50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 12

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades of Grey or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 12

For the first time in my life, I voluntarily go for a run. I find my nasty, never-used sneakers, some sweatpants, and a t-shirt. I plug in my iPod. I can't sit in front of that marvel of technology and look at or read any more disturbing material. I need to expend some of this excess, enervating, energy. Quite frankly, I have a mind to run to the Heathman hotel and just demand sex from the control freak. But that's five miles, and I don't think I'll be able to run one mile, let alone five, and of course, he might turn me down which would be beyond humiliating.

Zayn is walking from his car as I head out of the door. He nearly drops his shopping when he sees me. Lou Tomlinson in sneakers. I wave and don't stop for the inquisition. I need some serious alone time. Snow Patrol blaring in my ears, I set off into the opal and aquamarine dusk.

I pace through the park. What am I going to do? I want him, but on his terms? I just don't know. Perhaps I should negotiate what I want. Go through that ridiculous contract line by line and say what is acceptable and what isn't. My research has told me that legally it's unenforceable. He must know that. I figure that it just sets up the parameters of the relationship. It illustrates what I can expect from him and what he expects from me – my total submission. Am I prepared to give him that? Am I even capable?

I am plagued by one question - why is he like this? Is it because he was seduced at such a young age? I just don't know. He's still such a mystery.

I stop beside a large spruce and put my hands on my knees, breathing hard, dragging precious air into my lungs. Oh, this feels good, cathartic. I can feel my resolve hardening.

Yes. I need to tell him what's okay and what isn't. I need to email him my thoughts, and then we can discuss these on Wednesday. I take a deep cleansing breath, then jog back to the apartment.

Zayn has been shopping, as only he can, for clothes for his holiday to Barbados.

Mainly swim trunks and matching sarongs. He will look fabulous in all of them, yet he still makes me sit and comment while he tries on each and every one. There are only so many ways one can say – you look fabulous Zayn. He has a curvy, slim figure to die for. He doesn't do it on purpose, I know, but I haul my sorry, perspiration-clad, old t-shirt, sweat pants, and sneakers ass into my room on the pretext of packing more boxes. Could I feel any more inadequate? Taking the awesome free technology with me, I set the laptop up on my desk. I email Harry

From: Louis Tomlinson

Subject: Shocked by WSUV

Date: May 23 2011 20:33

To: Harry Styles

Okay, I've seen enough.

It was nice knowing you.

Lou

I press send, hugging myself, laughing at my little joke. Will he find it as funny? Oh, shit

– probably not. Harry Styles is not famed for his sense of humor. But I know it exists, I've experienced it. Perhaps I've gone too far. I wait for his answer.

I wait... and wait. I glance at my alarm clock. Ten minutes have passed.

To distract myself from the anxiety that blooms in my belly, I start doing what I told Zayn I would be doing – packing up my room. I begin by cramming my books into a crate.

By nine, I'd heard nothing. Perhaps he's out. I pout petulantly as I plug my iPod earbuds in, listen to Snow Patrol, and sit down at my small desk to re-read the contract and make my comments.