Protector ~ H.S

~Chapter Thirty-Seven~

A/N: Hello friends, so sorry for the wait (again). I'm trying my best here :p

Btw: I realized earlier today I haven't done any dedications in fucking ages. Will try to jump back into that custom again :))

:) I hope you guys enjoy this chapter xx

~Two weeks later~

~HARRY~

What the fuck is wrong with you, Styles? Your performance has been getting crappier and crappier and I'm losing dosh! Get your fucking shit together!

I felt my face twisting into a scowl.

I'm so fucking sick of my inbox getting spammed by Jackson's stupid messages. I clenched my teeth and angrily tapped out a reply.

Well, if you don't like it, then maybe try putting other fighters in the games for once, you annoying piece of shit! Now stop fucking messaging me, EVERY MOTHERFUCKING SECOND.

"One regular flat white, extra shot to go?" One of the barista's voices calling out my order snapped me out of my thoughts.

I switched my phone off and shoved it back into my pocket before making my way over to the counter.

"Thanks," I told the young barista in front of me with a sigh.

"No problem," she flicked her ponytail and flashed me a smile as I took my coffee from her, "enjoy the rest of your day," she winked at me and giggled.

"You too," I forced myself to crack a distant smile - my face immediately straightening back out as soon as I turned and left the café while rolling my eyes and taking a huge gulp of coffee - sighing softly in satisfaction and slight relief since the extra caffeine turned out to be exactly what I needed.

However, once I pulled the takeaway coffee cup away from my lips, I looked down and realized that that barista girl had taken a marker and scrawled her phone number on my coffee cup's sleeve complete with a smiley face, a loveheart, and an 'xox' - and I couldn't help but roll my eyes once again - digging my fingertips into the edge of the sleeve and tearing it off my coffee cup with a scowl.

"Fucking hell," I grumbled as I scrunched up the sleeve in one fist and tossed it into a nearby bin.

Obviously that girl had made it her mission to eavesdrop on my order and wait for the other baristas to finish it off so she could jot down her number on my cup and deliver it to me. Well, she's sure in for a lot of disappointment. But maybe if she's lucky, she'll get a call from a homeless guy on a payphone who'd been rummaging around in the trash.

It's been over a month since Angélique & I broke up, and I swear to God ever since then all my happiness just suddenly withered away and died. I can't smile, I can't laugh...fuck, I can't even say anything nice these days. And it feels like it's been a fucking millennium since the last time I had a good night's sleep. I've become practically fully dependent on caffeine and I often find myself losing count of how many coffees I've been drinking per day.

A part of me wishes that I'd told her exactly why Jackson was forcing me to work so much...but I couldn't do that. Not after she saw what his female workers were being subjected to.

"Either your girlfriend works for me, or your hours will be longer than ever. Make your choice."

There's no way in hell I'd ever let him force Angélique into a tiny bikini and strut around with signs while all these sleazy pricks get their eyeful of her. He's gonna have to kill me first before I'd ever let that happen. Even if it meant I had to work all hours of the day to stop that from happening...because I'd do anything to protect her.