Pieces

Chapter 2

Harry's POV

     As fast as she came, she left. The smell of her perfume dissipates in the air around me. Her hips moved against mine so effortlessly with the music. She looked so carefree, the way she laughed when the song changed or how she would pull her skirt down when I would push it farther up her thighs. And the way that dress hugged her curves. I couldn't control my hands with her. She looked so hot I just imagined her under me. She wasn't wearing a ton of makeup like the other girls, but she didn't really need it. Her brown hair looked so soft and it was so long. She smelled warm, like vanilla or something. What the fuck. I need a drink.

     People are everywhere, up against walls, on tables, in every free space. This is the worst part of these parties, having to shove yourself through the masses of wasted college students in my fucking house. The house is so much nicer when it's empty. Being a part of this fraternity has its perks. There are always girls who'd let you fuck them just so they can brag to their friends about it. The girls at these things are so trashy, cake-faced and easy. Annoying as hell, but easy.

"Get off the counter, Kayla," Her hot pink skirt is dangerously high and her top is so tight she may spill out the top. Makeup is smudged under her eyes, she's hammered worse than last time. Her legs spread slightly as she giggles. Could she be any more obvious? Her eyes gesture toward the punch bowl she sits next to. I nod and lean on the counter next to her.

"Harry," she slurs as she pours me a cup, "are you having fun yet? This party is better than last time but I haven't seen you all night! Where have you been? I've just been with like the other boys and we were talking ..." she continues to talk about random things I don't give a shit about. Her earrings catch the low light in the kitchen. Clara was wearing ones like that I think. Clara had two piercings on her right ear. She kept pushing her hair back revealing them. Kayla pushed a cup towards me pulling me out of my thoughts. I slam it down, the clear drink burning my throat and igniting my insides.

"C'mon, let's dance." I place my hand on her lower back leading her back to the living room. The music is shaking the house. As soon as she puts her hips on mine the crave for contact escalates. She's always a good time, a tolerable friend when sober but she grates on my nerves more when you add alcohol. Kayla and I have done it a couple times at parties, but it's weird seeing her after when our group goes out. The song speeds up and she gets touchier, her fingers pushing through my hair. She lets me push her skirt with no reluctance. Clara's skin was so soft. It was kind of cute how she didn't want me to hike her dress up. Why did she freak out? She just left. With Clara plaguing my thoughts, Kayla didn't seem so satisfying.

"I'm going to find the boys. Catch you later, Kayla." She scoffed at me when my hands left her hips. Rolling her eyes and nodding she grabbed a boy leaning on the wall and pulled him into the sweaty crowd.

     The air was so much cooler as I climbed the stairs. The boys lounge around on the upstairs balcony. They never really got into the frat party scene. Sliding the door open, the smell of smoke lingers in the air. The chill immediately sobers my alcohol clouded senses.

"Hey, mate." Liam says as he passes me a smoke and lighter. I sit in the last of our five chairs and kick my feet onto the table. This is our usual spot; none of the other boys really come out here. I acknowledge my group with a small nod. The fire ignites the cigarette hanging loosely from my lips. Taking a long drag, my angst leaves my nerves with the puff of smoke.

"Kayla is irritating as fuck." I vent to the only four boys I trust in this house. We've all experienced her obnoxious drunk streak. She clings to our group; we're the only people who can moderately tolerate her.

"Are there any hot girls downstairs?" Zayn asks me, nudging Louis. This earns him a joking punch. Louis and Eleanor, his girlfriend, are fighting. He's not a dick though; he'd never mess around with other chicks. Zayn, on the other hand, has girls in his room every weekend. But I guess that's all of Kappa Sigma.

     Is Clara in a sorority? I doubt it, she seems young and she really didn't understand the party scene. Any sorority girl would know not to dance with that one asshole that was all over her. He is always putting his hands where he shouldn't. I hope he didn't make her uncomfortable. The first Greek party you go to is always scary.

"Harry?" Niall waves his hand in front of my face. "Dude what did you drink? You're out of it."

"Not much man. I'm just tired." I try to conceal my distress over her. They all shrug doubtfully as we sit in silence.

Clara's POV

     As soon as I get back to the dorms I rush into my room. I strip myself of my tear streaked makeup and ill-fitting dress. Putting on sweats and my university hoodie I crawl into bed. My eyes are swollen and heavy. I curl into fetal position trying to regulate my breathing. He didn't mean to, Clara. He doesn't know. A dull but all too familiar ache swells in my chest. Pulling my knees closer to my body I force my eyes shut and will the pain away.

     I didn't know it would affect me that much, being touched again. His touch was gentle and reassuring. His fingers were like fire, burning the scars he left. He broke me, it's his fault. The visions of being drugged and treated like a tattered rag doll flooded my memories, triggering my tear ducts again. Never again. My mind pulls me back into the security of seclusion. Never reveal, never destroyed.

     Placing my headphones in my ears, orchestral melodies begin to flood my mind, drowning out my broken memories. He didn't mean it. He doesn't know. No one knows. Nobody can hurt you now. This reassuring mantra repeats itself, looping, until my nerves are soothed enough to drift into a nightmare ridden unconsciousness.

     Malice is the most prominent feature on his face. He laughs viciously as I struggled to form a sentence. The ceiling above me was bending and my lifeless body feels like the waves of an ocean, disoriented and dizzy. I don't know where I am and I can't move my head. He stands at the far end of the room, eyeing me. My blood pressure is rising but the more anxious I become, the more confusing the situation becomes. Fear is engulfing me, threatening to swallow me. The walls are bleeding, streaks of excruciatingly bright lights pierce my vision. Deafening white noise blocks out any sounds from my surroundings. I start sinking into the mattress, darkness closing in on my peripheral vision. The last thing I can see is him stalking towards me.

"Never allow a person to tell you no who doesn't have the power to say yes." He spits one of my favorite quotes back at me, twisted and misinterpreted. That's when I feel the thin blade teasingly dance up my bare leg . Small whimpers are the only audible remnants of my screaming mind. He depresses my thigh with the razor just light enough to prevent cutting but hard enough to burn.

"Who has the power, Clara?" he shouts, voice drenched in venom. His touch is revoked for a split second. Gut wrenching anticipation rips through me. He slashes through the skin on my upper thigh. Waves of unbearable agony rush through every nerve in my paralyzed body. A second gash of the razor on my hip flutter my eyes open for a split second only to see two familiar, piercing emerald eyes laced with darkness.