Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

9. I'll Take My Chances.

Harry Styles

It was like I could feel my jaw breaking. All I could see was his hands on her as she stumbled through the party and up to his bloody bedroom. The world had gone red and I could barely breathe.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I raked my hands through my hair. What the hell was I supposed to do? I knew she'd bloody kill me if I went in there, but fuck, she was drunk and she did not look happy. I'd heard about how reckless she could be but nothing compared to seeing it first hand. She was downright foolish. She should know better. She should fucking know better. There'd been so many stories of rape coming from the Delta Chi house and this party... no one was wearing any bloody clothing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Images swirled through my head, images of her trapped by that monster of a man, trapped and trying to get away. What would it mean if I didn't do anything and then something happened. Would I be able to stomach the guilt? Would she ever be the same energetic and biting personality or would it steal her vivacity and vitality?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

But what if she was fine? What if she knew exactly what she was doing? She was always so confident and sure. Surely, she'd know when she was doing something completely foolhardy. Surely?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Yanking on the roots of my hair, I struggled to find some sort of solution that wouldn't have me getting the shit beaten out of me or her making a terrible mistake. Why did I want to go and punch the bloody hell out of that guy? She was my fucking student. It was against University policy for any instructor to be involved with a student, regardless of age. Guest lecturer or not, I was not technically her professor. Professor McKenney had been very explicit when explaining to me the nature of the relationships I could have with my "students". Why couldn't she have just dropped my bloody class?

I had no right to even think about acting as her Prince Charming, she was clearly the farthest thing from a damsel in distress.

"You good, dude?" My jaw locked up even tighter at the sound of the slurring voice.

"Who's fucking room is that?" I ground out, jerking my head in the direction of the now closed and presumable locked door that Darien had disappeared behind. I was shaking as liquid rage raced through my veins, I locked my hands down into fists at my sides in a feeble attempt to feign restraint.

"What room, dude?" The drunk asked, laughing and hiccuping slightly after downing the remainder of his beer and tossing the red cup over his shoulder. Fucking slob.

"Sober the fuck up right now and tell me who lives in that bloody room," I growled, motioning with one quaking hand toward room 215.

"Oh, dude! You mean Davies! I'd steer clear of there for now, if I were you. Ren Grace is a fucking piece of work. If you walk in while they're banging, she'll chop your fucking dick off."

"I'll take my chances."

I was just about to kick the door in when he spoke again, "Good luck, bro. Your dick is counting on you." I rolled my eyes. I fucking hated drunks.

My patience and restraint completely dissolved when the knob refused to twist, confirming my suspicions. Splinters of wood filled the air as the door flew backward from the force of my boot slamming into it. A startled shriek ripped from her throat at my sudden entry. Her legs were still wrapped around his waist and I could see every muscle clearly defined as my eyes trailed up her scantily clothed body to the look of pure rage contorting her unnervingly enchanting face.

"What the actual fuck do you think your doing?" She shrieked, clambering off of the bed and away from her compromising position. As soon as she moved I could feel my jaw hit the floor and my friend strain uncomfortably against my jeans. She was completely topless, the black tease she'd been wearing earlier strewn unceremoniously across the room. She made no move to retrieve it or cover herself.

Before I could stop myself, I was shrugging out of my jacket and holding it out to her, begging her to clothe herself—an act that would be more for my benefit than her own.

"Saving your reckless ass," I growled, doing my best to keep my traitorous eyes on the drunk monster of a man still struggling to process what exactly had interrupted his night.

"Does it look like I need saving?" She raged, throwing her hands up into the air. Fuck, Ren, quit moving.

"You're drunk. You reek of alcohol. I'm not letting you get raped."

"Rape? You think he was raping me? Oh, fuck you, you presumptuous dick! I made the first move, not him."

"That's not what it looked like. It looked like you were drunk out of your goddamn mind! Do you even fucking know him?"

"You need to get your facts straight right now. One, we dated for two fucking years! Two, I can handle myself and my alcohol. I don't need a fucking babysitter. Three, I'm not going to give it out to every guy who can walk and chew gum at the same time, Styles. I'm glad you think so highly of me. Why am I even explaining myself to you?" she raged.

"It's hard to imagine anything else when you're propositioning your bloody teacher in the middle of class!"

"You're not my fucking teacher. You're just some kid the University hired to get out of paying a real professor!"

"Just put on the goddamn jacket Darien so that I can think!" I yelled, curling my fists into my hair and yanking as I paced back and forth across the tiny room.

"What's there to think about? Get the fuck out! We were in the middle of something!"

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Then you might want to go back down to the party or make a bowl of popcorn if you plan on staying for the show," she hissed, finally taking the mercy to cross her arms across her exposed chest.

"There's not going to be any show, we're leaving. Now."

"Fuck that! I'm not going anywhere with you!"

"Yes, you are."

"Try to fucking make me!"

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, lunging forward to wrap my jacket tightly around her torso and throwing her over my shoulder.

"Jesus fucking christ!" She shrieked, pounding her tiny fists against my back, "Put me the fuck down, you psycho!"

"Dari, are you okay?" The drunk slurred, speaking for the first time, reaching one mammoth hand up to scratch across his close cropped hair.

"Mind getting the door for me, mate?" I challenged, readjusting the flailing girl on my shoulder. In his daze he reluctantly nodded and stumbled to the door, "Thanks, now go find another drunk slut if you're so desperate to get laid," I grunted, already breezing past him and out of the room.