the sound of the tires on the dirt road fills the silence.

“Harry?”  He looks over in my direction briefly, letting me know that I have his attention.  “What happened between you and A.J.?”

His posture suddenly turns rigid and his fingers wrap around the wheel sternly.  I can see his  knuckles turning white from the grip and it’s almost the same color as his face.  He lets out a long sigh, threading his fingers through his hair, untangling the nonexistent knots.

“I saw some pictures of you and A.J. when you were little,” I add in quietly. I look at my hands, too afraid to meet his eyes. “You looked close to him when you were younger.  I was just wondering if...if something happened between you and him?”

I risk a glance at him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.  I bite my lip, but more damn words keep spewing out of my mouth.

“I mean, you looked happy in those pictures.  And A.J. looked happy too.  But, I don’t know.  Sometimes things fall apart for a reason, you know?  Like with my uncle and everything.  Although, I don’t really know what happened between you and A.J.  If something happened.  I’m not a--”

He places his hand on my knee, stopping me from saying anything more.  I let out a sigh when I see him smile very slightly.  “If I didn’t stop you, I’d think you ramble on for days,” he teases me, though his voice is monotone as he stares straight forward.

I shrug my shoulder, staring intently at him as he drums his fingers against the wheel again.

“I don’t know,” he finally says.  He licks his lips, shaking his head back and forth.  “I don’t know what happened.”