It felt as though the walls were watching her as she padded down the all too familiar hallway. She could hear them screaming at her, laughing through their chipped paint and torn plaster. She could feel them eyeing her dress, the same one she had worn the night before, the fabric hanging lazily off her bare shoulder and bunched up at her thighs. She had been in a rush to put it on that morning, her nimble hands working to pull the dress over her matted head of hair. It was humiliating in the least, having to walk down the streets of London at six in the morning with the same clothes from the day before, and her suede heels in her hand.

She hated feeling humiliated- mocked.

But most of all, she hated this place. It was achingly familiar to her, but no matter how many nights she had slept in the tattered mattress laying on the floor of her small bedroom, and no matter how often she would stare up at the ceiling and count the borderless images she could make out in the chipped stucco- she would never, ever call this place home.

It was ironic how only an hour ago she had woken up in a lavish room, with a man made of money laying by her side against the satin bed sheets. She dreamt of waking up like that every morning; smelling the rich paint on the walls surrounding her, looking out the window at the extravegent view.

It was unfair that the people who were born with such privileges took them for granted.

Her hand dug into her small clutch, ignoring the stack of pounds and reaching for the set of keys underneath it. She looked like a mess and she knew it, she knew it all too well. Her dark eyes were abnormally unsure of themselves, a sense of vulnerability mixing in with the hues of brown. Her shoulders, which were normally pulled back by her confidence, were slumped with fatigue. When Mr. Styles had said all night, he truly meant all night.

He had finally pulled his body off of hers, reluctantly, at about three in the morning, giving Carmen only two hours of sleep before she woke up and silently fled his apartment. She hadn't felt an ounce of guilt for leaving him again so suddenly. She had left a note on the pillow in hopes of compensating for her mysterious absence.

The familiar sound of labored breathing was audible as she took a step into the small space of the apartment. A tired sigh escaped her lips.

"Morning," she mumbled to the rounded figure laying on the couch in the cramped front room. She didn't recieve any sort of greeting in return, only the rhythm of congested breathing, a sound she had grown to dislike.

He was still asleep, she concluded as she took a closer look, his papery eyelids closed and his thick arm hanging from the edge of the couch like it was a withered branch. Lifeless. If it wasn't for the deep breaths sounding from his chest, one would've thought he was as dead as the potted fern in the corner of the room.

Carmer rolled her eyes, silently praising herself for getting there before he woke up.

She headed down the slim hall before coming upon the small room at the end of it. It was her room.

The many nights spent in it seemed like an endless blur. The young tears that stained the mattress on the floor, along with the irremovable splotch of crimson that would forever remind her of the night she gave up her last bit of innocence. The small desk in the corner that she hardly used anymore, where she could imagine a younger version of herself sitting and humming a soft, happy tune.

Her least favorite spot in the room, the one that always made a distasteful scowl spread onto her beautiful face, was the framed picture hanging from the wall by the small window. It was a woman, no older than herself, who would actually be easily mistaken for Carmen. Her eyes were just as dark, though a bit softer in their gaze. Her hair was black and long. Carmen often found herself staring in the mirror, with a pair of scissors in her hand, wanting so desperately to chop off her long locks, just so to lessen the resemblance between her and the woman in the picture.

The mattress creaked as she flopped down on it, huffing out a tired breath. She was going to need some more beauty sleep if Harry was to take her out shopping later. She stared up at the ceiling. Her hand reached up to play with the diamond pendant around her neck as she thought to herself, smiling thoughtlessly as she recalled the endless night she had just had.

Harry.

Those ruby red lips smiled wider.

Her mind played over the murmured conversation they had shared just before drifting to sleep.

"I'm sorry about ruining your dress," Harry spoke, his voice even slower than usual, as if the exhaust in his body was lagging on his words. His chin was propped up on her chest, his emerald eyes peering up at her through their tired haze.

"It's okay. You're forgiven." 

He sat up slightly and shook his head. "I'll buy you another one." His words were sincere, excited almost. "I can take you shopping and we can get as many dresses as you'd like."

She tried to hide the way her eyes instantly lit up with greed amid the dark room. "Oh my... that isn't necessary, Harry," she blushed, biting at her lip to appear humbled by his offer. Her stomach was fluttering at the though of an all-new wardrobe. "I have plenty of more dresses that Stephan has bought for me."

She struggled to keep from smirking as she watched his face grimace darkly at the mention of his name.

"No," Harry nearly growled in response, wrapping his arm under her sweat-coated body and tugging her closer to his chest. "You're never going to wear anything he has bought for you. Ever."

He pressed a light kiss to her lips to lessen the harshness of his tone. He couldn't help it. Every thought that came with the mention of that man's name made Styles boil with envy and fury, and maybe even the slightest bit of fear. 

"I'll take you shopping tomorrow, okay?" he said with an adoring smile. "You can get whatever you want."

It was those words, that promise shared between them at three in the morning, that caused her to scribble down her cell number on the note left on his pillow. Otherwise, she would've been gone without any traces left behind.

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Harry woke up alone.

Nothing could describe the pang of emptiness in his chest when he realized his arm was wrapped around a cold pillow, and not a warm body. It felt as though something had been physically torn from his body, leaving him cold and wounded. He had woken up alone for his whole life, with nothing but the blinding morning light to greet him. But yet this time the sun light seeping in from the window only left him feeling emptier, colder.

He sat up quickly, a gush of cool air causing his bare skin to prickle, as if to remind him of her absence. His fingers dragged through his unruly head of hair before his eyes darted around frantically, as if she would appear from thin air. His shoulders slumped with the weight of his dissappointment as he realized she wasn't anywhere.

"I swear to God-" he stopped himself as his gaze caught a small note, laying on the pillow in place of his vixen. He pursed his lips in confusion before reaching for it.

I had a grand time last night, Mr. Styles. Hope to see you soon.

-C

At the bottom of the paper was a cell phone number, scribbled on like she had been in a hurry to leave.

The sense of relief that flooded through him should've been concerning, but he payed no mind to it. He smiled instantly after reading it, feeling almost bubbly with giddiness. Sure she had left just like the last time, but at least he had her number now. His teeth dug into his lip as he contemplated whether or not to try the number out, to see if she had given him a fake one again. He knew he was just using that as an excuse to talk to her, though.

He reached for his phone and thought over what he could say before typing it out.

It's a shame you didn't stay for breakfast. I'm quite the cook.

He sent the message after letting his finger hover over the send button for a few lingering moments. He felt like a teenage boy, nervous and awaiting every dire moment he could spend with his girl. His girl. He wanted to be able to call her that, but he knew the title wasn't fit yet. 

Part of him hoped he could call her that soon.

His phone buzzed in his hand and broke him from his thoughts.

Is there anything you can't do, Chef Styles?

He let out a low chuckle as he read it over. He could almost hear her saying that to him, her rich voice dripping with sarcasm. He could see her hip jutting out as she stared up at him challengingly, her lips tugged up in her usual smirk. 

He laid back down against the bed as he wrote out his reply, trying to wipe the grin from his face as his cheeks started to burn; he seemed to have smiled more times in the past week than his entire life time.

I can't stay away from you ;) xx

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I AM SO SORRY THAT TOOK SO LONG AND ITS UNEDITED AND FUCK IM SORRY

and it was really short and boring im sorRY

imma update again this weekend pinky promise