Her Second Chance-a One Direction story

Unexpected-my story with One Direction

A/N: This is my first fanfic, so go easy on me! I 've read a lot of other fanfics, and I never really liked how they ended, so I decided to make on so i can create a story that ends the way I like it:) Please comment with suggestions and criticism! I would love any ideas I can get. Kay enjoy!

“Excuse me, sorry” a guy mumbled as he stumbled into me on the street, knocking me over onto my bum.

“Yeah, excuse you,” I growled under my breath as I picked myself up. I flipped my long brown hair over my shoulder, reaching down to grab my bag. I heard some catcalls and whistles as I stood up; this wasn’t the best part of London to be walking around at night alone when you’re a 19 year old girl. Ignoring the hoots, I brushed off my jeans and suede booties, straightened my leather jacket and scarf, and started to walk on. I had just finished making up an exam at the university, and had chosen to take a shortcut through the slums to get to my flat. The exam had been bloody hell, fairly sure I had failed it, and I was tired and just wanted to get home. As I reached the corner of the street, a figure suddenly appeared, illuminated by the light. I stopped, startled by the guy who had randomly shown up.

“Hey beautiful” I heard him slur. I could smell the alcohol on his breath a mile away; he was smashed. I ignored him, and started to walk quickly around him. He turned and grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around, his grip like iron. “W-where do you think you’re going?” He stuttered.

“Home,” I spat, and tried to rip my arm out of his hand.

“Why don’t you stay a while, have a few drinks? You’re so sexyyyy” He moaned.

“Let go of me!” I yelled. “I don’t think so,” he growled, and suddenly I was 2 inches away from his face. “I think you’re coming with me”. Oh, my god, I was going to get fucking raped, Lord help me. I didn’t want to die this way, I had friends, I had a life, I was a fucking virgin for Gods sake! Please don’t let this be happening, I prayed. I couldn’t move, his hands were on both my arms. As his face moved in, I did the only I could think to do: spit. “OHMYGOD” he yelled, pushing me away. I fell on my butt again (my jeans were having a rough night), and tried to scoot back and get up, but he was on me in a second. He started hitting me, punching me in the stomach.

“HELP!” I screamed. “DON’T, PLEASE, JUST STOP” I was sobbing. Suddenly the guy was shoved off me, and someone had picked me up. They started running away, and Mr. Drunkie ran after us, yelling and shouting. He got closer and closer, until my savior ran across the street narrowly missing the car that ended up hitting the drunk. I heard him swearing bloody hell into the night.  As we ran farther and farther away from the street, I didn’t even have the strength to look up into my hero’s face. I just buried my head into his chest, sobbing. I started to calm down after about ten minutes and noticed we were walking. He was breathing heavily, and I guiltily realized I couldn’t have been a light load. I looked up, but his face was hard to see in the dark. “You can put me down,” I whispered. “I’m alright now.” He stopped and carefully set me on my feet. He stood there while I awkwardly tried to fix my clothes and hair; I didn’t even want to know what I looked like. I finished and just stood there looking at him. He was wearing a hoodie, jeans and sneakers. He almost looked like he was in disguise or something. He stared back. I could only see his vibrant green eyes peeking out from under the hood at me; he looked oddly familiar.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked, breaking the silence. His voice reminded me of someone, someone I had heard before…I snapped out of it, realizing he was waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, I’m fine, he didn’t hit that hard.” I said weakly.

“Sodding bastard,” he mumbled, looking at the ground. An awkward silence followed.

“…Thank you.” I said, breaking the silence and using intensity in my voice to make sure he knew I meant it. “I probably would’ve been raped if you hadn’t been there.”

“Lucky I forgot my wallet inside the pub, or I wouldn’t have come back,” he said, looking back up at me. “I actually think I knocked you down earlier,” he continued. “Sorry about that, I was in a hurry”.

“Oh, its fine, I’m used to it, I’m from New York.” I smiled thinly. “The people there don’t think twice if they knock you down; even when driving they’re maniacs.”

“I love New York,” he replied. “It’s a beautiful place.” I gave him a strange look.

“New York City? The concrete jungle?” I asked incredulously.

“Oh, I was talking about upstate,” he laughed.

“That makes sense,” I smiled. “My family owns a vacation lodge there, its’ fantastic. I’m Tiffany, by the way.”

“I’m Harry,” he replied, holding out his hand. I took it, and a spark ran through me. His hand was warm and gentle and protective; I felt safe just holding it.

“Hi,” I grinned at him, completely forgetting that I had just been punched in the stomach and face several times.

“Do you want to come back to my flat for the night? I mean,” he blushed, “not for, you know, that, but it’s rather late and I don’t want you to walk home alone. My place is just a few blocks away, fairly close.”

“Sure,” I said, suddenly realizing how weary I’d become. We started walking down the street, his hand on my back. We reached the end of the street and paused under the street lamp. I took the opportunity to get a good look at his face. He had pulled his hood off, revealing a full head of gorgeous chocolate curls. I gasped when I saw his face. He whipped around, looking panicked.

“What? What is it?!” He sputtered.

“You’re Harry Styles”, I said simply.