Bad Blood (h.s.)

Part Six

Part Six

My hand is lead into the massive apartment, much too large for one person. He moves my body to be in front of his and smiles down at me.

"Can I at least know the basics of your life? Because all I am living off of right now is that you are Harry Styles."

He laughs and kisses my cheek. "Of course, because all I know about you is you are Beth and you work at a bookstore and are way too obsessed with old romance novels."

"Yes, very true. And my last name is Jones."

He smiles and I turn to his apartment. He has white walls and the opposite wall is basically windows. The furniture is black and the room fairly clean. There is a piano in the opposite corner and the kitchen is pristine. Stainless steel refrigerator and appliances, white cabinets and black painted walls. I can't help but feel upset at the thought that he lives alone.

"Do you ever have anyone over?" I ask, maybe that's the reason for having such a big house.

"No, I usually spent the night out or stayed in by myself."

I feel his fingers brush my cheek, brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear. His hand caresses my cheek after and I look into his eyes.

"Not one girl has stepped foot in this apartment since I lived here."

He moves behind me, wrapping his arms around my small frame and leans his head on mine. His chest presses to my back and I feel his breath on my ear.

"You are the first."

I feel my heart flutter and he leans down, placing a kiss to my cheek, leaving me to blush uncontrollably and a smile to be plastered on his features.

~~~

"I work at the gym down the road, training instead of fighting. I used to fight but it got dangerous for my opponent due to my force, causing me to punch out of weight class."

I nod and sip the tea he gave me. No wonder the boy is strong, he's boxes.

"Other than that, I stayed home or partied. I went to the club almost once a week and got laid a few time, not that often though. I admit it was stupid and I am trying to change. I stopped going to the club maybe a month ago and I haven't drank since."

I hug my knees and watch him stand up from the couch. He hands me a piece of paper and I open it.

"It's the promise I made myself when I stopped."

I turn my focus to the crumpled paper and open it, shocked at the neatness of his handwriting. The ink flowed perfectly, articulately marking the words on the lines.

Change and find something good for me and something to be good for.

I look up and he slides his body closer to me. I set the tea down and he grabs my ankles, pulling them from under me and letting his body hover over me.

"I want to be good for you," he whispers. I look up and he watches me, his hands moving to press flat against the couch on the sides of my head.

"Then don't give me a reason to run. I understand."

He smiles and leans down, kissing my forehead. "Now, you need something to wear," he says, moving off the couch and standing over me. I grip his extended hands and he helps me stand up, guiding me down the hall. He turns into a room and I am faced to his room, the black walls and black bed looked depressed in the big room. I take notice of the giant bookshelf on his wall, covering nearly the entirety of it, filled with classics and new editions. The somewhat captivating leather bounds and paperbacks seem to have me wanting him to read, hear his voice flow with each word and syllable, his accent making each pronunciation added.