The Beast (Harry Styles)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Unfinished Business

Decisions in life are often hard,

And it seems that many people are always on guard;

For Adeline, she feels conflicted

Because the situation she was in, she could not have predicted. . .

~.~

After finding out that Mr. Oliver--the man that was supposed to be dead for years--is actually alive and I've seen him in the flesh and blood, I began to pace. A terrible nervous habit, yet it helped to console my raging mind and hide my shaking hands. 

"Mr. Oliver, why have you hidden for so long?" I questioned. There was an urgency in my voice, almost neurotic, but Mr. Oliver just smiled.

"I mean, I was supposed to be dead. I couldn't simply go up to Harry and say, 'Surprise! I'm not dead!' That would be quite rude of me, wouldn't you think?" he joked. 

"I don't think this is funny. Actually it's incredibly wrong!" My voice broke as a whisper by the end, and my heart started to race.

How could I keep this from Harry? There was no way to avoid the conversation: this was not knowledge that I could bottle up for months. I could barely contain it after finding out seconds later. 

"Adeline, calm down. I'm not going to ask you to keep this secret from Harry," Mr. Oliver assured me.

"Then why tell me?" I squeaked, jumping a little bit in my pacing steps. I shook my head and continued my walking. "How could you do this to Harry? Why say you're dead, leave him to morn in madness, then come out of nowhere and say you're alive? I don't understand!" I stopped on the last word and faced Mr. Oliver.

"I don't expect you to understand," he started, "but I do expect you to listen." Mr. Oliver patted the seat beside him. "Please, sit down. I want to explain."

"Explain to Harry!" I spat at him. "I'm not the one who lost their mind only to recover and lose it again thinking the one person I cared about is dead!"

"And while I understand that's how it looks--"

"That's how it is!" I yelled. "Give me one reason why it is not so."

Mr. Oliver sighed. "Because Harry had to learn. He had to learn how to hurt, how to move on from life after tragedy. After Isabella, he fled. Moving on is not physical but emotional." 

I shook my head. "No. That's not good enough. He was destroyed. He was broken. He is broken. I have spent months helping him to recover from all the scars that kept reopening, washing the blood from his hands that you left on him, the blood of sins he thought he committed, the sins of silly mistakes and silly faults. 

"I have spent months clipping the thorns of roses so they would not cut his skin anymore until he took them from his garden. He kept them alive for so long, and then he finally realized they weren't worth it. Such beauty should not cause such pain, such anger should not cause such heartbreak. He's okay. He's come to terms with life, and now this?

"No reason you give me will justify the pain you caused Harry. Isabella was enough, but why you too?" I was out of breath, involuntary tears leaving my eyes. "I trusted you as a stranger. Harry trusted you as a father figure. Why?"

Mr. Oliver cast his eyes upon the ground. "I am sorry to have left Harry, but I did not hurt him. I could not stay around him any longer or he would have destroyed himself." He looked up towards me with sadness in his eyes. "Please. Let me explain from the beginning."

"Why should I let you tell your story when it brings terrible things to people I care about?" 

"Please," Mr. Oliver pleaded, "just ten minutes."