Harry Styles

"Lucy"

Harry slams the door of his dressing room and slides each ring off his fingers, the clink of metal hitting the vanity table. July 14, 2018. The very last show of his first solo tour and the crowd fed his soul every step of the journey. Their cheers egged him on. Afforded him the brain power to finally believe in himself and reach the masses as he always wished he could before.

But with all the fame, fortune, and glory, he's never felt more drained. Fulfilled yet empty.

He looks down at his left index finger where one ring remains. A single crimson ruby, surrounded by clean purposefully tarnished silver. He twists it around his knuckle with his thumb, his eyes slowly moving down to his cross tattoo.

The ring she gave him. The mark she left.

Harry intensely looked into the crowd at every show — particularly when his vocal chords spilled the notes of "Meet Me in the Hallway" — halfway expecting her face to be looking back at him mouthing the words to the song she inspired. Her amber-colored eyes were something of a guilty craving. A snack you're not meant to consume but find yourself delving into at the witching hour. 3:33 AM.

"You fucking did it, kid!"

"Did you feel the stage shake? They can't get enough of you!"

"Killed another show. You were incredible!"

"Now that's how you finish a fucking tour!"

He tickles a Queen of the Night flower, one of many bundled into a cryptic bouquet on the table. The center looks delicate. Gentle even. Comforting enough for a fairy to make a bed in and sleep sweetly in a decade-long hibernation. And while the virginal white petals symbolize purity, their spikey design announce a more sinister motive.

A piece of thin, folded paper falls from the mass of snow-colored blossoms. "Harry" done in hand-written calligraphy stretches across the front of the parchment. He runs his finger against the ink. It slightly smudges against his touch, freshly scribed. He looks around suspiciously and continues to read the inside of the note.

I'll see you soon. – L

Scalding water hits his skin, each droplet singeing off every ounce of sin and guilt. He aggressively scrubs his flesh in an attempt to wash away the smell of sulfur and feel of ash.

Words and notes melt from his lungs and slowly spill out of his mouth like slimy leeches. The critters crawl slowly down his chin, neck, and torso before dropping to the drain to be washed away for what he hopes is forever, leaving trace amounts of blood in their wake.

Yet he wants her song to play again.

Just let me know I'll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I'll be on the floor, on the floor

Maybe we'll work it out

It's the cleansing before the sacrifice. Harry accepts his fate while simultaneously praying the heat will purge his pores of evil and deceit.

I gotta get better, gotta get better

Patting himself dry with the plush cloth, he wraps it around his lower half. Exhaustion has overtaken his body.

Harry steps towards his bed and collapses onto the mattress as his subconscious drifts away.

Gothic towers stand tall on either side of him. Gargoyles and broken statues of angels blur in his peripherals until his body inevitably hits the ground. He tries to catch his breath, his back aching from the impact. All the air is sucked from his lungs and then suddenly replaced.

He gasps for breath, sitting up. He digs his hands into ash and rock.

"Hello?" Harry asks. He silently awaits a response. "IS ANYONE THERE?" His tone turns more panicked. His voice echoes in the vast scenery in front of him.

Rows of stone and fog and night lay before him. He crawls down the deteriorating alley. In a matter of seconds, the haunted Vatican-like structures turn into a dim hallway in a rundown hotel. His fingernails dig into the tightly woven red carpet and his body moves towards the suite at the end of the runway.

"Do you need help?" Her calm voice whispers closely to his ear as he struggles forward. Her soft lips brush against the lobe. She takes his hand into hers and slips on a ruby ring. Her fingertips leave a crucifix black mark on his hand — tattoo like but with a mix of branding — a symbol of a deal. "Just let me know, I'll be at the door. You have a lot of potential. I'm really hoping you'll come around."

He suddenly feels like he's both falling and floating. Dark thoughts bleed into bone-white clouds of innocence, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. His body shivers with chills as flames around him build and burn in a biblical manner.

Then he opens his eyes.

"Remembering when we first met, I presume?" She's cavalier, her body on her side and head resting on her relaxed palm. She throws her hair over her shoulder.

"Lucy..."

"You didn't think I forgot about our deal, did you?" She grasps his chiseled jaw and turns his face towards her, planting a deep, intoxicating kiss on his cheek.

Harry loses himself in the feeling of her mouth. Bursts of light explode on the under side of his eyelids as he soaks in her smell while a dark shadow takes over a portion of the experience. A lunar eclipse. A once in a lifetime show that makes you feel both special and haunted. He invoked this. He asked for this. He requested an answer to his innermost desires.

But now it's time to repent.

"I would never, Lucy," Harry says, embracing the side of her face. A surge of electricity shoots through his fingertips and throughout his body. "Can you touch me?" he begs.

"Now, now, love. I want to know how you've been. Let's catch up." She looks at him with adoration. Her greatest creation. "How are things?"

She's suddenly straddling him. She looks down at his innocent eyes. Eyes that want to do good in the world. Eyes that want to make a difference. For a millisecond she feels bad for tainting him but is thankful for the integral part he's played.

"Amazing. I don't want this to end. It's everything I've ever wanted."

"It doesn't have to end, sweetheart." She runs her sharp nails through his dark curls. "It doesn't have to." She goes to lean down and kiss his lips but he surprisingly declines.

"I can do this without you now." Harry pushes her off of him. He fights against his instincts. "You gave me what I needed." He stands up and stalks to his closet. He grabs a long-sleeved thermal and sweats and slips on each piece of clothing. His barrier against her seduction.

"You've treated people with kindness, Harry. You're a good man. You've done what we've needed." Lucy cackles as she falls back onto the springy mattress. "It's so adorable how you think you can deny me." She grasps her chest to subdue her building laughter.

"What do you want from me?" Harry stands up from the bed, his back pressed against the curtained window.

"YOU KNOW WHAT I WANT FROM YOU." Her eyes fill with flames in response. Her jugular pulsates with rage and contempt and challenge. "You made me a promise, Harry. While it's entertaining to see how you've been spreading all this love and joy, I need to remind you that you got this fame because of me. And I expect to collect on the work I've put into this."

"I can't do—"

"Hush. You're all too serious. Come here for a second. We can talk about this." She gives a wiggle of her finger, practically lifting him off the ground and levitating him towards her. "I'll let you free on one request."

"What?" He whispers.

"If you kiss me, I'll let it all go. I'll set you free from all restrictions. You can literally be whoever the fuck you want to be. All I ask is for one breathtaking kiss from my favorite protege."

Harry steps towards the bed. He places his knees on the edge, swinging one around the side of her body and drops his chest against the sinful skeleton beneath him. He feels breaths of heartache and destruction. She exhales harm and pain while he inhales sweetness and peace. They're at odds. And while he's the weaker player, his spirit stands up in a valiant effort.

"Fine. I'll kiss you," he whispers, leaning down. He presses his lips against hers and pulls away.

Lucy smiles against him. "Do you know who you are?"

"Just... tell me. Who am I really?" He asks.

Flesh-to-flesh, her tongue presses against his, excreting a fizz of psychedelic waves into his mind. He sees stars and planets and black holes and everything he thought would be unseen.

He sees the different versions of himself in every alternate universe he can imagine. A boxer, hands taped, ready to fight with sweat on his brow. A dancer, stretching in front of mirrored panels on the wall. A sparkly blue suit, enhancing all the natural emotions Harry wants to communicate to the world.

All clones of himself. Each of which make him feel comforted and anxious. The next steps are uncertain.

Lucy pulls away from his face, her drug-like tongue giving him peace at last. She lets him reflect then narrows her eyes at his sweet expression. She contemplates taking back the corruption she's causing but it's what is built into every fiber of her being. Her heart leaps from her chest at the sight of Harry coming down from the high of her mouth.

"You're sweet. And like I said, you treat people with kindness, Harry. Every single soul." She uses her hand to pinch his cheeks, drawing his mouth into a kissy face. "Now it's time to fuck the world."

"But how do we do that?" Harry gives into her peer pressure. Her allure. The sweet smell of her skin and enticing, glossy irises. She no longer smells of sulfur and pain. It's delectable and tempting. He's bitten onto the brightly colored lure on the end of her line and he gives into being reeled in. As much as he wants to fight it, he can't. And the sensation of this blood and juices falling on the sides of his mouth as he's brought up to the surface are satisfying. He feels secure.

She plants one last kiss and nibbles on his bottom lip before pulling away. She needs him just as much as he wants her.

"You're my missing piece, Harry," she responds, looking him deeply in the eyes.

"I've been denying it but I've been waiting for you to tell me that..." Harry looks down at her longingly. "What's the plan?"

"I have two words for you..." Lucifer grins deviously at him. She's been awaiting the question. He's in the palm of her hand once again.

"What?" Harry beams at her with excitement. He forgets all the trauma, night terrors, anxiety he's experienced since first meeting her. All he can feel is the heated embrace of her lanky arms around him. He looks excitedly at her, stars in each of his eyes. "What are the words?"

"Watermelon. Sugar."

Welcome to Spooky Week 2019! Be sure to check out the tag #spookyweek19 to see all of the authors that are joining in on the fun.

Love,
Fat Bottomed Girls