Human [Harry Styles]

Chapter Fourteen.

Marley

            I have to say; I think I’m doing better. That is, I think that we’re doing better.

            I don’t have a problem with going outside anymore. I don’t have a problem with holding down the stares of judgmental and curious strangers, despite everything else that’s happened.

            Hell, I think I’m even starting to not blame myself so much anymore.

            I mean, don’t get me wrong, the guilt is still there deep in the pit of my stomach. It’s just not screaming at me every time I swallow or inhale, whispering thoughts about how Amy should be alive now as well.

            She should, but it isn’t necessarily because of me, at least not a hundred percent.

            Harry’s doing amazing as well. I recently saw the #StylesStandsUp trend from a couple days ago on Twitter, which has got to be one of the largest I’ve ever seen. Along with that, his speech on the radio is just about a YouTube hit, so hopefully the attitude there sticks.

            I’ve very aware of the fact that is only the first step (sadly) and that there’s so much more that needs to happen. Yes, we’ve got a bit of our own self-esteem and confidence back, but now we’ve got to get everyone else (or at least a majority) to believe it.

            Being so absorbed in my thoughts, it’s startling, to say the least, when the home phone’s ring practically explodes through the quiet house.

            Travis growls a bit before I hush him in assurance, sliding over in my chair at the dining room table to answer.

            “Hello?”

            I don’t really know what I expect. There’s a part of me that assumes it’s something about the speaking in a week or so, while another in the back of my head thinks it might be Harry. Though he’s usually quite busy and contacts me on my cell phone so…

            “Hello, my I speak to Marley Sorin?” A low, male voice says blandly and without much emotion.

            Frowning a bit, I simply say, “This is her.”

            “Hello,” he repeats, using a very simple let’s-get-down-to-business tone. “I’m James Thomas, a Crown Prosecutor from the county. I’m calling with good news… the man who was responsible for the robbery and shooting at your work, back in January, has been found and is now awaiting a trial.”

            Though I know I should be (and am a bit) elated about the fact, my blood runs cold just at the mention alone.

            Very few people have directly spoken to me about it, let alone someone actually of the government or law.

            After the whole incident, the man responsible for all the chaos ran off, never to be seen again. Using a mix of the security cameras in the store (which were honestly shit) and fingerprints from dropped currency as he fled, police managed to identify him.

            I never bothered to remember his name. His face haunts me enough after all, just those cold eyes. I know that I wouldn’t need any birth given name to help me identify him, I could at just a glance if need be.

            “And?” I finally croak, realizing that this James Thomas is likely waiting for some sort of response.

            He seems almost unsure of what to say himself, like it should be obvious. “Well,” he begins. “Seeing as you’re the prime witness of the incident, we’d like you to come to court for the trial. With your help, this man is about ten times more likely to get behind bars.”