Toxic - Harry Styles

Chapter 1: Job interview

- "Not now Harry, seriously I have to get to this job interview," I say but Harry continues to forcefully pin my against the wall, hands on my wrists, leaving desperate kisses down my jaw.

- "Come on, just.." he groans, and I can feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing against me, as I try to wrestle my arms out of his grip, so I can push him away.

- "It's important Harry," he groans and let's go of me, the burning lust in his eyes turning into a frown. He is pissed. I hate when he's in this mood. Horny and not taking no for an answer. I know it was the reason he stopped by at my place - to fuck, but I really have to get this job. I need it.

Not like Harry. He doesn't need a job. He says he's smarter than to go around paying taxes. He and his mates has got their own little business. He's very quiet about it, and I don't ask much. Fact is they deal with drugs and weed and whatever illegal stuff they can possibly get their hands on. I have to admit there are good money in it, however I'm determined to stay out of that world - drugs are not something I would want to have anything to do with. That's Harry's world, not mine, never gonna be.

**

- "Do you have any experience in being a bar tender?" The fat but tough looking man in front of me asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette. I breathe in, craving a cigarette of my own. I chew my gum loudly as I do sometimes when I'm nervous.

- "No," I shrug, crossing my arms in front of my chest, lifting an eyebrow. "I know how to pour a drink," I give him a provocative glance, and he stares me down with his tiny blue eyes. He is challenging me, but I don't budge. He wants to see if I am confident enough I guess, that I'm not gonna have a breakdown every time some creep hits on me.

- "Alright," he leans back in his chair, looking up and down of me. When he looks me in the eyes, I don't stray away - because of course they want somebody for the job who isn't shy.

- "You can start next week. We'll E-mail you the details," YES!

I feel an overwhelming urge to smile, but I resist, and keep casually chewing my gum.

- "Cool, thanks," I say, like it's no big deal to me - which it is. It's my only chance of making it here in London. Or else I'd have to find somewhere else to live - or ask Harry for help. I don't want to owe him anything, I don't know why, but I don't.

Also there's no way I'm moving in with Harry - I mean his flat is twice as big as mine, but that where his costumers come and go, and I'm not about to become some Pusher Frau.

I walk out of the club, swaying my hips back and forth a bit more than I usually would, and I get out a cigarette from my pocket, and inhale the thick smoke, only to blow it out and let it blend with the cold wet London air. 

Holding the cigarette between two fingers, I decide to call Harry to let him know. 

- "Hey babe," his raspy voice sounds flat and bored, proably still pissed he didn't get some earlier.

- "I got the job," I say, in a genuinely happy voice, realizing that that's what I am. Happy. 

- "That's good," He sounds a bit occupied, which means that he's either high or he's with a custumer. I had expected a 'congratulations', but I know how is sometimes. "I'll come over later okay? I need to see you," he finishes off and I put the phone back in my pocket, finishing my cigarette.

Harry's on and off - as well as our relationship. Some days I don't even hear from him, like as if he doesn't give a shit about me, and then other days he's all over me - some days he's even smiling and laughing. That's the really good days. 

My friends doesn't get what I see in him at all. I get that. To other people he might look, well, kind of scary. He's covered in tattoos and piercings - like almost literally - and he's not always the friendliest I'll have to admit. But behind his dark intense eyes, is a boy who is just like me. I don't need other people to understand. I get him.

We have both had a rough start of life. We are not necessarily making the right choices, but we are doing what we feel like, living how we feel like because we have tried worse. And worse is real bad, so we don't have many  expectations to life or anyone I guess.

We didn't grow up being loved, so we don't need much love to be satisfied. Just a bit, just enough and that's what Harry gives me. 

He makes me feel like I am something, that somebody cares about me. Because he needs me - not only for sex, but for being there for him, like I need him to be there for me. When he treats me bad, it's okay, I can accept it, because I know he doesn't mean to. It's a part of life I've gotten used to, and I know he loves me like I love him, even though it's sometimes hard to tell on his darkest days. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my girlfriends that I've made here in London, but they can't see the world through my eyes like Harry can. And he protects me - no one can hurt me.

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