Diligence [H.S.]

NINE

Chapter Song: Home by Catie Turner

...

HARRY STYLES

I sit down in the passenger seat of the familiar, black SUV, and shut the door with enough force to make Nate jump in the seat beside me.

As soon as the car falls silent, I can feel Nate's gaze burning into the side of my head, but I pay no attention to it. I'm grateful he's here, that he responded so swiftly to my urgent request, but I can't find it in me to thank him. Not yet. Part of me senses that he knows, and he stays quiet for now.

All he knows is that I need him to stay here for the night, and I assured him I would give more details when he got here. The thought of doing that now nearly causes bile to sting the back of my throat.

My heart is in my stomach, and my breathing builds up to an unstable rhythm, but I don't bother attempting to calm myself down. During my conversation with Jo, and then Andrea, I used all my effort to contain myself as much as possible despite all the emotions coursing through me. Now everything is starting to surface.

Pure shock, disorientation, panic, dejection, resentment, embarrassment, and indignation. I can't fathom how I missed all the signs. With the knowledge I have, despite none of it being based on experience, I knew what to look out for and I didn't.

Every question left unanswered that I didn't have the opportunity to ask circulates through my mind, bringing on a relentless headache.

How didn't I notice? What caused her to relapse? Was it a moment of weakness or did something trigger her to use again? How did she get drugs? Had she been hiding them, and if so, for how long? How long has she been using? Why was she so adamant about not wanting me to know?

"Harry, what's–"

His words are interrupted by my broken screams abruptly filling the quiet car, and every emotion I held back spills out unapologetically. Endless curses and cries escape me as my fist connects with the dashboard in front of me, and my eyesight blurs as tears fall down my cheeks. I ignore Nate's attempts to block my hand from bashing against the hard plastic in front of me and continue to release every ounce of anger and hurt.

Millions of emotions are rushing through me, and the combination of them is more painful than you can imagine. It's enough to make me boil over and lose control, but I can only wallow in this pain temporarily. No longer than a few minutes.

The back of his hand occasionally takes the brunt of my hits, smashing against the dash. He doesn't seem to pay attention to the pain of it, only continuing to try and calm me down, but I don't think anything can do so.

Each time my knuckles make contact with the unforgiving surface, I can feel a thin layer of my skin peeling off, but it feels better than focusing on the excruciating ache radiating from my chest. It's relentless and never-ending. Even if it subsides, I will never forget the painful sensation this brings me.

"Harry! Harry, stop!"

"Fuck!" I yell with a hoarse, strained voice and a sob creeping up my throat.

Nate manages to trap both of my arms to my chest with a strong hold across my abdomen, and I'm left a heaving mess trapped against my seat.

"Calm down, just breathe," he attempts to soothe me, but it only makes me break down even further, "It's okay."

My body gradually goes limp from its tense state, and my sobs begin to rip through me. When a cry escapes my lips, his hold loosens, and I fall against him for support. My forehead rests against his shoulder, my trembling body no longer having the strength to sit up straight in the leather seat.