Brutality | Harry Styles

Prologue

The human mind is a jumble of abstractions. Melody Rhoden supposed that's why she had a love-hate relationship with her poetry class. Her professor had always said the same thing: "Cut abstractions from your writing." As though they could make a poem any less meaningful. As though it was impossible for them to evoke a deep feeling all on their own.

Almost every art form contains its own uniquely integrated abstractions. The painting Melody was staring at, for example, was composed entirely of them. Abstract art is beautiful in its own right, completely moldable to the viewer's interpretation. She thought writing was justified in sporting that same beauty. Let readers feel the abstractions in their own unique knowledge and experiences. Not everything needs to be told.

"Lovely."

The voice came from her right shoulder. She found a man there. Light, scarce stubble, dark, intruding brown eyes. He glanced briefly at the painting and then turned back to her.

"Yeah, it is."

He chuckled light-heartedly and shook his head.

"Oh, no. I was talking about you."

Melody contributed a breathy half-laugh and looked back at the painting. Cheesy pick-up lines had never been successful with her. And regardless, she was there for a reason.

"Cute. But I'm here for an assignment, so if you'll excuse me."

He caught her elbow as she turned away. The touch was gentle and brief. His arm dropped back to his side where it came from, almost immediately.

"Assignment? What for?"

She assessed him—his pressed pants, wrinkled dress shirt, one cuff unbuttoned. It was a bit endearing, the dorky, mismatched way of his apparel. His hair was lightly windblown, wavy and fluffed at the ends. He pushed a troublesome lock from his temple and chuckled again.

"I'm Cooper, by the way."

"Melody," she informed him in a quick, impulsive decision. He smiled at her, perfect top teeth, crooked bottom row.

"Pretty."

"Thanks." She turned again to move to the next piece of art. Cooper followed behind and stopped next to her, elbow just barely brushing her bicep. "I have to write a poem."

"That's your assignment?"

"Yes. It has to be inspired by a piece of art. It's called an ekphrasis."

"So, you're a poet?"

The picture in front of them was unnerving. It looked to be from a war, the colors faded into black and white. A girl stood in the foreground, coated in grime, clothing torn. She was small, couldn't even be eight-years-old. She seemed to be running toward the camera, arms outstretched. Melody looked away and turned her attention to Cooper.

"Not really. I'd rather write stories, but the poetry class is required. It doesn't matter, anyways. Nothing I've written has seen daylight."

"Well, it could someday." He grinned at her again. His fingers splayed out against his thighs and then he rubbed his hands over his pants, like he was wiping the sweat from them. "Do you, maybe, wanna go out sometime?"

His proposal was cute, and he seemed charming in his own way. Melody couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face. Her eyes fell to the floor. She hadn't been on a date in nearly a year. School took up almost all of her time. When she wasn't at class, she was studying or writing—or attempting to write, anyway. Her mind had felt entirely blank for months now.

Maybe this was what she needed. She'd been so stuck in her routines that she hadn't had any new experiences. Maybe a date could bring some inspiration. Maybe it would even kickstart her love life.

"Yes."

Cooper smiled even wider and pulled his phone from the pocket of his pants. His fingers fumbled with the lock button and then the device vibrated twice as his clammy thumb attempted and failed to input his print. He sighed frustratedly and manually punched in the passcode before passing it to Melody, opened up to his contacts. She contemplated giving him the wrong number, just slipping up and changing a "2" to a "3", but that would defeat the entire purpose of her saying yes. She typed her information in, placing an emoji of a painting next to her name, and handed Cooper his phone.

"Thanks," he said with a softer smile now, slipping the phone back into his pocket and shoving his hand into the other one.

"Can we do it tomorrow?" Melody asked. "I have midterms coming up."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," he spluttered, nodding enthusiastically. She was reassured, whether by his excitement or his goofy, awkward vibe, she wasn't sure.

He kept standing there, smiling, watching her. She found it in her to laugh softly before raising an eyebrow.

"Cooper?"

"Oh, right." He chuckled nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." He walked away then, glancing back at her once. She smiled at him. The high-school-type romance was refreshing, a large contrast to what frat guys considered to do the trick.

With Cooper gone, Melody turned back to the task at hand, moving on to the next photograph. She only looked at the landscape briefly before pulling out her phone to snap a quick picture. She took pictures of the next four artworks, her pre-midterm exhaustion settling on her shoulders all at once. She yawned as she turned toward the exit of the gallery. Maybe it was lucky that she came tonight instead of tomorrow. Maybe she would have the time to confidently complete her assignment, and maybe she would actually succeed in obtaining some sort of inspiration from tomorrow's date. Maybe the writer's block that had been eating away at her would cease. But then, maybe nothing would come of any of it.