I'm Broken {Harry Styles}

Chapter 29

| Lacey's POV |

I was cleaning the stove when I heard the front door open. Harry must be home. "Where have you been?" I called out, stepping back to peer down the hall towards the front door. He was removing his coat and looked up as I called.

"Um... nothing," he replied. What? He sounded-and looked-very frazzled.

"Because that answered my question," I muttered under my breath. I went back to cleaning the stove. I heard a pair of clumsy feet pound up the stairs and a door slam.

What is up with you, Harry?

Maybe he'd forgotten to take his antidepressants. I had forgotten about those until earlier when I was looking for his disinfectant and stumbled upon them. I still want to know why he takes those. At Thanksgiving dinner he was smiling and laughing just along with the rest of them. All this time I have been staying here, this past week, he hasn't shown many signs of depression that I could see. Maybe some aggression, but it's Harry; of course he's aggressive.

I sighed and continued cleaning. What is he hiding? I know I shouldn't be this interested in his life and that I should respect his privacy, but I just can't. I don't know why I can't just leave it alone. Harry is a good person and he deserves to be happy. I want to make him happy. He may have a cold, hard exterior, but I know on the inside, once he lets someone in, he will be the most loving, caring person out there. I know that once he finds something good, he will protect it with everything that he has. I can feel it every time he gets me pain killers, or puts me to bed when I fall asleep on the couch. It's the small things that say the most about a person. All of the small things are what show who we all really are.

I continue cleaning the stove and all of the counter tops and dishes. I soon hear Harry trudging down the stairs. He walks into the kitchen with low-hanging sweat pants and no shirt on. He is carrying a fluffy white towel while drying his hair with it. His chest is glistening with small water droplets that haven't been properly wiped off yet. I feel my pupils dilate at the site. I have never been the one to get aroused, but with this boy, he makes it hard not to.

I snap my head up when I realize I was just staring at him. My cheeks blaze in embarrassment.

"Thanks for cleaning, it all looks great," Harry spoke up, looking around at his now clean kitchen.

"Well, it's the least I could do," I shrug, bending over to put the Lysol under the sink. Harry was still looking around, not meeting my gaze. Something is really wrong with him, and I want to know what.

"So while we're on the topic," I began. "I was thinking about when I should go back." I look up at him, unsurely.

"Why do you want to go back so bad?" He asks. Harry stares at me straight in the eyes, his expression a fusion of anger, confusion and, hurt? Why would he be bothered that I'm leaving?

"It's not that I want to go back, but I have to. I've been here for a week already and you're probably getting tired of having me around so much. Besides, Dylan is most likely to be searching around for me. The longer he has to wait, the more I have to make up for it later," I try explaining. He doesn't seem to understand that I don't really have much of a choice in the matter. I just want to go willingly so it'll be easier, in the end.

"I still don't think that's a good idea. He's dangerous; you shouldn't be willingly going back there," Harry sighs.

"I know, but it'll be easier this way. Besides, I'm going back to work soon and Dylan knows where I work and my hours."

"Then why don't you just quit? You could find another job." His voice is gruff, he's obviously very frustrated.

"I can't just quit my job, Harry! I need this money!" I exclaim.

"I know, I know. It was just a stupid, fucking idea." Harry ran his fingers through his now-drying hair. "I really don't know what to do," he finally admits.

"Me either," I agree. "But I'm tired of being stuck in this house and scared to leave. It's not right."

"I know, you're right. But I can't just let you go back there, knowing that he will be there waiting for you," Harry groaned. "Alright, fine. We should do something today and then I'll take you back tomorrow," he finally gives in. I nod.

"Thank you Harry, I know it seems bad right now but in the end this is a better way to go," I say.

"But just know, I'm going to be coming over a lot to check in on you," he 'warns'.

"You don't have to if you don't want. I don't want to be a burden or anything," I mumbled.

"A burden? Lacey, you're not a burden. I'm doing this because I want to, not because I feel like I have to," he emphasized.

"Alright, fine. Let's just stop talking about it," I say.

"Agreed. Let's talk about what you want to do today," Harry suggested.

"Um, I don't know. Whatever you want to do is fine," I mumble.

"Lacey, I'm here to please. I'll go down on you if you really want," he winked. I felt my cheeks heat and I looked down at my shoes. Harry laughed and nudged my shoulder. "C'mon, you know I'm just kidding. But seriously, what do you want to do today?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, it's November in England. There's not really much to do."

"I'll have to agree with you on that," he said.

"Also with my concussion I still can't do much," I added.

"Well how about this," he began. "We can get you something to wear and then we can go out to dinner."

"Okay, that sounds nice."

"And it will be. You might want to get ready though," he suggested.

"You're the one not wearing a shirt!" I exclaimed. Harry just laughed, nudging me towards the door. He then walked over to get something from the refrigerator. I couldn't stop myself from staring at his back. The way his muscles move under his tan skin is getting me all worked up. I shook my head and walked upstairs to get ready.

~

I'm sorry these chapters have been really short and kind of fillers but I've just had writers block. I have a lot of ideas for this story but I don't know how I'm going to get there from where the story is now. I'm already almost 30 chapters in and practically nothing has happened so far and just ugh so fed up right now.

QOTC: what color is your room?

How many South Americans does it take to change a lightbulb?

A Brazilian.

*buh dum chhh*