I know I’ve been on the silent side recently (I’m working on a project rn and I’m so so so excited to share).
I hope you’re all staying healthy and safe. My inbox is still open and I’m going to go through all those gorgeous messages more consistently! As always, I’m here if you any of you need/want to talk. Miss y’all sm xx
Here’s the chappie where you get a look beyond the Mediterranean fortress Harry calls home… ;)
Timing is sometimes too perfect to be the pure product of coincidence.
Everything is connected: the earth and the seas, the moon, and all the sky’s stars.
Our bodies are made of these, fragments of their nature, tying us to this world.
Aunt Lara used to tell me that we are a part of the cosmos, the cosmos pushing and pulling people into paths they’re supposed to be on. She’d smoke her cigarette on our porch with the full moon hanging high in the sky that she’d soon be flying through, and I’d nod, thinking I was so cool just for being around her. It was our time then, just the two of us, sometime after my parents had gone asleep and I’d sneak past their room to meet her outside. She never told my parents I was staying up late on a school night. She’d take another drag, extending one to me, knowing I wouldn’t take it.
“I’ve seen seven year olds with these things,” she’d mutter, laughing to herself, and when she’d look out, I imagined she was envisioning the Roman Cafe she’d frequent beside the famed Colosseum. A hot sun, and balmy breeze, warm like the foreign friends she’d meet, or the lukewarm seas lapping around her ankles. “So much warmer and clearer than anything you’ve ever felt here. The most miraculous shades of blue…” She’d smoke, she’d smile. I’d admire.
It was a full moon that night.
Just like it was tonight.
There are some things that happen so precisely, I think there must not be any other way these things could have happened, no other explanation, other than Aunt Lisa’s: the universe and its timing are inextricably linked to create our destiny.
Our choices change our future, sure. But there’s something beyond that, in the fickle way our choices play out ironically, that makes me think some things are fated. God, the cosmos, whatever you believed in - they had bigger plans for everyone.
They certainly had bigger plans for me other than a depressing Netflix binge in my dorm room after the game.
Yellow fluorescents flickered in the dismal parking garage. Lionel Styles was waiting by the elevators with Sven, looking oddly casual in normal streetwear. They grabbed Harry from me as soon as I’d parked, carrying him in. I followed, for a brief second questioning whether or not my services were needed. Maybe this was only family now.
But Lionel hastily beckoned me towards him. “You wanted a hands on experience right?”
His words seemed crass in a moment like this, but I brushed it off as stress as I went with them in the elevator. Lionel punched in a code and it creaked to life, slower than normal. A table had already been cleared in one of the surgery rooms, a white plastic sheet like that of a serial killer lain across. Gauze, ice water, rags, forceps, and needles were atop a metal tray. It was everything I expected of a surgical room - stark, sterile, and cold without any frivolous decor. No paintings. I assumed there was never anyone awake enough in this room to enjoy them anyway. Sven lay a white medical pillow down, too thin to be comfortable, as Lionel lowered Harry. I cringed, feeling another wave of nausea wrack through me. His gauze, once pink, was now completely red and looked wet to the touch.
“He’s been bleeding this whole time,” I breathed. Albeit obvious, it was less to inform Lionel than it was to come to terms with it myself.
Lionel flicked one of the syringes, nodding solemnly. “He might need a blood transfusion.”
Blood transfusion. IV poles were behind the table, blood blags and clear IV fluid already ready. He was expecting this.
“Shouldn’t he be at a hospital?”
“Nothing we can’t do. He’s just a boy. Gets into scrapes every now and then.”
“This is more than a scrape.”
He ignored me, plunging the needle in, and less than a second later, Harry’s eyes fluttered.
“Adrenaline,” I whispered under my breath. I recognized the protocol.
Lionel looked at me, curiously. “You’ve done a good job. Did you stuff the wound?”
I shook my head. Harry was still lightly breathing thanks to the adrenaline. But he wasn’t anywhere near stabilized to warrant my work being commended.
“It’ll be enough until my friend gets here,” he said.
I looked at him, skeptically.
“The anesthesiologist,” he clarified.
And I blamed it on the shock for being so daft. Dr. Styles had been established in the medical field since he received his degree, it was no surprise if he had a “friend” for everything.
“Is Mary here?” I don’t know why I asked this question. I don’t know why I thought it was relevant. Perhaps because if my mom knew I was bleeding out on a table, she’d be right there. Right beside me. She would’ve been the one driving, bossing around all the doctors. 911 would have been called and she would’ve moved hell fire and water screaming like a banshee to get to me. “Does she know?” I questioned.
Lionel didn’t even look at me, carefully unwrapping the gauze. “She’s sleeping. I didn’t wake her.”
The separate lives of Mr. and Mrs. Styles spread further in my eyes, only their roof and rings joining them.
I unpacked new gauze, handing it to him. The butterfly bandaids hadn’t held, big shock, and blood trickled down in a steady current. How much blood could he have left? Lionel didn’t have time to be surprised, but the stoic doctor looked a shade whiter when he grabbed the gauze. The wound was exposed and he hesitated, simply applying pressure. His hands bloodied by the second.
For as renowned as he was, in facing his own son, he suddenly seemed paralyzed. I wanted to shake him.
Sven re-entered, slightly out of breath. I’d never noticed him leaving. “They’re here, sir. But they can’t get in-”
A spark was lit. Something familiar for him to grasp onto. “Elevator’s been jamming,” he cursed.
I helped apply pressure, and Dr. Styles looked at me, unsettled.
“I’ll stay here. You can let them in,” I nodded, even though there hadn’t been a question.
“It’s deep. So you have to physically stuff the wound with gauze. Have you ever dealt with a stab wound?”
My eyes narrowed. He already knew what kind of injury it was.
Then, mustering all the poise and retort of the First Lady, “With all due respect sir, I can do this.”
“I’ve seen grown men faint at the sight of needles let alone handling an open wound.”
“Thank God I’m a woman then.” I don’t know what possessed me, but my steely gaze must’ve been convincing. Lionel ran through the door, not even bothering to shut it.
Perhaps it was all the hours of being kept to dull paperwork and the maddening helplessness I’d felt for too long now.
But I couldn’t sit around anymore.
I needed to do something.
Sven watched me as I put on gloves and bunched up the gauze, holding my breath as I pushed it past the skin’s opening, ignoring his little gasps telling me this was hurting him, and ignoring the hot sensation around my hands. Tissue. That hot sensation was his tissue. I was inside Harry. I was touching… suddenly the anatomy I’d memorized in textbooks was a little too detailed. These gloves were too thin. I kept going and Sven jumped in to help elevate Harry so I could wrap the gauze around his entire abdomen, stuffing his wound until it was full.
We didn’t speak.
I sat on the only steel stool in silence. I may not want to sit around, but right now the floor could move beneath me at any moment. Sven was in the corner of the room, gaze locked to the clock. The minutes seemed to tick by slower than anything I’d ever felt. I could feel time, just like in the elevator. And maybe it was because his time was running out. He could die. Harry could very well die. If I’d chosen to go with Renny, if I’d stayed a moment longer, if I’d left a moment sooner, I would’ve passed the locker room without hearing him, without seeing him at all. What would the alternative have been? An image of Harry bleeding out, cold on the floor made me nauseous.
And still the clock ticked.
I could have screamed by the time they burst through the doors in a flury. Two men I’d never seen before entered in slacks and untucked button-downs. This hadn’t been an expected call. This wasn’t official. They ignored Sven and I, instantly getting to work, which was fine by me as long as I could stay. They inserted needles and attached wires and masks until I wasn’t sure I could untangle him if I tried. The smallest mewling noises came from him, but he didn’t stir. I don’t think he had it in him to move anymore. Only able to give one desperate lolled roll of his head.
One of the men, the anesthesiologist, fiddled with a machine. The whooshof releasing gas sounded when Harry took his first breaths. A slow, but steady, heart rate appeared on the monitor.
Lionel looked at it briefly.
The Doctor and his helpers worked for what seemed like hours. Maybe it was. For how long time felt and despite how intently I’d been staring at the clock, I couldn’t recall when we’d arrived. I cringed as they undid my handiwork, only to excavate deeper into the wound. I know this might be my future when I pursued medical school, but on more than one occasion I had to look away.
Sven had left the room entirely, standing guard just beyond the door. At least Sven escaped the smell of metal and flesh.
They stapled Harry together like meat, a butchered boy on the operating table, like Hasbro Operation except no one was laughing when the forceps dug in, and nobody won.
Every time I cringed, I reminded myself: Harry was asleep. He couldn’t feel any of this.
He looked like a corpse under the unforgiving white light, but the heartbeat reminded me he was alive.
When Lionel Styles finally turned away, tossing his gloves in the bin, he looked whiter than the sheet beneath Harry.
It was the longest night I’d ever had.
But for him, to excavate into his son the way he just had, I imagined it was longer.
——
“I didn’t have to come,” Matt said, for the first time irritance lacing his voice. Golden Boy stood at my doorway, recoiled, after I’d practically growled upon seeing him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It was a long night.”
And annoying after the e-mail notification I’d received about the DG Pretty Please. Time was running out, and it was the last thing I’d had on my mind recently.
“Why was it so long?”
I twirled my hair around itself in a messy bun, letting it hold itself up. I just shrugged while Matt’s concern mounted.
Lionel had asked me not to speak of it. “We’ll let you know when you can see him,” he’d said. As far as anyone else was concerned, I hadn’t been there that night. There was a reason he didn’t want Harry going to a hospital. Less questioning, less spotlight, less of an impact on their image… it still unnerved me. Such a horrific injury, and yet… it was almost expected, brushed under the rug. Had Harry really been this much of a troublemaker growing up that a stab wound was equivalent to a scrape for Dr. Styles?
Matt set the steaming Del Taco bag on the floor. “Y/N, seriously, what’s up? You couldn’t even stay the weekend on campus? She told me you’ve been gone for weeks.” He sat down at the foot of my bed when he was sure I wasn’t going to turn into a snarling monster. Which, to be fair, must have been a hard conclusion to come to. “And it’s true, I haven’t seen you around at all. You just… disappeared.”
“Okay, it was ONE week,” I clarified. “And we don’t see much of each other anymore anyways so don’t act like you’re so butt hurt that I decided to come home again.”
I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them. They were the ones we hadn’t said. The ones we knew were true. But a mood had crept through me last night turning me sour against the world. And now each word I spoke was infected with its poison.
His brows scrunched, eyes flashing with indignation, not sure how to handle me, of all people, lashing out abuse.
“Yeah, because youquit your PT job.”
“I got a new one!”
“And that’s fine! Why are you so… defensive right now??” he laughed briefly at the absurdity. “I just don’t know why you’re trying to blame this on me. Where is this coming from?”
I remained silent. I didn’t know why I was blaming him so harshly for our friendship reaching a downward slope. I knew we had different circles of friends, and as gross of a cliche as it was, he was with the athletes and I was with… Renny. Though now I was starting to hang out with Lynn more, too. A part of me envied him for having such an instant community with his team. Isn’t that why people joined sororities? For community? I’d seriously flunked that one, though a little voice told me I just wasn’t trying hard enough.
He looked to my collaged wall, expecting to see our photo strip. But it wasn’t there. He stood up, finding it atop my mom’s arts and crafts bin.
“Haven’t been here in a while,” he said, softly.
I watched him, stood in my room like all those high school nights of old, seeming taller than before. Like in the months we’d lost touch he’d somehow gotten too big for this room, like he’d somehow outgrown me.
“It fell down,” I lied, because Harry had taken it off.
They say your high school friends won’t stay with you forever, that as you grow older, the number of friends you stay in touch with start dwindling until it’s down to one or two. I stopped speaking to most of mine after the first year of community college. People move on. People change. I changed too, even though I stayed behind. But there was always Matt. Of all people, I didn’t think it would be him and I standing apart and feeling farther, still. When these relationships change, the transition feels gradual. It’s like, in some unspoken unseen moment, your lives sync up, and you’re both busy at the same intervals. And then you make plans to see each other, but both of you don’t reach out the day you’re supposed to meet up. Neither of you follow through. Because it’s easier. It’s natural. An unspoken agreement.
“We’ve both been busy,” I said.
“The last time I saw you, you had a massive mark on your neck.”
“You can say hickey, Matt.”
His eyes fluttered, and he looked away. If I wasn’t devoid of emotion then, I’d think it funny how he got flustered just thinking or talking about anything sexual with me.
“You’re pretty close with Harry then?” he asked, ears slightly reddened.
“What makes you say that?”
“An educated guess.” A charming smile lit his face, almost shy, the hostility in the air dulling for a moment. “I’ve seen you with him before, and you were wearing his jersey at the game… I didn’t really believe it though.”
“What do you mean?”
“C’mon. Harry Styles.”
“And?”
He raised his hands as if the answer was so obvious it was floating in the air. They dropped. “He’s not really your scene, is he? I don’t mean that in a bad way, he’s not really my scene either.”
“So?”
“So, nothing. I was just trying to find something to talk about.” He was getting more irritated now, his thumb digging in between his fingers. “Really, I don’t even care to talk about him, let’s talk about you. Please. Have you drawn anything recently? Why’ve you been feeling off?”
I snorted. “Please, I haven’t drawn anything since high school. There’s nothing new.”
He crossed his arms, testing me. “I don’t buy it.”
He was smart not to.
“You know… It took a lot for my dad to ask me to stay behind instead of going off to Princeton,” he said. Every molecule seemed to still around him. “He can barely speak now. The guy who wouldn’t ask you to fetch the boogie board even if you were the one who’d let the waves take it in the first place…” his voice trailed off, a silent sadness swirling in blue eyes.
I remembered Patrick Price taking us to the beach and pushing us beneath the big waves, teaching us how to balance on those harmless foam boards we’d pick up at Rite-Aid. Just three years ago at high school graduation, Patrick was running across the grass playing football with Matt and Dad at the BBQ while Mom and Summer dished out the pasta salad and watermelon. He was diagnosed two years ago, and now instead of serving pasta salad, Summer serves him, watching him closely on his wheelchair. ALS was a nasty disease and it acted fast.
“I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped,” he finished.
I wanted to say that I was sorry. I wanted to say that it wasn’t him, that it was me. But something else had already consumed me, not letting in the light, finding the darkest parts of me and unfurling them until some spilled past my lips. “You didn’t have to drive all the way down here just to see me.”
“I didn’t,” he said, and even though he hid his hurt well, I could still see it. He stood from the bed, making up his mind that there wasn’t any use being with someone who pushed away anything that ventured near. “I’m helping my dad move offices. The rent is too high now for landscapers.”
“They’re leaving? But you guys have been in the same spot for years.”
Matt gave a shrug, taking his turn at the silent treatment.
“I didn’t know,” I said, lamely.
The chasm between us grew bigger, and I shrunk even smaller, letting the silence and guilt consume me.
“But you wouldn’t want to talk to me about that either, right?”
I swallowed, hard. I deserved that.
And I was too ashamed to stop him from leaving.
Less than an hour later, I was cursing him again. The smell of Del Taco drove my mother away from the living room. Messy wrappers lay scattered around me when the door opened. I may have been too ashamed and prideful to apologize to Matt, but my growling stomach was stronger than both.
She saw me in the same position Matt had left me, and I avoided her gaze, checked my phone. No updates.
The room seemed cold.
“You look like you’re having the same day I’m having.” She came in with a basket of clean clothes, setting it on the floor.
“Mom, I told you I’d do that.”
“No, you needed rest.” There was a flash of pity, but it was lying beneath a thick shell of annoyance. She huffed, sitting on my bed, just like Matt hours before.
She snuggled closer. I faced her on my side, hands pressed against my cheek. She mirrored me.
I waited for her to say something, but in the silence her eyes grew wide, shaking her head. The mysterious reason for her mood like a gorged balloon floating towards a fan.
“What?” I asked.
“I think your Dad has feelings for somebody else.”
My brows scrunched. “What?”
“I don’t have any proof. But we were on a date night last night and…” -she let out a cruel laugh that made me want to hold her- “He was texting her.”
“Who?”
“A waitress.”
“A waitress?”
“Nicole the waitress.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“He denied it. But I looked at his phone when he went to the bathroom. She’s been a little… friendly with Dad.”
“Nicole?? Mom, she’s like nearly forty.” A brief memory of a friendly blonde working in the restaurant trickled up and left a sour taste on my tongue.
“Still fifteen years younger than me.”
My nose shriveled up, the thought of Father being romantic with my own mommade me cringe, but the thought of Father being romantic with somebody else? It didn’t seem… conceivable. My parents weren’t like the Styless. They kept us together. They loved each other.
“Have I met her? I’ll punch her next time I see her,” I said, the words still not connecting with my brain. With the facts laid out before me.
Mom snorted. “Not before I do.” She plucked at a hangnail, a habit I’d gotten from her, and I could practically see the insecurities already rolling around in her mind.
“You’re gorgeous, Mom.”
She gave me a look. “I’ve been stress-eating chocolates. I need to watch myself.”
“Mom.” I frowned, seeing worry behind her humor. “He needs to watch himself.”
She sighed, turning to the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just have this… feeling.”
“Women’s intuition?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, and I knew if Mother was telling me this from her vault of secrets, it must have been significant. She wasn’t one to listen to Lara’s spirituality, but intuition was something she would never refute. Momma turned back, rattling her thoughts together. “Anyway. I’ll just be… shocked. If it’s true. I mean…a waitress? Really?” Silence suspended. The afternoon sun warmed the room a little more than usual, exposing the paled filmy stars on my ceiling to be illuminescent frauds. “Or maybe I’m not,” she said, quieter. Before I could bat my eyes, she changed the subject. “Why’d you come back last night?”
But I could still see the steam rolling off her shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it more?” I offered. The Del Taco turned queasy in my stomach, and as much as I loved her, I really hoped she said no.
She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.” She squeezed my hand, letting me know she meant her apology. She did a once-over at my stale big t-shirt. “Did something happen to make you want to come home?” Her fingers ran along the tops of my knuckles. “Or do you just love me.” Her smile was less than half-hearted.
“I was going to be alone at the dorm again. Renny was going to a party and I didn’t want to go with her…”
“I hate how she leaves you alone. Maybe we should get you a puppy for company?”
I gave her a look and she caved. “No, you’re right. Probably wouldn’t fit in there. You couldn’t take care of a puppy now anyways. Too needy. So, did he like the house?”
Her mind seemed scattered in a million directions. Mine struggled to keep up.
“Mom, seriously whatare you talking about?”
“Oh, I didn’t know if he said anything about it afterwards or-”
“Mom,who?”
“Harry, honey.”
She was clueless of what her words did to me. My heart lurched just hearing his name, and the worry from last night washed over my exhausted frame like a crab on the shore, strong tides like a persistent weight, threatening to carry me away again.
“I’m sure he liked it,” I said.
“It’s an older home…he’s probably used to columns of marble.” Her embarrassed smile for even asking the question made my heart split further.
“Actually, he did say something! I remember now, he told me it was cute. Homey. He thinks the marble stuff is too cold anyways, he’s excited to come back,” I reassured her. The last bit was probably a stretch but it worked. Embarrassment fell away and her smile glowed.
Satisfied that she was happy, I turned to face my ceiling, closing my eyes. The problems with her and Father swum in the back of my mind, but I was too tired to take on anything else. She was an adult. She could make her own decisions. The information settled in a box in my brain, waiting for a moment when I could fully process it and I’d unlock it all again. I could feel the inklings of damage it would do to me if I truly unpacked it - anxiety, anger, confusion, fear, pity.
Family was a constant.
I couldn’t think about that changing, too. Not when I could barely keep my eyes open.
“You’re so sad, angel. What’s going on in your mind, hm?”
I shook my head, shifting to look at the ceiling. I didn’t need to feel guilty for not confiding in her. I needed to not feel anything.
Her presence was like a lighthouse, radiating heat, beckoning me to come back. All without her saying a word.
She looked as if she were going to say something else, but her hand fell back into her lap. “Okay,” she said.
She didn’t even try.
Maybe she knew the fog was too thick for me to see her light.
Then, through the fog, a vibration shook me to the core.
—–
“Y/N, I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Sven stepped aside, the grand foyer to the Styles estate stretching out before me. Any other time, it would be enchanting, captivating. Now, it looked as treacherous as a hospital hall. I wasn’t sure what rendition of Harry was waiting for me on the other side of the staircase.
My feet carried me up a familiar path, my heart pounding at the unknown.
Irrationally, I had to remind myself that Harry was alive. I wasn’t going to find him, not like I’d found my Grandpa in his room.
Regardless…
“Are there people watching him? Is he alone?”
“He’s stabilized. There’s no need for nurses to keep watch.” Sven held dirty linens as he stayed in my shadow up the stairs.
I nodded, the assurances not really meaning anything, not until I could put an image in my mind as to what he looked like. Right now, all I could conjecture was a gray blur for a head sticking out above the sheets. How bruised would he be? How much stained blood would there be? I didn’t know what to fill in the gray with, so my mind envisioned the grim Harry I’d last seen, the Harry that, if it weren’t for the monitor, I wouldn’t have known still had a beating heart.
Each step carried me closer with a horrifying thought. My brain playing connect the dots as I walked.
Pale.
A clay boy.
A stitched up doll.
And everyone knew dolls didn’t breathe.
I didn’t realize I was alone until I turned around. Of course Sven wouldn’t have followed me, but for some reason I wanted him to be here.
Maybe it’s because he was with me when I’d seen Harry last.
“Y/N.” The familiar voice was weaker, but the grim tone was still so painfully bare. Of course he’d sensed me.
When I stepped out from behind the door, I didn’t find a dilapidated monster. Harry lay resting.
“Hey.” I snuck in, light as a swallow’s feather in the morning breeze, floating down beside him and resting my head atop crossed arms. The sight of him shook me. “Raggedy Harry,” I barely whispered, a horrible punch-to-the-gut feeling ballooning in my chest.
Half of his face swelled more than the other, his bottom lip completely bruised and jutted out, with a fairly deep gash that had started to scab. I fought the urge to trace over it.
“Looks worse than it is,” he said, watching my eyes carefully. Besides the pink-red swelling, his face appeared flushed. And despite his injuries, he was still miraculously beautiful.
I didn’t even blush from staring. Loose earthy curls had not been affected by time spent smooshed against the pillows. If anything, it’d pushed them forward, the floppier fringe defying gravity just there above his forehead. People could go to a stylist and ask for effortless mussy curls and not have it turn out as good as his - and this just with his genetics and days spent sleeping.
If I were him, I’d look like a grease monkey.
“Well, I can’t see the worst bits I’m sure.”
His chest was wrapped in gauze, this time not bloody to the touch. It was thick, white, and secure, and suddenly the tears that had yet to spill started pricking my eyes. I didn’t know just how badly I needed to hear the words before he said them.
“Y/N, I’m fine. I promise.”
The heaviest weight lifted from my shoulders, but my body slumped deeper into his mattress from an instantaneous realization. I’d needed Harry to be okay. I needed him here, even if I couldn’t explain why.
My hand reached out, brushing the tops of his hand.
“It would’ve been a dick move if you died,” I managed to breathe. I let out a sorry excuse for laughter, nervously sniffling.
His eyes seemed heavy, tired. The circles beneath them a cry for help from his beaten body.
“You can sleep if you want. I just wanted to check in on you.”
“I’m not sleeping when you’re here. S’all I’ve been doing,” he croaked. A flood of relief washed over me. Being apart from him was the last thing I wanted right now. The anxieties that’d been plaguing me the past 24 hours were muted to a dull simmer, drowned out by the highs of my body being close to his. Noticing his body…
A steady drip came from the IV hooked to his arm. Five pill bottles were on his nightstand, within arms reach. He noticed my staring.
“To stay hydrated.” Then, under his breath, “And numb.”
“I know,” I barked a laugh that instantly felt out of place. “I want to go into medicine, remember?”
His voice seemed lower when he rumbled, “S’right. You’re a smart girl.”
The tenderness in his voice sent an unexpected warmth straight to my chest. “You know that’s also a curse,” I noted. “I think too much.”
“I know,” he said, but he didn’t laugh like I had. It sounded like an apology. I almost jolted when his hand reached out to touch mine, not expecting him to be warm.
“You almost died,” I said, taking a breath. “I was there when you almost died.”
“I never wanted you to be there-” Before I could take offense, he weakly squeezed my hand. “I want to protect you, Y/N. I never wanted you this involved with me.”
“Well we’ve done a shit job at staying uninvolved. You can barely protect yourself. You can’tprotect yourself.”
“That isn’t going to happen again.”
“The fact that it happened! Harry, I don’t think you understand how scared I was. How scared I am. I could be next, I don’t know what they want…”
A horrifying puzzle piece clicked into place. My nightmare of being stabbed could become a very real reality. It wasn’t until I saw Harry wincing that I realized his breath had quickened.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Shit I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out. We don’t need to talk right now.”
The sting of I never wanted you this involved with me pulled me to the door, but his hand pulled me back.
“No. Fuck no.” But his grip softened again, his abdomen screaming at the effort to pull me back to him. When he spoke again his voice was a murmur, quiet-quiet, so gentle I could’ve imagined it. “Stay. Please. Seeing you here is the happiest I’ve been all week.”
My heart could’ve flown out of my chest, but for the buzzing electrical phenomena his words ignited in me, I was frozen by his sober admittance of want. It seemed all we ever did was dance around each other, literally. As if we were in an old 1700s ballroom, and everyone was dispersing into pairs. We spy each other from across the room and tiptoe around, refusing to seek other partners, yet refusing to commit to a dance.
“Is that sad?” His sincerity broke my reverie.
I leant closer, and his eyes fluttered shut in expectation… But my lips pressed soft kisses to closed lids. “I’ll stay,” I promised, nose to nose. Because my answer to his question would be yes. Something told me the mess of his body finally matched the inside of his heart.
Rather than tilt his head up to kiss me, he tried scooting over in the bed. It was painful to watch. I stopped him. There was plenty of room for me to lay beside him. So I did, scared to touch him.
“I’m not going to break,” he huffed. Tough and untouchable, I imagine being tip-toed around was the exact opposite of what he was used to.
“You didn’t see yourself that night.” Bloodied gauze and feeling his hot insides against my hands was enough to make my own blood curdle. It was enough to make me question if the Harry in front of me was simply a mirage. He was okay now, I reminded myself. But after I’d seen him bleeding out in the seat next to me, I wasn’t sure I believed him to be unbreakable anymore.
“You’re right, I’m… sorry,” he looked away, as if not being able to meet his reflection in my eyes. As much as I could hear regret, I knew he felt it even more.
My hand reached out, fingertips gently touching his raised cheek. “You were the one who felt it.”
He barely leant against my touch, gaze boldly probing my tired eyes, puffy from crying. The longer he stared the guiltier he became.
“Maybe we both did,” he said. The statement seemed to confuse him, brows stitching together. “No one’s ever been there for me like you. And-” he smiled as wide as he could with the swelling- “honestly it scares the living shit out of me. I know you didn’t have much of a choice to help-”
I surprised myself again, the definitive statement flying out of my mouth faster than I could comprehend. “I’d do it again.”
But the words seemed to hurt him more. His head lulled to the side, his prominent adam’s apple moving as he swallowed, deep in thought. “You’re too good for me,” he surmised. Before I could argue, he took my hand, pressing the back of it to bruised lips. He was acting so soft, so vulnerable. Was it the drugs? Was it an act? But if it was, how could eyes lie like that?
He hummed as if we were laying on the beach on the first hot day of summer, despite all the pain he must be in. The pros and cons list I’d written and stashed in my purse was sending out a throbbing heartbeat in my body, burning a hole where my purse lay at the end of the bed. No matter if the list were true, it couldn’t encapsulate the complicated person that he was. It wasn’t a fair portrait to paint. And putting me on a pedestal wasn’t either. “That’s not true,” I mumbled, far too late.
“It is,” he said. No room for argument.
“Did they give you some love drugs in this medicine bag of yours?”
His brows quirked at love, but he didn’t seem mocking when he said, “Maybe.” Emerald eyes were a mix of admiration, torment, and want as they drank me in, and I was sure if I let him stare into my soul a moment longer, he’d discover I wasn’t perfect at all.
I looked out towards his panoramic balcony window. Little flickers of light told of a city at the bottom of the hill, the dark ocean like a blanket for the rest of the world just out of reach. I wondered how long it’d been since the sun had set. Like any night with Harry, the rest of the world slipped away.
I stole a glance back at him, the beautifully broken boy resting his eyes. As if sensing me, he stirred, mumbling something incoherent.
“Too far,” he repeated, opening up his arms.
“I’m not laying on you Harry. Your stitches could burst.”
He growled. “I don’t care.”
And I didn’t doubt it. I came as close as I dared, thankful his shoulder wasn’t bruised as I lay my head in the crook of his neck, hands blindly combing through curls.
I could feel him relax into me, hear the boyish smirk across his face. “My mum used to do that,” he whispered. “Not this mum, my other…” his voice stuttered out. “My biological.”
It grew quiet in the room. An opening to the door of his past just barely letting in light.
“Do you miss her?”
“Can’t miss what you don’t remember,” he dismissed. And just like that, the door to his past was slammed shut. It was exactly what he said about the Styles’s first child Jane. But this time it sounded rehearsed, mechanical, a river of emotion carefully masked. But not to me.
My hands stilled, not sure if I should continue. But he leant into me again, and I continued my gentle work, as if undoing his tresses could untangle messy thoughts. “Thank you,” he sighed.
In some unspoken moment, he turned his head down, his tanned beaten face leant closer to mine. And with the intimate intensity only he possessed, he saw me. Like I was the only woman in the world. The oxygen seemed pulled from the room as time suspended. He leant lower until our foreheads brushed, his brows stitching together when I instinctually drew my leg across him, careful not to hitch it up too close to his wound. Our breathing deepened, the anticipation building as my hand drew across his face, my fingers settling behind his ear. He huffed, irritated at the tangling of the IV chord when he wrapped his arm around my side.
We stayed like this for a while, cradling the other. And just like I had done before, his pillow-soft lips ghosted over my cheek, then my nose, then my chin, until they hovered just over my lips. My eyes fluttered closed, the trail he left leading to one place…
“Y/N,” he breathed. I opened my eyes. There wasn’t any reluctance in his eyes, but something similarly cautious yet fervent, an unspoken sentence pushing against closed lips.
But the sound of glass shattering woke us both up. His body turned hunter, still as stone as he listened for what came next. A hysterical cry drove Harry to stand, miraculously faster than I thought possible, and it wasn’t until he limped halfway towards the door that I realized he ripped out his IV. The banshee scream turned into a chilling wail, freezing me to my core.
My mind went to the worst case scenario. I’d have to jump from the window somehow. The gang must have found us. They must be in the house-
“It’s Mary,” he cursed, stopping my spiralling mind so quickly I was left dizzy. I don’t remember following him, but he stopped me at the door, hands locked around my shoulders.
“She has… fits, sometimes,” he explained.
“I don’t care.”
“Y/N, you don’t have to see this, too,” he said, and the amount of shame that shadowed his face was like a gouge through my heart.
I barely had time to say the words before another scream ripped through the empty house. “I’d do it again.”
With a somber nod, he rushed us out, practically sprinting to the living room where Mary Styles lay cradling her shell-shocked frame on the floor.
“You were gone. You left me,” she sobbed. Her hair was ripped from its usual loose curls and mascara ran down her face like the clear snot running from her nose.
“Oh my God,” a voice mumbled.
But I realized the voice was me.
The glass mirror at the bar had shattered. Shards of glass lay scattered all over the floor. Harry trudged through it, barefoot, bits of red mixing on the marble floors.
“No one was here, no one saw.” Her eyes were crazed as Harry bent over to pick her up and she pushed him away. “No! NO!!”
Fear spiked in my body. I’d never seen someone look so disconnected from the present reality. This was raw. Unpredictable.
But Harry seemed unphased.
“No one saw her, no one saved her,” she wailed. The weight of the words caused crippling sorrow. She stopped resisting, retreating into a shell of herself with choked cries, “Jane, Jane…” as Harry let out his own shout at the effort to lift her.
“Be careful, you’re hurt,” I called out, weakly. He didn’t bat an eye.
“Go through those doors, through the living wing, there’s a closet on your right. Grab the Valium and meet me in the guest room.” He avoided my gaze, looking instead to the direction I should be running to.
“Where in the closet?”
“Black box,” he ordered. Then, whispering to Mary, “It wasn’t your fault.”
But if she heard the words, they didn’t register, her face twisting, her own little trickle of blood running from the tips of her hands.
Her sobs barely quieted as they rounded the corner down the hall, abandoning me in the wreckage.
I was careful to step around the glass, heading to the massive hidden door in the wall I remembered Harry pointing out as the “living wing.” No one was around to confirm if memory served correct, but when I finally found the latch handle and tugged it open, tropical foliage surrounded me. It smelled humid, like stale water and… musky. Like when I had a hamster in fourth grade and forgot to change out its bedding. The light from the moon shone through their giant skylight, illuminating caged birds gently calling behind bars, enclosed in a sizey aviary. A small raised indoor pool made of rock looked like a concave fossil, with a shadow swimming amongst the mossy water. A miniature crocodile skirted to the furthest edge away from me and raised for air, two eyes looking skeptically in my direction. “Toto” was etched into the rock.
There were more enclosed habitats, and at the head of the room overlooking it all, a giant wooden desk. But no closet. No closet.
Frick.
I didn’t have time to ponder the eccentricity of the Styles’s owning a freaking zoo in their mansion. Nor did I have time to try and find a friggin light switch. Not at all.
I walked the length of the wing which seemed just as expansive as their living room. Ironic, I thought. Because this was literally a livingroom.
Then, beneath an arching tree canopy held in a planter box, two wicker handles protruded from the wall with a crack running between them.
Bingo.
They opened easily, revealing a deep closet full of filing cabinets and old paintings. My phone light illuminated the top, where two black boxes seemed to have gone untouched for years.
My foot tapped impatiently, not sure which one to grab. I hadn’t heard any cries of bloody murder, but someone (not me, someone more athetlic) could’ve run a mile in the time I’d been gone.
I reached for the one closest to me. It was velvet, I realized, surprised even this family’s storage containers would have some element of luxury. I prayed to find pills. But instead, a wax sealed envelope holding a thick stack of documents glared back at me. I was just about to secure the lid again when the inklings of a photograph peaked through between the papers. The deep-red seal, already opened, was their insignia, a cursive “S” that looked like it’d come from the 18th century.
Since the seal was already broken…
My hands carefully leafed through the pages, and as if they knew, the animals grew louder, alarming themselves of an intruder. These documents seemed court-ordered. Various signatures adorned the pages using language I couldn’t understand. My heart dropped when I realized what I was holding. Adoption papers. Among them, a newspaper clipping about a boy separated from a violent family, and adopted by rich Americans.
Slowly, with each word I read, the oxygen felt snuffed from the room, another puzzle piece falling into place. One that changed the picture completely.
Wednesday morning at 5 am, neighbors of Sheffield awoke to gunshots at the King flat. After an attempted murder of his wife resulting in two gun shot wounds to Maisie King’s abdomen, Roger King committed suicide. Maisie is currently in recovery, and her two children have been placed in foster care while the court assesses their home situation.
More newspaper headings were clipped out, detailing the TV star rescuers of the boy, how lucky he was and how a wonderful, ritzy life in California awaited him. His entire fate had been changed - but there was no mention of Gemma. And in each photo, the child-like innocence in his eyes seemed vacant, replaced with a stoic sadness I’d only seen glimpses of when he was medicated. When he was too numb to remember to keep up the mask.
For how little the Styles’s divulged about Harry’s past to the American press, in England the story seemed to be the tragedy turned happy ending. At least, to some extent, the Styles’s were owed credit for something. They’d probably paid off the international papers.
Little Harry… My stomach suddenly flipped, the room’s darkness transferring to something physically heavy in my chest. There was a photograph, too, and I carefully wedged a finger where the worn corner of it peaked out from the paperwork, keeping its place as I tugged it out. But when I saw it, I almost dropped everything.
The familiar curly-haired child I’d known from old Housewives episodes stared back at me in a worn blue polo from discolored film. Reddened tear-stained eyes looked at whoever was behind the camera.
There were fresh bruises on baby-plump cheeks, cuts across rosy cherub lips.
I looked away as soon as I saw it, but the image had already burned in my memory. A taste for the shadows of scars I could only imagine he carried ten-fold. His cuts had buried much deeper than flesh; the most dangerous wounds afflicted his soul and stole the air straight from my lungs.
Oh, God.
Oh, Harry.
How could anyone do such a thing? He was just an innocent boy, how could anyone- how often…?
Bitter bile rose in the back of my throat. Dealing with bloody injuries was one thing, but seeing a beaten child had me sick for another reason entirely. This was something evil.
I put the photo back just as quickly. I’d gone too far this time. I’d really gone too far.
So it was almost an accident that the next photo fell out when I was putting back the first.
A man, strewn across a red puddle seeping from his head. A gun tossed at his side. The bile rose again and I refused to stare, but my mind caught the ends of wavy brown hair and a face that wasn’t really quite there.
I should’ve noticed when the animals quieted, I should’ve heard footsteps quicken in the other room, but it seemed far away, muted by the roaring secret I’d just uncovered, my mind fully fixated on the life no one could have known about Newport’s playboy hier.
If Harry hadn’t noticed the velvet top of the box not quite closed shut, he saw the guilt in my eyes when he stood square before the closet doors.
He looked irritated, almost grabbing the closed box from my fingers.
“It’s the wrong box!” I cried, horrified that even my voice reeked of pity. And something else. Fear.
He froze. A flame flashed beneath the dulled emerald, a spark of knowledge I was sure he’d like to forget. That he’d probably triedto forget, countless times. He shoved it away and grabbed the other box, stopping briefly as he walked past me again. He threw a cold glare.
“Don’t be scared of the snake,” he said. “But he doesn’t like strangers.”
As if on command, a giant boa constrictor slithered out from the overhanging tree, tightly coiled around a branch.
I felt my heart lurch in my throat.
“Harry!” I called, but he wasn’t here anymore. And if he was, he didn’t answer. He left, rushing to deal with one mess, when I feared I’d just created an even bigger one. Frozen to the spot as I figured out how to basically army-crawl out of the closet, I ran out past screaming birds and rustling waters, snake eyes burning two holes in the back of my neck as I chased Harry’s shadow.
Hope everyone is keeping themselves mentally/physically well… here’s the next update in your adventure. Please safely read from home ;)
The sun moved slowly up my window, illuminating the dancing dust in the air. Even though I knew dust didn’t have feelings, it all still looked very peaceful, suspended there in space.
I wanted to be suspended, floating, with no obligations or pressures.
Instead, I watched time slip by, slowly, as the shadows stretched along my floor and I lay still, wrapped in a giant Winnie-the-Pooh sheets burrito.
a/n: Another frat boy imagine I’m sorry I’m obsessed. And there are so many types of frat boys, the possibilities are endless! When you met Ethan, he was constantly getting involved in some shady business with some of his frat brothers. Once you started dating, however, Ethan promised he would put it all behind him. One fateful night will prove that he had not stuck to his word and that gets him into some trouble.
a/n pt.2: This is a draft from two years ago when I was in high school and had never stepped foot in a frat. I have now done so and they’re not like this but for the sake of this story we’ll pretend they are.
y/f/n: your friend’s name
warning(s): alcohol, drugs, cussing
___________
“Are you sure you want to come tonight?” Ethan asks you for the second time. He seemed very hesitant about you coming to his fraternities last party before you both graduate and you couldn’t tell why. Ethan wasn’t a very active member in the frat, but that never stopped you two from going to their events before. “I just think it will be boring.”
“Then why are you going?” You ask, continuing to get ready. This was the last Sigma Chi party you would ever go to as a college student, you were going.
“Well I have to,” He replies. “I’m a brother.”
“Doesn’t that make me a sister in law?” You ask, wiggling your left fingers to him that hold the engagement ring he gave you three months ago. “It’s a family affair, I’m going.”
He sighs and gives up. You were confused why he seemed so against it, but he got in these moods sometimes, it wasn’t really a huge shock.
You two show up to the party and there are already a good amount of people already there. The kid working the door immediately recognizes Ethan and lets you both in. He tells you he’s going to get a drink and that he’ll be back. You find some of your friends from your sorority and start talking with them and you begin to lose track of time. You talk about how sad you are that this is your last Sigma Chi party and how you’re all old and whose going to be in your wedding. You and Ethan both knew that twenty-two was way too young to be married and you didn’t plan on it for another two or three years, but using Ethan’s words, he wanted to tie you down so he put a ring on it.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, you still hadn’t seen Ethan since he went to go get his drink. You weren’t worried though, as it was his last college party as an active frat brother, you let him go off on his own to ‘be with the boys.’
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the house was loud, girls were barely wearing any clothes, it was normal. Until the sound of sirens brought everyone to a screeching hault. Out of nowhere. At least ten police officers busted through the door, shouting things you couldn’t understand. You knew you couldn’t get in trouble, you weren’t on anything and you were legally allowed to drink. But, what unfolded before your eyes was perhaps worse than spending a night in prison. Three cops holding Ethan as they guide him down the stairs. Somehow you lock eyes and he just mouths ‘I’m sorry,” and it all hits you.
When you first met Ethan, he was a total pothead. You’re convinced that besides the girls that he would attract to parties, the only reason that Ethan was pledged to the fraternity was because he was most of the brothers’ dealer. Once you started dating, Ethan promised you he was done with all of that after you begged him time and time again to stop selling, you knew that the older he got the worse his consequences would be. So for the past three years he seemed to have left it all behind him, but this scene of the police dragging him outside would imply otherwise.
You run outside after him and start to yell after him.
“Please someone tell me what’s going on,” You beg, but no one would listen to you. “That’s my fiancé please just tell me what you’re taking him away for.”
Finally one of the officers let’s go of Ethan after he is cuffed and turns to you to say, “Under the state of California, he is arrested for the possession of more than one ounce of marijuana as well as for selling marijuana to minors.”
The police car door is still open so you take the chance to talk to him before it’s too late.
“You promised me you were done with this,” You scream at him, but he can’t even bear to look at you. “You promise me Ethan! I told you that nothing good would ever come of this now here you are. I hate you right now Ethan Dolan I really hate you. I would throw this at you if it wasn’t worth three times next months rent!”
With that the door slams shut and that car speeds off while other boys are forced into other cars. You didn’t know what to do, so you sad on the curb and burst into tears. When did Ethan get back into dealing? Did he ever stop? Even worse, Ethan left with his keys in his pocket so you had no way home, and no way to get in if you ever got there.
Your friends take you back to their apartment where you just cry for hours. You were crying because Ethan had been lying to you, but you were also crying because your fiancé was in jail for the night and you couldn’t do anything about it. Luckily for Ethan, his older sister had done well enough that she could pay his bail, but not so lucky for Ethan, he got out before you could get all of your anger out.
“You lied to me.” You say calmly when you pick him up from the police station. “How long have you been lying to me?”
“Y/n, can we please not do this.”
“Oh no, we’re doing this.” You grip the wheel even tighter. “Ethan we are engaged. This isn’t a fling, we’re not dating, you are my fiancéand we don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“I know and I’m sorry,” He says. “You know money has been tight I just needed something to cover us while I pay off your ring.”
“I didn’t fucking need this, Ethan.” You remind him. “I would have said yes if you put a rubber band on my finger and you know that.”
“Well you deserve more than a rubber band.”
“I also deserve the truth.” You spit back. “I’m sleeping at y/f/n’s until I cool off.
He doesn’t say anything in response, he knows he won’t win if he tries to convince you to stay home. It bothered you that he was dealing again, but it bothered you even more that he went directly against his word and lied to you about it for however long he’s been selling again. You didn’t care if he smoked you cared if he was safe and dealing is far from safe.
“Here.” You take off your ring and hand it to him once you’re parked outside of your partner building. “I can’t wear this right now.”
A/N: second part to my frat boy grayson because I got a few requests for more and I’m happy to give it to you. After your brush with ‘The Alpha’ at the ATO party last week, Grayson will not leave you alone until you agree to give him the chance he thinks he deserves. For those of you who watch skam, think Noora and Williams first date okay great!
aggressive asshole play boy frat boy grayson is my weak spot don’t touch me.
Just as you’re about to leave your 8 am, yoy remember you needed to talk to your professor about an assignment that was due. As you make your way down the lecture hall stairs, you hear a whistle come from behind you.
“Up here baby girl!” A voice shouts, making you and your professors heads shoot up yo look at whoever just cat called you. “Miss me?”
“Ignore him.” You say quietly before continuing on to ask your question. Once you drag it out for as long as you can, you brace yourself for another meeting with The Alpha. “So what, are you stalking me now?”
“I told you I wasn’t giving up on you.” He reminds you of the promise he made a little over a week ago. “Wait up, why are you walking so fast.”
“I have things to do.” You lie, you don’t have another class until tomorrow morning, just be doesn’t have to know that. “Goodbye Grayson.”
“I know you’re lying to me.” He shouts, making you stop. “You don’t have another class today.”
“So you are stalking me.”
“Let me tell you something about myself, y/n.” He says, walking closer to you, making you instinctively move back. “I have friends in high places.”
You roll your eyes and walk away, hoping that your curtness shows how uninterested you are in him. But oh, how wrong you were. For the next few days Grayson, without fail, has been waiting outside all of your classes. Doesn’t he have classes to go to?
The next Friday, two weeks after you first met Grayson, you weren’t feeling too well so you texted one of your classmates to give you notes for the class and decided to stay in your dorm.
Avoiding me?
An unknown number. It doesn’t take long for you to realize it’s Grayson, who else would be texting you directly after you were supposed to be leaving class asking if you’re avoiding them.
How did you get this number?
You had no idea who would’ve given him your number, what whoever it was will forever be on your shit list.
Well y/n, remember how I said I have friends in high places? Turns out I have friends in pretty low places too
As if that gave you anything to work with. You audibly groaned before turning onto your side to pout. Your sister was none too pleased when you told her about your stalker.
“It’s disgusting y/n, I hope you see that.” She says in absolute disgust. “You’re a baby. If something is barely legal it’s not right.”
As much as you agreed with the fact that Grayson stalking you was weird and gross, you hated how she kept saying you were a baby. You aren’t. You’re eighteen, a legal adult, for all the law care you could marry Grayson right now and it would be fine. Not that you would ever do that.
“Just be careful around him okay?” She reiterates. “I’m worried about you with him, he goes to very far lengths to get his way.”
You kept that in the back of your mind for the next few days. He’d already gone to one of his ‘friends in high places’ to get your schedule and one of his ‘friends in low places’ to get your number. What’s next? Your address.
“You can’t ignore me forever.” You hear Grayson’s oh so familiar voice as you walk out of your first class on Monday morning. “The more you ignore me the more I’ll want my way.”
A whole year of Grayson waiting outside every classroom for tot, deterring any guy from ever coming up to you. Sounds like torture.
“What do you want?”
“A chance.” He says bluntly, making you scoff. How cheesy. “I mean it, you already have an idea of me in your head and it’s not fair. I’m a person too y/n, don’t I deserve a shot.”
“From what I hear about you,” You begin, narrowing your eyes at him. “You may not even be human, Alpha.”
“See that’s what I mean!” He whines, sounding like a four year old. “You don’t even know me yet you’ll listen to what everyone else says about me.”
“Ifeveryone is saying it, I’m pretty sure it’s true Grayson.”
He lets out a mixture of a sigh and a groan and leans his head back, running his hands through his hair. He’s stressed, you can tell.
“If you really don’t like me that much, why don’t you just give me one chance to get rid of me?” He asks, making you think about it. “Come on, just once. If you still hate me I’ll leave you alone okay?”
You start to weight your options. In no world did Grayson even deserve one chance, but then again, what’s an hour of your life if you’re going to be able to save yourself from hours of him keeping tabs on you for the next nine months. If you’re thinking morally, you’d never go out with Grayson. But logically, to spare yourself from further annoyances down the line, it may be worth it.
“Fine.” You finally crack. “Whatever, one shot.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist this.” He puts on a sly grin and motions to his body. “It was only a matter of time.”
“You’re a pig.” You spit, walking away before you kill more brain cells talking to him.
“See you soon, Doll face!” He shouts after you, making your face go bright red. Thank god he couldn’t see you. “Wear something hot.”
You did not wear something hot, in fact you did quite the opposite. Two nights later you walked out of your dorm building in leggings and a big sweater, not giving a single care that you were in Los Angeles in September, you were not going to risk showing any skin. You didn’t do your makeup or your hair, you just got out of the shower, threw on the first things you found and left.
It didn’t take long for you to find Grayson, he was leaving against a topless Jeep Wrangler, the ultimate douchebag car in your opinion. He was wearing khaki shorts and a plain navy blue shirt.
“Well don’t you look nice.” He says, finally looking up from his phone. “Let’s go.”
“You better not be taking me back to that disgusting frat house.” You warn him. “Tell me now so I can get out of the car.”
Grayson dramatically gasps and smacks his hand over his heart. “Do you really think so low of me?”
“I don’t think about you at all.” You correct him, which was false. You thought of him, not in the best way thought. “Will you just tell me where we’re going.”
“You’ll just have to find out Ms. y/n,” He says as he starts to drive away from your dorm. “I’m full of surprises.”
And with that you drive, a drive for what feels like hours until you stop in a parking lot of what seems like a park. Without a word, Grayson gets out of the car and opens the backdoor to grab a cooler.
“Coming?” He asks shutting the door. You look at him, and then look away. “Alright, i’ll be over there.”
He walks away from the car and puts a towel on the ground and starts to pull food out of the cooler. He planned a picnic. You were in awe that ‘The Alpha’ could ever put anything like this together. You let out a heavy sign and got out of the car. You sat on the opposite end of the towel and watched him pull everything out.
“I didn’t know what you liked so I brought peanut butter and jelly and chocolate milk.” He tells you, pulling out two seran wrapped sandwiches and bottles on chocolate milk. “If you hate it there’s a McDonalds not too far from here.”
Wow, you think. Where was this version of Grayson when you first met him. You shook your head and told him that you were fine with everything. You two didn’t talk much, but the cars and sounds of people filled the silence. Once you finished, you thought it was time for you both to head home, but Grayson to head home. Before you could get up he stops you.
“You didn’t think this was all I had planned, did you?” He asks and you furrow your eyebrows. “Let me clean this up, then follow me.”
So you did, and he brought you a few blocks away to a seemingly glowing building. The Museum of Neon Art.
“Remember my friend in a low place?” He asks you, and you nod. “They may have told me you liked this kind of stuff.”
“You don’t?” You ask.
“Never really found a reason to check it out I guess,” He replies, looking over at you with a side grin. “But now I do.”
You roll your eyes and walk into the building, Grayson follows and pulls out his wallet to pay your admission fee.
“I am fully capable of paying for myself thank you very much.” You inform him, going to reach for your wallet but he grabs your wrist before you can. You felt how warm his hand was, even after he pulled it away.
“I know you are,” He tells you. “Call me old fashioned but I always pay for a girl on the date.”
“This isn’t a date.” You correct him.
“Yeah okay,” He says with a laugh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that.” You warn him. You give in and allow him to pay for your ticket and head inside. It’s better than you could have ever dreamed. Everything was just so cool, you felt like you didn’t belong somewhere this amazing. Grayson just followed behind you, didn’t complain about how long you took, just let you take everything in and you appreciated that.
Eventually, you left, not before you dragged Grayson to every sign, but you did leave. You walked back to his car in the dark. The car ride back to campus was quiet other than the radio. You tapped your fingers on the window to the beat of the song and you felt Grayson’s eyes on you.
“What?” You ask him, not looking at him.
“You fidget a lot,” He tells you, letting out a quick chuckle. “It’s cute.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you changed the subject.
“How many girls have you taken there.” You ask, not sure if you really want the answer, but you ask anyway.
“None.” He says almost immediately.
“Bullshit.”
“Swear on my life.” He defends his words. “Look, y/n, I never have to prove myself to girls. They usually just sleep with me, tell their friends, and I never speak to them again. I don’t really date, this is a new thing for me. You are the only girl that I have ever brought to either of those places.”
For some reason you were relieved, unsure if it was because you didn’t want to share that experience with another girl, or because you didn’t want to share Grayson with another girl.
You made it back to campus, much quicker than when you left, and you felt a small pit form in your stomach. It was one time, there was no chance you actually liked Grayson ‘Alpha’ Dolan.
“Thanks for the night,” You speak up after sitting in the car for a few minutes. “I had fun.”
“Yeah,” He sighed. “I’m an excellent date planner.”
Your jaw drops at his incredibly large ego. “Not a date.”
“Okay, maybe this one wasn’t a date.” He puts his hands up. “But the next one definitely will me.”
With yet another eye roll, you get out of the car and slam the door shut but turn around one more time. “Goodnight Grayson.”
Ryan has been hanging out at our frat house a lot recently. Luckily, he has picked up on the cues from the other guys there and has started wearing less and less. While it was cool that he wore polos and boat shoes around a lot at first, he has come to learn what it’s like to pledge the jock frat. Now he’s stripping down to just his gym shorts when he comes through the front door, just like all the older guys wear. He’s even started taking suggestions that he should be free balling all the time. Once one of the older brothers showed him how hot it is to have a nice visible bulge through the front of your shorts, and Ryan was happy to make the changes.
I can’t wait for him to go through initiation. Then he’s going to learn that whenever our doors are closed for the night, the jock frat doesn’t bother with clothes at all. That way we can see how well are muscle bodies are growing, and plus it makes it really easy for us to get a brojob from each other. I’ve got the feeling that he is going to have a nice fat one for me to suck, and my pledge brother Joseph can’t wait to be the first one to claim his cherry. Only two more weeks until initiation…
Looks like we had three pledges end up passing out during their first party. Looks like we know who the cubs of the Fall pledge class are going to be. We removed their clothes as they slept, and ended up rubbing them all over with Grizzly Oil. This stuff is really powerful, and is guaranteed to put hair on you no matter what your genetics are. Now these freshies are already getting quite furry, and from the looks of it, are already starting to put on the Freshman 15. We loved having a bunch of chubby young cubs in the pledge class. They always show up, party hard, and are great cuddlers. It doesn’t hurt the fact that it’s pretty easy for them to imprint on some of the older jock bros, and those seniors are more than happy to have a couple of cute furry plump cub asses to plow.
