Walk Away h.s punk/au

2.

Harry's P.O.V. (cont.)

I blinked at her processing what she'd just said. Her big brown eyes stared up at me, innocence radiating off her with each breath. Anger started to flow in my veins. Why'd she care? I didn't want her to care.

"Listen, sweetheart, there is no we. We aren't going to do anything. You can go stay in class all hour, wrapping Mr. James tighter and tighter around your finger, and help those idiots you call friends. I don't want you to hang around me, I don't need you."

I flinched my eyes shut for a second, expecting to hear the shattering of dreams. A small noise was all that filled the silence. Opening my eyes, she stared up at me. Maybe I'd been to harsh-she was pretty small. I watched her swallow and quickly turn away. She walked a couple steps before sprinting away, her dress flowing, her curls flying.

I sighed as I ran a hand through my curls. Good, let her hate me. Let her tell her friends. Let them all hate me. I don't need them. But as much as I told myself this, her gentle eyes kept coming back. I dared a glance back at her. Her shoulders were slumped again.

Katherine's P.O.V.

Everything stung. Everything hurt. The saying it happens in three is true. Last night my parents started WW III in our living room. Then this morning Tiffany and Max kept talking about going to see some band, and how they wanted tickets, forgetting that the day of the concert was my birthday. Now Harry. Stupid Harry.

I'd always stick up for him. While everyone was spread rumors that were so exaggerated it was difficult to believe them, I said something nice. I'd always cut him some slack. He went through a lot and changed. It seemed no one remembered the bowl cut, sweater vest boy. They only saw the dark mop of curls and the black blazer with the tattoos.

But, right now, I found myself agreeing with them. He was a jerk. He deserved to be alone. I retreated to my locker. Dumping my stuff, I was determined to not see him at all today. I couldn't though, because he would be everywhere. Sighing, I slumped against it. Knowing that I'd have to face see him.

Every class room, he was there. Sitting in the back, on his phone, headphones in blocking out the world. At lunch he sat at a table of solitude. He had a book in one hand, eating with the other. The worst part was at my locker. Most times, he'd say a quiet, "Watch your head," but today I was met with a grunt of existence.

Somehow, I managed to avoid talking to him until the end of the day. He was at his locker, leaning against it, watching people pass. He rubbed his tattooed neck before flipping his hair. Seeing his careless smirk instead of his dimpled smile set off the rocket that had been building inside all day. I set my eyes on him. I was the quiet flower girl,  he probably wouldn't take me seriously, but I was intent on him listening.

I approached him causing his eyes to widen. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off. "Listen Styles, you're just like what the say. You honestly think I want to be a 'we' of 'us' with you?" I hissed trying to push him out of the way. "I've been nothing but nice to you for forever. But you can forget me doing that anymore." He stumbled back slightly, letting me in my locker. "And those girls aren't my friends." I hissed standing, straiting my dress.

As I went to walk away, he stopped me. His grip on my bicep was tight yet loose enough for me to slip out of it. I tried not to stare at him, not to give in, but curiosity was pulling me in. Pulling me into his eyes. They were gentle. A soft shade of green, with specks of gold, and streaks of sliver. I stood waiting, waiting for him to say something, anything. He squirmed slightly, before leaning down to my ear.

"You're too sweet to mean that." he whispered, his lips tickling the soft skin of my ear. His arrogance was to much for me to handle. I lifted my foot up ready to stomp on his boot,  but his grip tightened before I could.

"My friends." he said.

"WHAT?" I shouted annoyed. He chuckled slightly in a tautening way.

"I plan on visiting my friends-at least I have some who care." He released me, turning away. His dark, lanky figure shuffled through the hallway. Leaving my with a bullet in my chest.

My fist clenched at my sides. This had been one of those days that I wished I could just curl up in a ball and disappear for good I shut my locker, trying to hold my tears until I got home. At least then they'd be for a different reason.

Walking in my house, I could taste the tension. The bitter screams were sour on my tongue. It's eerie silence only added to it. Neither one of my parents were home, and I didn't expect them to be. Dropping my bag, I went to the bathroom. All I wanted was to wash away all the heartache. Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water hit me.

I was out quickly, knowing that my parents would need some too, and the water heater was on it's last leg. Going to my room, I locked the door, put on a Rolling Stones record, and closed my eyes. I had a stash of junk food and soda under my bed-I was stocked for round two.

An hour later, it started. Doors slammed repeatedly. I still got scared when this happened. Scared I'd wake up the next morning and one of them be gone. Tears splattered onto my textbook finally coming out. No one knew. Everyone thought that I went home and everything was perfect. It was far from it actually.

I found myself wishing Harry knew. Wishing he got it through his head that other people are capable of being  hurt too.

Early the next morning I was up and getting ready around the silence of my parents. I hardly slept last night, and wasn't feeling like impressing anyone. Sitting to tie my sneakers, I could hear my mom throwing my dad's lunch box at him. The door slammed. Not so much as a good bye. But's it's not like I'd say anything back.

My mom waited ten minutes before coming in to my room. We both stared at each others red faces before collapsing into the hug. She pulled away, kissing my head, and saying a 'good bye'. She wasn't off to work, no, she was off to see if he was having an affair. Which from the screams I'd heard, was the general theme of the argument.

Stopping in front of one of the many mirrors in our house, I checked myself. I looked like hell, but with a fake enough smile, I'd be okay. Walking out the door, I was turned locking the door when I heard the horn.

It startled me to the point of almost dropping my keys. Recovering them quickly, I placed one in between by fore and middle fingers. In the female defense book my dad had bought me for my 16th birthday it said that if you felt scared and were short a can of pepper spray, keys worked just fine.

Preparing myself, I turned to see a black Ford Mustang parked in my driveway. I didn't know anyone that drove one. It honked again. Slowly, I approached just enough to see the driver.

Harry sat behind the wheel, a pair of Raybans covering his eyes. He drummed his fingers atop the wheel. I moved closer. He leaned to the passenger side and opened the door.

"Get in unless you want to be late." he said glancing at the clock.