Broken Cravings (REVISING AND REWRITING)

Broken Cravings; Seven

The evening air was cool as I tapped the heel of my foot on the rough concrete floor, nervously scanning the poorly lit parking lot for any sign of Mr. Styles. It was 5 PM and darkness was already beginning to settle in. Fortunately, my father would be returning home at dawn, providing a sense of relief. The events that had transpired earlier in the day continued to play over and over in my mind, leaving me unable to shake off the disbelief and confusion that weighed heavily on me.

"Call me Harold, try harder," the words reverberated in the depths of my mind, leaving an indelible imprint as they echoed across my thoughts.

As I stood in the chilly breeze, I gently swayed back and forth to generate some warmth. Taking a moment to inspect my attire, I ensured that it remained clean and presentable. To my dismay, I discovered that my socks were torn, with dried rainwater leaving noticeable stains on them.

"Beth, I'm sorry for being late. I had an unexpected meeting," said Mr. Styles, or rather, Harold, as he hastily shuffled through some papers, trying to fit them into his nearly overflowing suitcase, which he struggled to close with the assistance of the lock.

"It's fine, it's not like it was freezing or anything," I fabricated, attempting to downplay the cold. He came to a halt and shot me an intense glare. I quickly averted my gaze and trailed behind him. With a subtle click, he activated his key fob, causing a black Porsche to emit a distinctive beep.

"I can take your bags," he said with a smile as he turned to face me. Casually popping a toothpick into his mouth, he glanced at the bags, and I found myself mesmerized by his impeccable teeth. My trance was broken as I handed him my belongings.

"Where are we headed? I don't remember agreeing to go anywhere," I said, my fingers intertwining nervously. As I spoke, he quickly glanced over my shoulder to check that the coast was clear.

"I assure you that I have all the necessary resources for you. Additionally, the letter of approval that I sent to your father for tutoring included a waiver for unsupervised lessons and leaving the premises," he said, his tone tinged with sarcasm. He slammed the trunk shut and then walked over to the passenger side, opening the door.

I lifted my shoulders in a nonchalant gesture and inclined my head slightly upward, my mind absorbed in contemplation. "Such an ass he is."

"Thanks," I muttered under my breath as I entered the car.

"You're welcome."