Edited by: Devaki Divan
This cannot be literature. I blame my editor for letting me include it in literature week.
I can’t believe this. My cruel, horrible mother has outdone herself today. “This is the last day of my life,” I think to myself, as I sway uncomfortably at the back of the truck. It is times like this when I really miss my dad. He would never have agreed to this inhumane nonsense. He also disappeared when I was five, but I’m sure he’s a good person. I mean, I didn’t even do anything to my mother–all I did was date that drug dealer she didn’t like, and sure, maybe one time, we set fire to her car, but it really wasn’t that bad. And yeah, okay, maybe she said she couldn’t deal with me anymore, but how was I supposed to know that meant she was going to sell me off to the highest bidder? If I’d known, I would never have pushed her last boyfriend off that bridge.
We reach what I’m assuming is the venue for the auction, and my mother and a man I’ve never seen before unceremoniously hoist me out and steer me to a strange back entrance. “Leave me alone!”, I yell. I shake them off me. “I can walk, I’m 16 years old, I’m not a child.” I storm ahead of them and burst through the doors, tears streaming down my face. I am greeted with four of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, all sitting in makeup chairs and readying themselves. They look up as I enter, and immediately start whispering amongst themselves. I roll my eyes and flop down on the last empty chair. I should’ve known even these girls would hate me. This always happens, I just don’t get it.
I watch as the auctioneer calls each of us onto stage. There are groups of men sitting around tables and making bids. I don’t hear the numbers, and frankly, I couldn’t care less. I am tired, and exhausted, and I refuse to believe that this is happening to me. It’s my turn before I know it, and I walk out into the spotlights with a scowl on my face. I sense the air in the room thicken and see everyone sit up a little straighter. I hear a whisper, “Oh, she’s beautiful.” I turn sharply, and make eye contact with–oh, my god. Is that Harry Styles? He stares back at me with his sharp, green eyes, and a shiver runs down my spine. I look away, a little shaken up, but mostly annoyed at the reaction I’ve just had.
The woman on stage starts the bidding, and he raises his placard–and keeps it raised. “What does that even mean?” I think to myself. I look to the auctioneer as she inclines her head in his direction. “Congratulations, Mr. Styles.” She smiles, and waves to the guards, who come over and escort me off stage and to the front of the auditorium. I comply, not knowing what to do, and still a little bit in shock. He’s standing there, Harry Styles, waiting for me outside his limousine. I don’t even know how he got there before me, but he’s there, and he’s got this obnoxious smirk on his face. I can hear Niall Horan’s voice through the car windows, probably cracking some offensive joke, and Louis Tomlinson laughing uproariously. I see Liam Payne sitting in the corner with his drink, and I don’t even want to think about Zayn Malik. Harry Styles opens the door for me and gestures towards the seat. This is going to be hell.
5 Years Later
Harry comes over to the window and stands behind me, one hand curled around my belly. I place my hand over his and he interlaces his fingers with mine, playing with my–well, his–diamond ring. I smile contentedly and lean against him. Our baby’s going to be so handsome. I can’t believe the way these last five years have flown by, and I couldn’t be happier.