Getting Through to the Bad Boy (a Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 2 ~ Confrontation

After school ended, I walked to the parking lot and unlocked my car. I slid into the driver’s seat and put my sunglasses, thoughts of the mysterious boy swirling around my mind.  Why was he so angry all the time? What had happened in his life to make him act this way? He really had no excuse to be so rude.  I understood that something bad must have happened to make him this angry, but in my opinion, there was no reason to take it out on other people. 

The sound of a motorcycle revving broke me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see the boy peel out of the parking lot on a dark blue motorcycle.  I backed out of my parking spot and drove to my house.  I parked my car on the curb and walked to the front door. I unlocked it, and closed it behind me quietly.

“Elodie, is that you?” My dad asked. I squeezed my eyes shut and winced.  Damn it.

“Yes.”

“Get in here.  Now!”

“Where are you?” I asked, hanging my bag on the hook next to the door.

“Kitchen.” He snapped.  I sighed and walked into the kitchen cautiously. 

“How was your day, daddy?” I asked.

He looked at me, his dark brown eyes blazing with anger.  He pointed to the sink, which was piled with dirty dishes.  “Cut the shit, why didn’t you do the dishes last night?”

“I had homework.” I said, inching towards the door.  

He walked over to me swiftly and gripped my arm, yanking me to the sink roughly.  I yelped in pain, and he shoved me forwards.  I knocked my hip hard on the corner of the counter, and sucked in through my teeth sharply.  Holy SHIT, that hurt.  

“Do the fucking dishes.” He spat, walking out of the room.

I sighed, and began getting to work, mystery boy coming to mind again.  I wonder if he was abused as well...that would certainly explain his behavior.  Explain, not excuse.  

I went to put away a plate, and it slipped, falling to the floor and shattering.  My heart stopped, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

“What the hell?” My dad yelled angrily, stomping into the kitchen. 

“I’m so sorry.  I’ll clean it up, I promise.”

He stormed over to me, grabbing my face and yanking it roughly so I was looking at him.  I winced at his grip, and tried pulling my face away from him.  

“Don’t break the damn dishes.  They’re fucking expensive.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He released me, and then slapped me across the face.  I hissed, and put my hand to my cheek.  “Clean it up.” 

I nodded, tears leaking out of my eyes.  “I will.”

“Good.” He snapped, storming out of the room.

After I had cleaned everything up, and did the rest of the dishes, I scurried up to my room, shutting the door behind me.  I walked over to the mirror, and pulled my pants down over my hip, poking the bruise that had already formed.  It was a nasty black and blue color, and it throbbed angrily.  I looked at my face, and sighed at the red mark shaped like a handprint, and the finger marks that had formed on both sides of my jaw. There were also bruises forming on my forearms. 

“Get to bed!” He barked.  I groaned, and climbed into bed, covering my head with my covers.

*

I sat in chemistry the next day, bored out of my mind.  The bruise on my hip was still extremely tender, and every time I moved, my jeans would brush it, making me wince.