Anabel || Harry Styles

10

**Anabel's POV

My eyes flutter open, waking up to soft strokes against my neck. My eyes greeted by dark piercing green ones, his lips pursed together in a straight line as he looked at me with sincerity. I was laid on my right side, while he laid on his left, facing me. The side of his face rested on his left hand to keep him up, his elbow supporting his head.

He looks back down, avoiding my gaze while his fingers continued to brush against the purplish marks around my neck. He opens his mouth to speak but decides otherwise. His brows furrowed, looking up at me as if he was searching for something, for words maybe.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, interrupting his trail of thoughts. He looks up at me, his green eyes darker. He looked sad.

He doesn't respond, he just sighs. I continue to study his face, reading his eyes and he notices this. He smiles slightly, taking my hand in his. This was such a different side of him, he was bare and vulnerable and for a second I was able to read his emotions, to read him.

"You used to do that a lot." He suddenly says, smiling to himself, staring down at our hands before intertwining them.

"You were so good at it too, you knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling." He sighs. I look up at him confused, what does he mean by "used to"?

He notices my questionable and confused look, causing his features to change. The smile fading, his grip around my hand loosening. His eyes seemed distant now, cold even as he glances back at the fading bruises around my neck.

"Harry?" I ask, searching his eyes for any emotion. Nothing.

He pulls away, getting up from his position, grabbing his clothes from the ground. He sat on the side of the bed, his bare back turned to me. The soft beam of the moonlight through my silk curtains had made his tattoos more visible. Blank ink travelled along his slightly tan skin, from his shoulders to his arms stretching further down his back, wrapping along his torso. I watch silently as he hastily slips on every piece of clothing he had on a few hours ago.

"Harry." I whisper, reaching for his shoulder. His body stiffens as he stands up from the bed. He doesn't look at me, he was completely blocking me out.

I grab my clothes from the ground, slipping them on as fast as I could. He notices this and leaves my room with me tailing behind him.

"Harry." I repeat, calling out to him. My small feet padded across the floorboards.

"Harry, please. You can talk to me." This time I grab his arm, pulling him to face me.

"Talk?" He repeats as I nod. He looks at me then laughs. I stare at him confused, completely baffled. He steps forwards with an unfamiliar look on his face as he nears me.

"You said it yourself, this was only a good fuck." He bit, staring at me from head to toe. My feet frozen in its place as tears threatened to fall, fists tightening at my sides.

He steps forward, his eyes darker than usual, with a disgusting smirk that played along his lips, nearing them to my ear.

"And I don't just talk to girls I fuck." He whispers. His bitter words causing my stomach to turn and form knots, my heart dropping to the pit and shattering. I could hear it.