Mr. Styles (H.S.) [COMPLETE]

Thirty-Nine

When she woke-up again, Katherine was being discharged into the care of Mr. Harris.

"Harry sent you?" She asked him as she sat up in bed.

"Yes, ma'am, he did," Mr. Harris said with a curt nod.

"He couldn't even face me himself?" She asked bitterly, causing Mr. Harris to look puzzled, which she figured was a good sign, realizing Harry didn't tell him all the horrible details of why she was in the hospital in the first place.

"Mr. Styles is very busy. He is deeply sorry he couldn't be here, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris replied, sounding more like a robot than anything.

"Yeah, I'm sure he is," she spat sourly as she slid out of the bed and stepped onto the cool floor.

"Careful, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris warned, reaching out to grip her arm as she nearly lost her balance on her wobbly feet.

"I'm fine," she snapped at him as she pulled her arm away quickly. She felt guilty almost immediately for yelling at him. He didn't deserve her wrath for the shit Mr. Styles did and said to her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly as she steadied herself with her hands against the mattress.

"It's all right, Miss. I brought you some clean clothes at Mr. Styles' request," Mr. Harris told her, setting a bag down on the bed next to where she stood.

"Thank you," she said, sending him an apologetic look.

"You're very welcome, Miss Mason," he said with a small smile.

"Could you... uh, I need to get dressed. Could you step out?" Katherine asked him.

"I've been instructed not to leave your side, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris informed her, which sent a shiver of annoyance up her spine.

"Of course you have. That megalomaniac son-of-a-bitch," she grumbled under her breath as her fingers gripped tightly against the blankets on the bed.

"I'm sorry, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris apologized quietly.

"It's not your fault," she said, taking a deep, cleansing breath.

"Could you at least turn around so I can change?" She asked him, trying to keep a polite tone.

"Yes. Of course, ma'am," Mr. Harris said as he turned toward the corner of the room.

She had to take another deep breath just to keep the annoyance at bay. No, Mr. Styles couldn't be there, how convenient, but he could send his right-hand man with instructions of never leaving her side.

"What if I have to go to the bathroom? Will you come in with me?" Katherine asked Mr. Harris, letting the annoyance take over once again as she stripped off the hospital gown, dropping it onto the bed.

"Ma'am?" He questioned as she strapped her bra on her body, wondering who had the pleasure of sifting through her underwear drawer to find her bra and panties — Mr. Styles or Mr. Harris. Either way, she felt violated.

"Never mind," she grumbled as she slipped her clean shirt over her head.

She finished dressing quickly, feeling a little bit better just by being out of that hospital bed and gown.

"You can turn around now," she told him as she sat down on the bed to put her socks and shoes on.

Mr. Harris brought her down to the car in a wheel-chair, which really wasn't necessary, but was welcomed. Her whole body felt sore and put through the ringer, along with her mental state. They rode in silence all the way back to the apartment — the last place she wanted to be.

Mr. Harris helped her out of the car and led her to the elevator, even though she could do it herself. He finally let her go when they got into the elevator.

"I'm sorry for everything he makes you do," Katherine told him sincerely.

"I'm sorry?" Mr. Harris asked, turning to look at her after he put in the code for the top floor apartment.

"I know you've seen things you don't want to see and done things you don't want to do," she went on to say.

"I take pride in my job," Mr. Harris said robotically, looking away from her as he stood next to her.

"Like erasing the footage of Mr. Styles fucking me in every room in the apartment?" She grumbled, not entirely sure why she was being so blunt with him.

Mr. Harris just cleared his throat and ignored her words as the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the foyer.

"I've been instructed to get you into bed and make sure you rest," Mr. Harris informed her as he gently took hold of her arm to help her out of the elevator.

"I can walk by myself. Thank you," she said, shaking him off.

When they walked into the apartment, it was quiet, which wasn't a total surprise. Mr. Styles was probably out of the house anyway, too much of a coward to face her himself.

"I've changed your bedding, so you have clean sheets to sleep on," Mr. Harris told her and she felt her cheeks heat up with blush, knowing there were bloodstains on them the morning she collapsed. She had every intention of throwing them in the wash that morning.

"He's got you doing the housekeeping duties now? You should ask for a raise," Katherine quipped bitterly as she continued on toward her room.

She shut the bedroom door behind her and leaned her back up against it. She didn't want to be there. She didn't want to be anywhere near Mr. Styles. Not after the way he made her feel. But what could she do? Where would she even go?

After taking a deep breath, Katherine moved toward the cleanly made bed and pulled back the covers. At least she could do one thing right and get some sleep. It would be welcomed.

...

Katherine woke up just before dinner time and slid out of bed. She quickly cleaned herself up and made her way out of the bedroom to begin making Mr. Styles' meal. As she began taking out ingredients, she noticed she was still wearing her hospital bracelet and her situation hit her once again.

She gripped onto the bracelet and tried to rip it off, but it wouldn't budge. She let out a loud huff before reaching for the kitchen shears and cutting it off. She tossed it in the garbage can and stood with her palms against the side of the countertop trying to settle herself down. Inhale. Exhale.

"Mr. Styles won't be in need of dinner this evening," she heard Mr. Harris say from behind her. She let out a scoff. It figured.

"You should be in bed, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris added, taking a step toward her.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, turning to face him.

"Mr. Styles told me—" Mr. Harris began.

"I don't give a shit what Mr. Styles told you, okay?" She snapped angrily.

Mr. Harris stood there staring at her, seemingly unphased by her outburst. Yet, still she felt guilty.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"It's no problem, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris replied.

"I'll just clean this up..." She said quietly, quickly reaching for the ingredients she got out for dinner.

"I can take care of it, if you'd like, Miss Mason," Mr. Harris told her.

She took a deep breath, trying her best not to snap on him. She conceded, giving him a nod of her head before walking out of the kitchen.