Fire (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 51

“Caleb.” I gasped, stumbling backwards onto the stone cold wall behind me, my hands only just supporting my body. His dishevelled figure came creeping out of the shadows, the light casting a shadow onto his pointed features. He neared me slowly, but with every step he took towards me, I drew back.

“St-stay away from me.” I begged pushing my hand in front of me, still moving backwards, my eyes were locked on his, although all I could see was black, an empty void, and of course the bruising surrounding it. Caleb’s face was still scarred and cut from Harry’s attempt to murder him just days before, and obviously, Caleb held this grudge.

“Why so scared princess?” He asked, a slight tilt to his head. His curls fell sideways in an unsettled slump, his clothes hung off his body, I noticed they were the same ones from days before, the same ones he wore when Harry almost killed him.

“Caleb, I’m warning you.” I said, my back hitting a wall. I pressed my hands to it, moving sideways to try and find an escape, there was none. He neared me, the smell of him, his disgusting odour that I was far too familiar with, the stench of alcohol and dried sweat lingered on him, clung to him. My breathing picked up, the panic loomed heavy on my heart, it gripped at my stomach, my mind racing, desperately trying to find a way out of this.

“You’re warning me? I warned you.” He pressed. I furrowed my eyebrows, pressing my head against the wall as he came just inches away from me. I raised my head up, rolling it back and closing my eyes, hoping to escape his hot breath fanning down onto me. I breathed through my teeth, not daring to fully open my mouth in case of saying something that would displease him, make him even angrier than he appeared to be.

“I warned you to stay away from men. I told you to wait for me. You didn’t though, did you little girl. So I had to do something about it.” He spat. My breath hitched, the realisation of his words hitting me like a tonne of bricks. I prayed to be somewhere else. I prayed to be at home, in Harry’s arms, or just…just not here.

“What have you done Caleb.” I asked, curiosity out-weighing the instinct to stay quiet, to just let him hit me and walk away. But I knew…I knew I wasn’t going to walk away from this. This was going to burn. I rolled my head back down, opening my eyes and observing him. His eyes crawled over my body, delving into every single crevice my body held. I felt so violated, and the snake hadn’t even touched me yet.

“You think your little boyfriend is so tough, you think he’s so safe…he couldn’t even protect his precious little sister.” I slowly raised my head from looking at the ground. I scoured up the tall, thin body of this menace.

“You…” I started; he looked at me, his eyes showing some form of surprise at my sudden charisma. I abruptly realised. I knew, all this time all Harry’s hurt, his devastation…it was Caleb’s fault, he’d destroyed him, he was destroying him, from the inside out. He was doing it to spite me, no, to ruin me. He was slowly tormenting the one I love, so he could destroy me, so he could come and claim my broken heart. He was doing this for one reason only, for revenge.

“You killed Gemma.” I spat, my eyes like daggers on him. My back pressed harder to the wall, my fingernails clawing at the gritty rubble before I lunged forward, my palms slamming against Caleb’s collarbones, he stumbled backwards, his left hand hitting the floor before his body collapsed on top of it. I wasted no time in staring, I raised a leg to plunge into his chest, striking right at the point he was most vulnerable. He didn’t deserve to live, I’d kill him, just like he killed Gemma, and I’d make his last moments hell. He lay heaving on the floor, but clawing to stand back up again, his black curls falling over his forehead, the alarm on his face was pleasing to me, knowing that I had an unanticipated element of surprise. He got to his knees, clutching his stomach, inhaling heavily, holding out his hand towards me, begging me to stop. I pulled back my leg again, this time aiming for his bony face, hoping to disfigure it even more than Harry had, hoping to knock the life from him once and for all. I noticed a trickle of blood on his lower lip, supposedly from my heavy kick to his stomach, or perhaps from where his face had hit the floor. I sprung forward, my foot colliding with his face at a heavy force. I felt the chattering of his teeth through my shoe, the noise escaping his mouth (along with the spit and drool) signifying my imminent victory. He fell to his face. His palms not even acting as a shield anymore. He was defeated, unconscious by my own wrath. I had won this fight, and now I was faced with an even bigger task.