Target (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 11

“Whatever. Just bandage me up.” Harry scoffs, ignoring Zayn’s amusement. He can be so demanding and bossy and just plain irritating. How could his friend, if they even are friends, put up with Harry’s temperament? If I was not so terrified of what he might do to my family, I’d give him a taste of his own medicine. Well, more realistically, I’d tell him off and bolt for the doors. I can recall a moment from freshmen year in America where self-defense was a lesson in physical education class. My partner and I were supposed to demonstrate a specific maneuver in upholding against an attacker. Let’s just say I asked my “attacker” how to protect myself from her. Little did I know that all I had to exhibit was a groin kick in order to pass the demonstration test. Harry deserves a groin kick.

Harry now had a piece of gauze cloth mended to the knife wound. I felt an involuntary flash of relief overwhelm my nervous body to know that Harry is not horribly injured. Not to say that a stabbing to his abdomen is exactly pleasant. But from what I am hearing about this Shane guy, he is lucky to get away from him with only such an abrasion. And there I go again… ‘You do not care about Harry’s pain’ my subconscious mentally reminds me. Right…

“I think we’re all set’n ready to go, mate.” Zayn reports, grabbing a set of keys and taking a long sip from a bottle of what looks like Vodka. Lovely.

“Brilliant,” Harry, begins and then turns to acknowledge me, “Come Mademoiselle, our evening awaits.” He held his arm out in wrapping it around my waist. Here we go back to “nice” and “charming” Harry. Is there such a life form? Well, it’s far better than ‘pissed off-I-wanna-slap-you-Daphne’ Harry. Yeah, much better.

He guides me through the living room and to the front door. Looking out the windows, all I perceive is darkness. I cannot make out where we are as we exit Harry’s home and into the surrounding darkness outside. A moist scent skimmed my nostrils signifying a possible downfall of rain earlier? The night sky was partially overcast, a few dim stars peeking their way into my view. Dewy grass tickles my ankles, walking across the lawn and to the black pavement. Yeah, I haven’t the slightest idea of where I am. None of the street signs sound familiar, not like it would have helped really. After all, I’ve only lived in London for a week. I still yet to grow used to the whole driver’s seat on the right side of the car. Everything is so different here. One thing I’m positive on is that if I still lived in Wisconsin, I am absolutely certain I wouldn’t have to deal with anyone similar to Harry Styles. I really am in a predicament. Fuck England.

Looking around at our surroundings I spotted the same exact car Harry and Zayn picked me up in. It's black paint blending in with tonight's nightfall. With a light click, Zayn unlocked the vehicle as Harry opened the door of the backseat.

"Get in." He firmly demanded. So bossy.

"And if I don't?" I innocently questioned, gently batting my eyes up at him. He looks furious.

Out of nowhere he swiftly shuts the door and pushes my body hard against the black automobile. Hips roughly pressed into my own, both my arms pinned harshly on either side of my head with the tight grip from his calloused hands. My senses are clouded with his musky scent, hot fanning breath, and his eyes piercing into my own. Yeah, he's definitely furious. My subconscious mentally mocks me, 'should of kept your mouth shut,' she singsongs. 

"Listen up sweetheart; I'm only going to tell you once so you better make sure that pretty little face of yours gets the picture." His voice booms in my ears, the vibrations resonating throughout my skin. I haven't even the slightest idea where or what Zayn is doing. Witnessing Harry's outburst probably is not a pleasant event to watch, let alone being the cause of said abrupt outrage. Idiot, I'm an idiot.