Break Me-A Harry Styles Fanfiction

Chapter 33-Meet the McCarries

The second I step into the tub, falling water splashes down on me, instantly soaking my bare figure; warm droplets thrumming against my skin heavily, and calmingly. My uneven breaths are released shakily, as I stare at Harry's perfectly toned chest standing before me; my fingers instinctively reaching out, and tracing the splatters of ink positioned atop the flesh, swirling around in numerous, and differing configurations. I feel his strong arms wrap around my waist, and tug me closer, his head dipping down to my neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin. My heart thumps so loudly, and so prominently, I wonder if Harry can hear it, or at least feel my pulse hammering within my veins beneath his lips. The air around us has shifted from urgent, to passionate, and slow, almost as if we're both savoring every second of each other.
"Bella," His low, and raspy voice murmurs, his hands wandering up to my chest, then down to my lower back. My eyes screw shut, as his lips find mine, pressing hungrily against them, with great force and skill. I lift my arms, lacing my fingers through his curls, and tugging at them. A deep groan is evoked from the back of Harry's throat, igniting a burning fire to erupt within the pit of my stomach. My whole body is burning, and yearning for his touch. "Jump," Harry grunts, as his fingers wrap around my bare thighs. I do as told, and hop from the balls of my feet, only to be caught by Harry. My legs wrap around his waist, and he presses me forcefully against the tiled wall, my head connecting with the hard surface almost painfully, but it is a pain that I'm willing to endure if it means that I'll be able to be close to Harry like this. His lips attack my neck again, biting and sucking all the way down to my collar bones. I release a sharp breath, my eyes still screwed closed, incased in a blissful, pleasurable, and unknowing darkness.
"Bella," Harry breathes. "I lo-"
"Isabella Mae McCarrie, what on Earth is going on in there?!" A pitchy voice shatters my illusion of peace and serenity; penetrating the tenacious atmosphere with their obvious anger. I am instantly placed on the floor of the tub, my feet almost failing me, and nearly slipping out from beneath me. My eyes widen, at both the interruption, and Harry's almost-confession. I need to know what he was going to say, I need to hear the words.
"What?" I whisper to Harry, daring to look up at him, and meet his gaze. His emerald irises are wide, and wild, panic etched into every one of his features. "What were you going to say?" I practically beg. My thoughts are going haywire, running wild, as I am torn. Half of me wants to assure my mother from the other side of the door that everything is fine, but the other half, the stronger half, is begging, screaming, yelling, for me to force the words from Harry's mouth. I'm almost positive that he was going to tell me that he loves me, and the thought alone shines a light through the darkness within me, temporarily seeping through my sadness, and strengthening the weakened strings holding me together. I need to hear him say the words. I need to know he feels the same as I do.
"Isabella, open this door!" My mother's fist connects with the wooden frame harshly, interrupting me of my thoughts. Harry seems to be frozen in place, so I decide to take action, hopping from the shower, and wrapping my naked form in a white towel, before opening the door slightly. I stick my head out, cool air hitting my bare legs from the hallway, seeping into the fogged bathroom through the ajar wooden door. My mother's furious scowl greets me from the other side; deep frown lines sewn into her forehead, and heavy black circles are drooping under her blue eyes. She looks exhausted. I gulp.
"Hi Mom." I squeak, searching her features in hope that she has no idea who waits for me in the pelting shower.
"Bella," She places her hands on her hips. "Do you have any idea of how inappropriate your careless actions are?!" A vein in her neck strains as she screams at me. "Not only will our guests arrive in less than twenty minutes, but you're taking a shower while a boy is in the room! I don't even know who you are anymore! This reckless behavior is so unlike you, and I will not tolerate it, do you understand me!?" I nod my head feebly, not sure if I'm more upset at the fact that I was unable to hear Harry's confession, or the fact that we got caught. Either way, a terrible guilt builds up in my chest, and I pray that my mother thinks no differently of me. She sighs, her eyes softening slightly, as she takes in my regretful, and apologetic expression. "Be downstairs in five minutes." She commands, turning on her heel, and stomping away. I release a heavy, pent-up sigh, as I close the door, and turn to face Harry. He now stands before me, bearing nothing but a fluffy white towel similar to the one adorning my frame. His hangs lowly on his waist, v-lines fully exposed, and on display, wet hair dripping, and dark. He looks like something out of a catalog.
"We, um, have to go downstairs." I mumble, staring at my feet in an attempt to avoid his captivating stare. He advances towards me, large hands tugging at my waist to pull me closer to his body. "Sorry, we didn't get to...you know." I say awkwardly, and Harry chuckles.
"Fuck?" He continues my thought, evoking a feverish blush to erupt on my cheeks at his profanity. He tilts my chin up to meet his gaze with his freed hand, and his emerald irises hold an emotion indecipherable to me.
"Hey, it's okay." He smiles, dipping his head down to my neck, blowing on the bare skin, arising goosebumps. "We can always finish later." He winks, planting a kiss to my lips, then sauntering out of the bathroom, leaving me both flustered and embarrassed.

~*~

As Harry, and I descend from the staircase, I can already hear the rumbles of conversation taking place below us. My family must have arrived early. I steal a glance at Harry, who looks more nervous than I feel, and I intertwine our fingers in an attempt to calm him. He offers a half-smile in appreciation, though I know better than to assume that my small gesture has cured him of his fears.
"Bella!" A chorus of voices greet once we enter the dining room. I look over each and every familiar face, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, all congregated before me, smiling at me, and my mysterious guest.
"Hi everyone." I smile politely, offering a small wave of the hand. I gesture to the curly haired boy standing beside me. "This is my boyfriend, Harry." Deep dimples concave the sides of Harry's face in a painfully fake smile as he greets my family.
"Hi." He tightens his grip on my hand, and shoves his remaining hand into the pocket of his jeans. He is noticeably uncomfortable with the situation, and our roles have seemingly reversed; I am usually the one looking to him for comfort, not the other way around, but as his hand latches onto mine as though he fears that I'll release him, and I realize how badly he needs my guidance at this time.
I lead us to the table, and we take seats beside each other, Harry's hand finding my upper thigh, and resting it there for both of our comfort. The second we sit, our Thanksgiving feast is served, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, salad, and much, much more. The conversations buzz around us, my family members talking, laughing, chewing, repeating. Harry and I stay quiet for the most part, answering questions when asked, but not bothering to contribute any additional information. It isn't until the conversation is directed at Harry that my ears perk up.
"So Harry," My uncle Hank begins, swallowing the chunk of turkey in his mouth before finishing his thought. "how did you meet our Bella?" He asks, and I cringe at his possessive question, as if I "belong" to a family where I feel mostly like an outcast. Harry clears his throat, glancing over at me out of the corner of his eyes.
"We met at school." He answers simply, obviously trying his hardest not to be his usually rude and closed-off self. My heart swells at the thought that he's trying for me, trying for my family.
"Well, let's hope that this one doesn't turn out like the last, eh Bella?" My aunt Lauren laughs, lifting her wine glass to her lips, and taking a hearty sip. My heart stops beating in my chest, plummeting down to the floor, and shattering against the hardwood. She's referring to him. She's referring to Charlie.
"What did you just say?" Harry growls, rising from his seat to glower at the older woman. Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by his aggressive response, but quickly composes herself.
"Oh calm down, dear." She half-laughs. "It was just a joke. Bella knows that I was kidding, don't you hun?" Her stupid pet-names sound ridiculous falling from her tongue, almost condescendingly, and I look down to my fingers fumbling in my lap. I offer a feeble nod, far too stunned by the previous interaction to truly respond.
"You don't joke about shit like that!" Harry raises his voice, and my head shoots up, taking in the scene before me. "Why would you bring something like that up?! What the hell is wrong with you?" He's fuming, completely and utterly furious at the woman across the table from him. His eyes are dark and bottomless, his fists are balled up at his sides, his jaw is clenched, and prominent. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm advancing towards Harry, tugging his arm back, and dragging him away from the table. Numerous murmurs are heard, unanswered questions floating in the air, never to be fulfilled. I bring Harry down the hall, and to the study, far away from all of the action. He pulls out of my grip, pacing around the stuffy room, and tugging at his hair as if that along will solve the problem. I can hear him muttering curses under his breath, but make no attempt in speaking to him until he's somewhat calm. He stops in his tracks, eyes beading down at me from across the room.
"Say something." He commands, and I shrug my shoulders.
"There's not really much to say."
"I just fucking ruined everything! Now they all hate me!" He shouts, almost confirming the repercussions of his actions to himself. I frown at him.
"No you didn't, they don't hate you." I try, though I'm not sure if I'm speaking the truth, or what I want to be true.
"Bella!" He gapes at me. "Did you not see all of their faces?! It's over, it's done, I've fucked it all up and there's no turning back! I knew I never should have come here. This was a mistake." I take a step back, stung and deeply hurt by his statement. A mistake?
"What was a mistake, Harry?" My voice comes out shaky, and unclear, as tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision of Harry. "Coming here with me, or ever meeting me in the first place?" Salty droplets spill down my cheeks, as I wait for Harry to respond.
"Maybe both." He answers honestly.
All of the strings holding me together snap simultaneously, my weak heart detonating like a bomb within my chest, then bursting under the harsh restrictions. I part my lips to say something, anything, but I can't, no words will come. Harry shakes his head, his words registering with him suddenly. He holds his hands out in front of him as to protect himself from the shattering pieces of my withering frame that will comes flying out at him momentarily. "Bella, I didn't mean-"
"Save it." I manage to say, surprised by the strength in my tone. Tears continuously fall from my eyes, but I stand my ground, not allowing him to feel as though he's won this brutal war; though the only casualty was my own.
"No, Bella, please. I didn't-"
"You should leave." I tell him, breaking his gaze, and peering down at the floor beneath me. "It's not that long of a drive. If you leave now, you can be back by 9." The empowerment in my voice is gone, leaving nothing but a weak, and defeated tone.
"Baby, please." Harry begs, and I refuse to look up at him, knowing fully well that if I see any sort of remorse in his eyes, I'll be putty in his hands.
"Have a nice Thanksgiving, Harry." I whisper, allowing the last of my tears to drip down my cheeks.
"Fine." Harry grumbles, exiting the room, then stomping up the stairs to pack his things. It is only when he leaves the room, that I allow myself to breathe again, sad eyes peering in the hallway to make sure that no one had just heard our exchange. It's empty.
That's when I break down, dropping to the floor meekly, and exhaustedly, and allowing a new abundance of tears to pour silently down my cheeks.
I try to convince myself that I'm better off alone, that other people are useless, and undependable, but I know better than to believe my excuses. You see, once you get a taste of love, and happiness, you would do anything to fully obtain it;  though you may get close, you will not get there fully. When you're as broken as I am, your permanent sadness refuses to let you go, always snapping you back to the deepest, darkest, cruelest places of your mind.It's addictive, and sick, but you can't seem to escape it, and that's the sad truth.
So alone I lie, wallowing in pity, and just wishing to die; the strings that once held me together had snapped, never to be fully restored. I'm not sure how long it will take to be pieced back together. I'm not sure if I want to be.