Broken Cravings (REVISING AND REWRITING)

Broken Cravings; Nine

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I carefully shook her, being extremely gentle to avoid causing any harm.

"Beth... Bethlyn Terrance... please, wake up," I whispered, hoping to awaken her. However, she remained utterly unresponsive.

As I let out a deep sigh, I stared at the garage wall in complete silence, pondering my next move. "I'm just going to have to take you in there, then," I uttered, the words tinged with a hint of resignation as I stepped out of the car. I proceeded to open her door slowly, and as I did, she leaned forward, poised and ready to potentially collapse onto the floor.

I firmly grasped her shoulder and applied pressure, causing her to stumble backward and hit her head forcefully on the cushion. Her eyes narrowed in pain as she instinctively reached for her head, clearly feeling the impact.

"What's going on?" she asked with a concerned look, glancing around the garage for any signs of trouble. I gazed down at her, my hand gently rubbing her cheek as I tried to find the right words to explain the situation.

"I gently spoke to her, realizing she was at my home. I informed her that she had fallen and likely suffered a concussion. I offered to help her inside. As I reached out to guide her, she abruptly pulled away, shaking her head in refusal.

"You've caused enough harm," she murmured, rubbing her head. A small bump began forming, but she was too tired to notice.

"No, you seem to be half-asleep. You should lie down and put some ice on your head," I said firmly, gently grabbing her arm. She slumped back, muttering unintelligibly. With care, I lifted her in a bridal style and carried her into my home. I laid her on the comfortable sofa in my cozy living room, ensuring her relaxed and safe.

36 minutes later.

Bethlyns POV

As I slowly opened my eyes, I was in a tastefully decorated room. A sudden sharp pain on the side of my head made me groan. I shifted my legs to the side, and there, I noticed Mr. Styles sipping his tea, his glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose.

When I arrived for his tutoring, he read the same book every morning but never progressed.

He murmured, "How are you feeling?" as he turned a page. I observed his every move, feeling sore in my head. "Where am I, Mr. Styles?" I asked as I sat up, trying to orient myself.

He closed his book gently and stood up. His suit was loosely on him, and his tie was around his neck. He slowly approached me, sitting at the edge of the sofa.

" My home," he finally looked down at me. I looked around, jumping up, making him think I would fall.

"Be careful, please. I don't want you to hurt yourself." he held me by my waist.

We froze, leaving silence in till he moved his hands quickly.

"I laid you down on the couch and put ice on your injury," he calmly said as he turned around to sit. As I listened intently, my vision darkened once again, gradually enveloping me in darkness, while his words slowly faded into silence.

[

I went back and forth falling asleep until I felt a throbbing pain in my head. I reached to touch it and winced at the soreness. Realizing that some time may have passed, I asked, "How long was I out?" Harold looked at his watch and calmly replied, "You were out for thirty minutes." Irritated by his composure, I questioned his decision to bring me here instead of taking me home. I expressed my concern about being seriously hurt and the potential consequences of my father not knowing about the situation.

"You're acting like a creep! Why did you take me here? So you can take advantage of me, you nasty fucking arsehole," I stood up pointing at him. He smiled, looking up at me.

Once he saw the seriousness in my demeanor, he let out a cough while adjusting his smile. "Are you finished?" Mr. Styles asked, furrowing his brows.

"No, you shitty prick. I want to go back home. My dad must be worried about me."I nervously spoke, feeling guilty about lying to my father, who believed I was staying at a friend's house for a couple of days; I quietly roamed the house in search of my belongings. After a thorough search, I eventually spotted my phone resting on the coffee table in the living room.

I swiftly reached for my phone, my eyes locking onto his with an intense glare before I turned my attention back to my phone.

As he glanced in my direction, he uttered in a voice loud enough for me to hear, "Don't give me that look, Bethlyn."

As I stood there, a hint of defiance in my tone, I sneered, "Or what, hmm? You're going to *punish me*," lowering my voice for effect. My eyes then caught sight of my trusty backpack resting in the hallway. Relief washed over me as I saw that everything was still neatly tucked inside.

Mr.Styles POV

My lips curled into a smirk as I fixed my gaze on the fuming adolescent. Her unpredictable mood swings never failed to pique my interest, even though they also stirred a sense of exasperation within me. There was a disconcerting allure to the way her emotions seemed to fluctuate, but at the same time, I felt a surge of irritation at her lack of emotional composure. Nonetheless, I couldn't deny the thrill of having her emotionally dependent on me, at least for the time being.

I walked upstairs, letting baby girl look for the last of her belongings. I walked into my room,  taking my shirt off. I left my suit pants on and grabbed my c*ck.

I glanced over at the sleek digital clock on the wall, its bright numbers displaying 12:35. Bethlyn's emotional state seemed to have reached the perfect balance. "I'm leaving now!" her voice echoed through the room. I quickly turned around, my hand reaching for the thin whip and the white cloth. However, before I could react, the innocent beauty had already darted out of the door.

As I cautiously made my way to the door, I kept a close ear on her footsteps, making sure they had faded into the distance. I couldn't help but picture the moment when she would pick up on my growing desire.