Which Direction? {A Frat Boy Harry Fanfiction}

Chapter 25

"Chelsea," Harry's voice trailed behind me in the long hallway, "We're gonna have to talk about this." 

"Talk about what?!" I snapped turning to come face to face with him. His breathing was ragged, trying to form words. His chest was only inches from mine, his scent filling my every emotion. 

"Chelsea," his voice was quiet, trying not to wake up anyone in the dorms. It was pretty late by the time we got back to campus. The car ride here was long and awkard. Not one word was spoken, no one dared to start something. 

"Harry," I looked up into his green eyes, trying to stay on my feet. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

"You have to stop apologzing Harry..." I could see it in his expression, he was beating himself up for this. His eyes slightly redder than earlier, his lips dipping a little more. 

"But--" he was almost on the brink of tears...again, "--I could've killed you." 

"It's fine Harry. I'm okay aren't I?" I placed a gentle hand against his lifting chest. This boy who's known me for such a short period of time, acts like he cares so much about me. Pshh. Like someone would actually care about me. 

"But then I tried to protect you," I closed my eyes. I remembered it clearly. He was just trying to prevent me from getting hurt. My instincts told me he was going to hurt me, it was the sudden force of his outstretched arm that reminded me of someone elses. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"¡Vuelves a la cama!"

My mom saw me. I was huddled on the stairs with my blanket, like I have been for the past few nights. I inhaled, holding my breath. She wanted me to go to bed, like she thought I could actually fall back asleep after what I just saw. 

My dad's back was turned to me, his strong muscles strained with his aggressiveness. My mom was once again on the floor. Her shirt was ripped, one sleeve barely hanging by a white thread. The right side of her face was crimson, with a fresh slap. The beer bottle in my dad's hand was quickly smashed to pieces with a tense of his palm as he spun around to notice me. 

I don't know what caused me to do it. Maybe it was the repetitiveness of this every night, maybe it was the petrified expression on my mom's face. But either way, I sprung from my hiding spot, hurling straight for my dad. My height was nothing compared to the towering man, but I was pretty tall for my age. 

I thought I could take him, I thought I would've caught him off guard. My lean figure, at the time, wasn't enough to take him down. My palms crashed into his hips, attempting to push him down. But his one fist was enough to take me down before I could even put a scratch on his flawed body. The impact made me tumble backwards in an instant.

My hands barely braced my fall with an oof. My wrists were numb, my head was whirling. In the last second of consciousness I had, I looked over at my mom in the corner. Her frightened, regretful eyes were piercing into mine, trying to apologize to me. I knew what she was doing. She never wanted me to get hurt, she never wanted me to get involved. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Chelsea," his breath was knocked out of him when my arms threw around his lean figure, I had no idea what I was doing until I did it.

"Harry," I mumbled covering my words with his shirt. I snuggled my face into his chest, his arms protectively wrapping themselves around my back. 

"I'm so sorry," he rubbed my back in reassurance, "I'm so sorry Chelsea..." I finally opened my eyes, pulling away the second I realized what I was doing.

"I'm so-sorry," I shook my head, "That was weird." 

"Hey Chelsea," he lifted my chin with an index finger lightly, "It's okay to be scared, you know?" His whispers were sour to my ears, but made me feel safe. 

"I'm not scared," I didn't get scared. Not anymore. Nothing can ever compare to how scared I used to be. Every night. I would flinch every time I heard a muffled scream coming from downstairs. It would take all my might to not get out of bed to see what was going on. But every night it was the same story, I would always give in to my mom's pleads. I would sit in the same place every night, watching her get yelled at. On some nights, most nights, he would hurt her.

"It's okay to be scared," he repeated placing a soft kiss onto my forehead. I closed my eyes again, my hands finding the hem of shirt. I gripped onto it, knuckling it between my fingers. I looked up at him, kissing him on the lips. It's what I needed, and he knew it. 

His lips responded perfectly to mine, wrapping themselves around my own in a cascade of plump lips. He tasted sweet, like he always did. 

"Goodnight Harry," I said before turning and walking down the hallway to my room. 

...

"Hey Niall," I said smiling at his bright morning face, "You look awake this morning." Well that was compared to my smudged eyeliner, frizzy hair, and the big black bags under my eyes. I didn't sleep much last night. Because there was one thing on my mind, the whole time. 

"Hey," he chuckled. We made our way through campus. Niall held the door for me as usual, being the gentlemen that he is. It reminded me of Harry, wondering if he would do the same for me. Why the hell was I even thinking about Harry right now? 

"Come on in guys," Mr. Malik's smile welcomed us into the buzzing classroom. We sat in two empty seats in the front row before Mr. Malik began class. 

He talked for minutes on end about the importance of thesis outlining, and how to write the perfect essay.

"And so I thought for today you guys will all be writing an essay. It should be a short one, but one that is well outlined and organized. I'm giving you 45 minutes so use your time wisely. Oh and the topic--" he paused to think. It was like he never really had his classes planned out ahead of time. "Write about a hardship you've had in your life. Write about something that inspired you to become a better person, something that made you work. Write about a significant time where you had to stay strong for not only the ones around you, but for yourself too." 

Of course.

This was one of the easiest things to write about. But probably one of the hardest. Did I really want to write a whole essay on my life story? But part of me wanted to get it out of myself, to get it down on paper. To tell someone else the whole story.

So I closed my eyes, before I started writing.