Pure Feeling

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They say the truth will set you free, but I felt more caged in than ever.

I hated the way my mother died — it tarnished who she was. All that Valentina Alexandrov was remembered for was the violent way she lost her life and the years she spent as a battered wife. How come she stayed? Didn't she want to protect her daughter? How could she love him? I never wanted her to be that to other people; I only wanted Mum to stay herself. It didn't seem like much to ask, but if I didn't speak of her, it was all I got.

Harry hadn't asked the questions, but, like everyone else, I was sure they were on the tip of his tongue.

I made it through Friday at work--but just barely. When I woke up tangled with Harry, his warm body felt too hot instead of just right, and instead of feeling like I was home, I felt nothing but empty. I couldn't feel as raw and exposed as I did and be close to him, so I slipped from bed quietly and showered without him. It was unusual for Harry to sleep later than me, but he was still sleeping soundly while I got dressed and when I left his flat. He'd rung me in a panic half an hour later, wondering where I was and why I didn't wake him for breakfast.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him I needed space, so I lied and said I was running late for a meeting.

I shouldn't have been surprised to find him waiting in the lobby of Century Square with his brow furrowed and his lips pursed, but I was. Even though the floors of Century Square were let to various businesses (lawyers, accountants, even a dentist), Harry always stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn't his clothes, especially not today when he'd turned up in trainers and what appeared to be very expensive loungewear, but the way he carried himself. Everything about him, with or without expensive dressings, screamed successful, dominant male. I stopped for a second to admire him because even when he was grumpy and wearing joggers, he was still mesmerising.

Harry was distracted by his phone, and he didn't look up as I approached him. I cleared my throat so he knew I was there, and then I spoke, questioning his outfit of choice. "Casual day at the office?"

"I didn't go into the office today," Harry replied, his voice cool and his attention still focused on his phone. He finished typing before he locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. "I went to my mother's, for a run, then to the gym. I had a bit of steam to let off."

There was something off about Harry's mood. I'd seen him grumpy--when he would bite anyone and everyone's head off--and I'd seen him irritated--when he would clench his fists and yell everything that came out of his mouth--but never had I seen him this way. He'd been stiff and broody the first day I met him, but even that wasn't the same as the man who stood in front of me at that moment. He was dark and moody, as if he'd retreated into the murkiest corners of his mind.

"Is everything alright?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Let's talk about this in the car, Angel."

"Harry..." I pushed my hair off my face, raking my fingers through the silky strands. I didn't know how to tell him that I wasn't getting in the car with him because I needed space. I didn't want to run from him, but I also couldn't shake the sense that everything was closing in on me. Breathing didn't come easily, not when it felt as though the weight of the world was pressing on my chest.

"Please, will you just get in the car?" There was an edge to Harry's voice that urged me not to fight him. "Please, Sasha."

"Why?" I was pushing Harry's limits, but he was pushing mine. If he wanted me to get in the car and not head back to Finsbury Park alone then he needed to give me a good reason.

"You're coming home with me."

I pursed my lips. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with his controlling tendencies — I never really was but often I tolerated them, and in bed, I liked them. "I don't believe that's your decision to make, Mr Styles."