Flawlessly Broken (Harry Styles)

Chapter 2

Irrational and irritating are the only words I have left to describe him. One hundred thoughts are racing through my mind faster than the speed of light as I try to unravel the past minute of my life. And maybe the most intriguing minute I’ve had in eleven months. Beautiful and flawless, yet definitely disastrous if I dare befriend him. An arrogant heartbreaker with a fascinating past, I know his type, I’ve read about men like him in books. Trouble. Yet so desirable.I can’t even begin to fathom why I feel this raw emotion bubbling at the pit of my stomach. Why are the goose bumps still prominent on my skin? Why is my heart still racing a mile a minute? I don’t know.

He believes that he can get me to speak. He must’ve heard something about me – this is a small town. It must be a game to him. It has to be. Nobody speaks to me. Maybe he’s trying get the psycho chick to open up. Maybe it was a dare. Maybe Amanda sent him to me as part of her plan to get me to socialize.

Wrong.

I am over thinking this way too much. Just a beautiful boy. Nothing deceitful or evil. Just an arrogant flirtatious man trying to get a kick out of making me blush.

That is all.

I relax a little, exhaling a long breath I didn’t know I was holding. The same door clicks open again. Amanda. Relief floods over me, but I don’t know why. She looks at me with her usual bored expression. “Let’s go,” she says flatly, a hint of impatience in her voice. Something that sounds like a low growl escapes my throat as I follow her through the wooden door.        

Her high heels smack the ground and echo through the tight hallway. She is dressed in gray today. The color is as dull as her personality. Her jet black bob bounces with each step. A streak of gray shimmers as it catches the fluorescent lights every so often.

We enter her dim office. She sits in her desk chair and I plop on the orange couch across from her. God, I hate this color. It is bright and overwhelming, something I have worked hard to avoid becoming.

She pushes her delicate glasses further up on the bridge of her narrow nose. Somehow she manages to seem intimidating, despite her petite frame. Sometimes I imagine breaking her like a toothpick. It would be quite enjoyable.

"Welcome," she says, though it sounds anything other than welcoming. "Did you draw today?"

I'm staring her directly in the eyes, drilling bullets through her skull. I'm surprised by my new found confidence, I have the sudden urge come off as fearless. But just as quickly as it came, the feeling is gone and I'm left staring at my hands, being the shy person that I am.

"Of course I drew today," I say harshly.

She clears her throat and crosses her legs, clearly bored of our monotonous routine. "And what did you draw today?"

I roll my eyes, and I choose not to answer.

Amanda doesn't even have a clipboard anymore. There's no need for one. It's always the same thing, nothing new. Nothing has changed in the past year. Just another Wednesday with the same story and the same medication. I am not making any progress.

"Shannon –"

"Shay," I hiss, correcting her.

She clenches down on her jaw. Obviously neither of us have any interest in spending this obligatory time with one another. She speaks slowly as if I can't understand her. "What did you draw today?"

She's so frustrating. I snap. "Daniel!," I yell, "My God! I drew Daniel!"

Her face is turning red and creases are forming in her forehead. But she says nothing. I wish she would scold me. I don't like being in silence with her. It feels like I'm giving her the opportunity to observe me. So we sit there for a minute or so as she waits for me to calm down. She waits for my nostrils to stop flaring and for my breathing to return to normal.