Twisted

When I was a child, my mom always told me that fighting was useless. She always claimed it was for people who had no self-control over their actions.
She would always tell me that if someone hit me that I was not to simply walk away and resolve the problem peacefully. She always said fighting does not resolve any kind of matter; it only makes it so much worse.
She first started telling me this when I got in trouble at school one day. I’d like to say it was in 1st grade, but it might have been when I was in kindergarten. There was a girl who was constantly picking on people—she would pick on the boy who would pick his nose, or she’d pick on the girl who had the “weird” smile. She was constantly bickering. Of course, she had never addressed me. I sat at her table in class, but I was always engrossed in whatever work the teacher had assigned us that she never gave me a second look.
But all my life I’ve had a thing against bullying. I couldn’t stand to see it. It was because of this girl that I grew a strong distaste for people preying on weaker people.
I had to watch her pick on the small boy who always had a runny nose because his parents didn’t have the money to get him proper treatment and was too embarrassed to be constantly crossing the room for a tissue. I would watch her pick on the girl with a mental problem who had the “strange,” far-off smile. I could see how her words were deeply affecting these people. I could also see that she didn’t care that her harsh, blunt words were bothering them.
She was the queen. She was no beauty—she was just a child—but for some reason, she found the need to desperately seek the flaws in the people around her. And instead of seeing the beauty, she saw the flaws.
One day she turned her cruel attention to me.
We were walking in a formed line with the teacher in the front, possibly to lunch. She was behind me, and she asked me about my shoes.
“They look like boy shoes.” She mused out loud, not bothering to lower her voice. “Do you have a brother?”
I knew for a fact that these were not boy shoes. My mom wasn’t keen on buying me shoes that glowed or had a smiling Barbie on the front. None of my clothes consisted of anything like that—I always wore plain t-shirts and skirts and jeans.
“I don’t have a brother.” I replied curtly.
“Then why are you wearing boy shoes?”
“They aren’t boy shoes.”
“Yes they are. Do you see the picture on the back? My daddy buys his shoes with that sign.”
My face flushed as the boy in front of me looked over his shoulder at us questioningly.
“Is your daddy poor?” The girl pressed on. “Can he not afford to buy you girl shoes?”
My face went redder as I heard one of her friend’s snicker. Anger, controlled anger washed over me, but nonetheless, I kept walking. I tried so hard to ignore her.
“My daddy buys me whatever I want.” The girl continued pompously. “He got me this doll the other day that can copy my voice.” Some girls ooed at that. “He also buys me lots of shoes. I love shoes. And I love the ones with Barbie on the sides. Do you know what that is, Claire?”
I pictured her making fun of the people. I pictured the pain on their faces. My hands tightened into tight fists and I desperately tried to reign in my anger, trying to force out her loud voice.
“My daddy says that there are things called cowards out there. Cowards are chicken people; they’re scared all the time. He said being a coward was worse than being a scardy-cat. Is your dad a coward, Claire?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” I could sense her smiling. “I’ll bet he is.”
“He’s not.”
“I—”
She had no time to respond.
I had whirled around, and my fist acted on its one. In moments flat, I had punched her right on the cheek. Of course it wasn’t a hard blow, since I’ve never once raised my hand against anyone before, but the girl let out a shocked shriek from the sudden action and the entire line of students came to an abrupt stop. The teacher was leaning over, inspecting the girl’s face for damage.
I stood there, horrified at what I had done. I had begun crying in mere seconds, while the girl only murmured, “That hurt. That really hurt.” She didn’t shed a tear.
And here I was, sobbing. I knew what happened to kids who hit one another. They got in serious trouble. And I was going to be in so much trouble with my mom.
But ever since that incident, the girl didn’t once talk to me. She stayed out of my way. And even though my mom was very angry at me for almost getting expelled (I didn’t get expelled because the teacher knew the girl had a reputation for bullying), I felt like I had stuck up for myself. Instead of letting her talk to me like that, I stood my ground and let her know that she was being a bully.
And it worked.
So, even though my mom has always told me that fighting never worked, I’ve always believed that in particular times, violence was really the answer. Sometimes you had to let the other person realize that what they were doing was wrong.

I’m so close…yet so far away…
I wasn’t stupid. I knew perfectly well that if I opened Harry’s front door, he would be notified immediately. So I did something else:
I chose the back door. The one in the living room that led to the back of the mansion. I walked as silently as I could, my heart pounding painfully in my chest, my palms growing sweaty, my ears straining to listen for any noises, and my eyes never strayed from the door knob.
I had to leave.
I couldn’t stay here any longer.
I was so caught up in the act Harry had while he was drugged up that I forgot how truly unstable he was. I forgot about the constant state of danger I was in whenever I was near him. He was the leader of a notorious gang—how the hell did I forget that?
You’re too naïve.
I had my phone clutched tightly in my hand as I crept to the back door. After the little episode with Harry, I spent a few minutes thinking over this. Honestly, I cried. And frankly, I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of always being scared.
It’s changing me.
I didn’t care if Harry had a rough childhood. I didn’t care if his life was fucked up. He was ruining mine. Did he have the right to do that?
My hand brushed against the metal knob of the door and I gently tested it, checking to see if it was locked or not. It wasn’t. I paused, turning to look around to double check if I was alone.
I was.
I stood there, slowly opening the door. Already the sunlight kissed my face and the wind tickled my hair. My eyes looked over the vast field of pure green with trees outlining them.
Freedom.
I could taste it.
I yearned for it.
I yearned to get the hell out of here. I wanted to get out of this Twisted, messed up world. I wanted no violence; I wanted only peace and happiness.
I thought back to when I first met Harry, back in that dark alleyway. I remembered how oblivious to the danger I was in. I had no idea who he was, but how did I miss it? How did I miss people lurking in the alleys?
I wiped angrily at my eyes, forcing myself not to cry again. I was done crying. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I should be fighting. I should be fighting for my freedom and happiness.
And I took care of him.
I had saved him. I had saved the monster who was doing this to me.
My hands tightened into fists.
My teeth clenched.
Anger surged through me, all of it directed to Harry Styles. I was so angry for being forced into this world, having him strip practically everything away from me. I was done.
“Harry!” I shouted into the house, my voice fueled with rage. “Harry! I hope you get used to being alone for the rest of your pathetic life!”
I tore off out of the mansion, my bare feet running through the soft grass. I used my arms to propel me forward as fast as I could, my hair bellowing behind me like an auburn cape. The anger I had felt was slowly turning into fear as I realized what I had done.
I better get away. If I don’t…
Harry could kill me for saying that.
My feet carried me halfway across the lawn, and just as I could see the trees getting closer I heard a sound across the distance, back towards the mansion. It sounded like an engine.
Fuck.
I didn’t really think this through.
Terrified tears prickled at my eyes again, and my lips tightened back into a frightened grimace. But I only swung my arms harder, thrusting myself forward—inching myself forward and forward. This was my mad dash for whatever freedom I had left. I didn’t know what I would do if I did get free, perhaps hide somewhere. But I just knew I had to get away from Harry.
I didn’t look behind to see what that engine noise was.
I didn’t slow down.
I forced myself to run as fast as my legs could carry me. My eyes were trained in determination and desperation at the line of trees just a few feet in front of me. If I could reach them, perhaps I could hide.
The engine sound was getting closer.
I could hear the sound of my beating heart echoing in my mind.
My breathing was erratic; wild and frenzied. I had never run this fast in my entire life. Ever.
And suddenly—the ground shot out in front of me. I let out a terrified shriek from a loudBOOM that caused the ground to discharge in front of me, and I tripped over my own two legs and went flying to the ground. Dirt was immediately in my mouth as I landed painfully on my chin, and the sound of the noise resonated in my mind, ringing loudly. I lay there on the floor, wondering if I had somehow ran into a land mine or something, and waited a few seconds to see if I was alive.
I wasn’t dead.
I picked my head up, pushing my hair out of my eyes to see Harry standing a few feet from me. His car was just a foot away from him, the engine still running, and the driver’s door was wide open. It was obvious he had gotten out in a hurry.
But what caught my attention was what he was holding.
A gun.
And it was pointed at me.
Holy shit.
“Get up.” Harry said, and his voice made me want to cry. He sounded more than furious. And his eyes were narrowed, dark, as he looked me over. The Harry I had seen for the past few days was gone, replaced with this gun-wielding one.
He was wearing a pure black t-shirt making his skin appear almost pale in the bright sun. His hair was a little less crazier than it had been from staying in the bed for the past few days. His jeans hung loosely over his hips, but they weren’t that those kinds of baggy jeans gangsters liked wearing nowadays—the ones that showed their underwear.
Did he just shoot at me?
He tried to shoot me?
“Claire, I said to get up.” With that said, the ground to my right flew up, dirt clouding my eyes as another loud BOOM echoed through the empty air. I covered my ears, letting out a petrified sob as I still felt the gun pointed at me.
“Don’t make me say it again.”
I immediately got to my feet, and my entire body was trembling. To have Harry Styles aiming a gun at me was one of my worst living nightmares. I didn’t dare look at him; I kept my eyes trained at the ground.
“What did I tell you about running away?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a choked, gurgled sound came out. I felt like I was going to collapse any minute.
For some reason, I knew when he lowered the gun. I could feel it. And when he did, I raised my head to look at him. And oh, he was pissed.
He looked even scarier now with the bruises on his face. And now that he couldn’t hold himself straight up, his shoulders slightly hunched, he looked almost like some kind of monster.
“Get in the car.”
I wasted no time in hurrying to his car, and I was headed for the back seat. There was no way I could sit in the front. But when Harry saw where I was headed, he took notice.
“Don’t sit in the back—sit in the front.”
I changed course, throwing myself in the passenger seat. I felt enclosed, trapped again as I buckled my seat belt. My throat was tightening and I felt as though the world was slowly closing in as Harry approached the car. His facial expression didn’t change once; he had a blank face, showing no kind of emotion.
I think I liked him better angry…
Harry slammed the door behind him, pressing too hard on the gas. The car jutted forward with a roar, and I inhaled sharply when Harry turned sharply, nearly rolling us over. I held onto the seat railing above me to where my knuckles were pure white, and I could only helplessly watch as Harry drove completely recklessly back to the driveway. He said nothing to me as he drove, but my eyes noticed the gun sitting between us.
He almost shot me. Would he really have done it?
“You know,” Harry said finally when he pulled ungracefully into the garage, “I’m extremely pissed off right now. What the fuck gave you the right to just take off running like that?”
“I-I guess I just panicked from earlier.”
“You are mine, Claire.” Harry hissed, turning to look right at me. I felt so much smaller under his powerful gaze. “What do you not understand about that? You can’t just run away from me. I told you I’ll only catch you.” I jumped a little when he suddenly grabbed my chin so tightly that it was painful. I winced from his rough touch, feeling him jerk me so I was closer to him. My body was practically over the middle console, my arms balancing myself so I wouldn’t go tumbling into Harry. “I’ve already told you that I always get what I want—one way or the other.”
I started crying in his grasp. I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
“There are some men who claim they like a good chase.” Harry murmured. “I’m one of the men who don’t have time for that. When something belongs to me, they should knowthey never run from me.”
Harry was just staring into my eyes when his phone began to ring. He closed his eyes in frustration before reaching into his pocket to retrieve it. When he opened his door, I took that as my cue to get out too.
I followed him at a great distance away back to the mansion. I felt like I was being brought back in chains, even though Harry didn’t even have to drag me back.
I didn’t even know what to do anymore.
Because no matter what I did, there was no getting away from Harry.
I didn’t listen to the conversation Harry was having. I entered my living hell and looked around the place sullenly. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was so lost.
I had only made it to the living room when Harry hung up. He sat down on the sofa, letting out a long sigh. He was rubbing his temples, and I could still tell he was very angry.
“Claire.”
I looked at him, biting on my tongue so I wouldn’t speak.
“I wasn’t going to shoot you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He said hoarsely. “I missed on purpose.” His eyes met mine and I then realized why he used the gun. Oh, I get it. He physically couldn’t run, since his body is still injured. He literally had to use the gun. But still! He could’ve just let me get away.
“I need you to understand something.” Harry started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Vlad’s men are going to try and get you any chance they get.”
My face paled and my breathing picked up almost instantly. I had a feeling that I would be in jeopardy—but when Harry said it, it made me realize how true it was.
“If they saw you on the street,” Harry’s green orbs never left mine, “you would be their target.”
“Why?” I choked out. “Why me?”
Harry actually didn’t answer that. Instead, he said, “So despite what you believe, you’re safe with me. I can actually protect you.”
Protect me? Is he serious?
“Who’s going to protect me from you?” I retaliated, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. My eyes widened and my hand clamped over my own mouth. I was horrified at what I had said. Harry looked like he was just beginning to calm down, and then I had to say something extremely risky.
“I have no intention of hurting you.” His voice was surprisingly soft, deeply contrasted to how rough it was earlier. “I’ll discipline you if you disobey me, of course. And if you try to run away, I’ll have to do some form of punishment. I have to make you understand that it’s dangerous out there.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. But when he held out his arms, leaning back in the sofa, I knew he was silently telling me to sit on his lap. But I didn’t. My legs tensed up, preparing myself to take off running. No, I wasn’t ready to bolt out the door—I was actually thinking of running to Harry’s room.
“So I’m not safe anywhere?” I asked, my voice wavering.
“You’re safe here. With me.” Harry replied evenly.
I couldn’t believe this. Now it was unsafe for me to leave! Since when did the whole situation turn around? At first it was dangerous for me to be with him; now it was dangerous for me to be without him.
“I hate you.” I murmured, tears forming in my eyes.
“What?”
“I said I hate you. You’ve ruined my life. I don’t even have a life anymore.”
Harry sighed before murmuring, “Come here.”
“No.”
“Claire, come here.”
I stepped cautiously towards him, and as soon as I was close enough his hands clasped tightly onto my wrists and he eased me closer to him. I sat perched on his lap, tears now streaking down my face, and his arms wrapped around me.
It was so incredibly easy to hate Harry at first. There were so many reasons.
But lately, it felt like I had none. Did I even hate him anymore?
Remember why you’re here.
“The world is fucked up.” Harry’s lips spoke right into my ear, almost soothingly. I leaned further into him, forgetting about his bruises, and I felt him tense just a little underneath me but he said nothing. By now tears were full on falling down my cheeks, and I was straining to be quiet as I wept. But I leaned into Harry—the very man who had brought all of this down upon me. He held me as the world I once knew was slowly fading into a world full of lies and deceptions. “You can’t trust anyone. You can’t depend on anyone to help you when you need it. The only person you can depend on is yourself.”
I felt him pause underneath me, and his voice suddenly sounded tired. “I’ll do anything I can not to let anyone hurt you.”
“Why?” I whispered against his chest. “Why would you care about me?”
“You saved me.” Harry’s chest vibrated a little from his husky voice. I had stopped crying now; instead I was listening to the steady sound of his heart beating within his firm chest. Yes, Harry Styles—the leader of One Direction—had a human heart beat. “You could’ve left me there. I probably would’ve died.” Harry pulled me away, and I was more than surprised to see emotion flickering in his eyes.
All my time I’ve spent with Harry, I always realized he was normally emotionless, unless he was angry or being cocky. But right now, I was so utterly dumbfounded to find true emotion reflecting back at me.
“I was raised to look after myself—to depend on nobody.” Harry mumbled. “But that night, I knew I was going to die. Of course I fought with everything I could, but when he pulled out a gun, I knew it was the end. I wasn’t expecting anyone to help me. And so when you came into the picture, I just couldn’t understand why you did it. You put your own life in danger, Claire. Those men could’ve killed you. I’m more than positive you don’t even know how to hold a gun, nonetheless shoot it.”
“Harry,” I whispered, “you’re confusing me.”
Harry’s body suddenly stiffened under me and his eyes lost their emotion. My confused voice must’ve interrupted his train of thought. “I had forgotten what it was like to have help.”
His jaw was clenched. He visibly looked upset over something. And his eyes looked like they were staring off at the ground. Was he recalling some lost memory?
Thoughts were whirling all around my head as I leaned down to kiss him fully on the lips. Harry didn’t respond at first, probably shocked that I had done such a thing, but pretty soon his hands were wound around me, pressing me firmly against him, and his lips were moving urgently around mine.
He probably tasted the saltiness of my tears on my lips.
I could taste a bit of blood from his lip wound opening from the sudden contact. I pulled away a little, thinking I hurt him, but I felt Harry’s lips pull into a smirk and he only tugged me closer. It didn’t seem to hurt him when I kissed him.
I didn’t know why I kissed him. Harry was a typical yet radical bully; he preyed on those weaker than him. Yet, whenever teachers would go over bullying at school, they would always say that the true victim of bullying was the bully itself. The bully had to have some kind of problem to influence them to bully in the first place. They had to have some kind of motivation to want to spread harm to others.
Harry’s phone started ringing and I pulled away quickly, my cheeks inflamed. Harry snuck in another kiss, his eyes alit again and his pink lips pulled into a small smirk.
“That’s my girl.” He commended me, reaching down to retrieve his phone. He released me as he answered it, and I got off his lap, feeling slightly dazed.
Maybe my mom was right. Maybe fighting wasn’t always the answer…


“…I want him stopped now!” Sometime in the middle of the night I woke up when Harry’s phone rang. He had moved over on the edge of the bed, his legs thrown over. At first his voice was at a low whisper, but it was gradually getting louder. “Vlad’s men are only interested in drugs. If nobody sells them anything, they wouldn’t have any reason to be here.”
I stayed awake, keeping my back to Harry. And even though my mind really wanted to rest, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on Harry’s one-sided conversation.
“I don’t want him here anymore. He’s fucking everything up. Tomorrow we’ll send up scopes around the place, got it? I want to end this as quickly as possible.” He paused. “And she’s no problem. Craig said that most of them are still loyal to us; they’re paid off, there’s no way they’ll throw off the deal. I don’t care if she’s really pushing this thing, those are my men and they—”
“What do you mean some of Vlad’s men got arrested?” Harry’s voice was lowered again. “That’s bull shit. The police don’t interfere with us—no matter the case.” He paused again. “Look, we’ll meet up tomorrow and talk more about this. I don’t fucking like it. Nobody’s acting as quickly as they should so they’re…yes, yes, I know. Got it.” I heard him lean forward to probably set the phone back on the table.
Moments later, I felt Harry dip back down next to me. I heard him let out a deep sigh.
“Harry?” I asked in a quiet whisper.
I felt Harry shifting to face me. “Why are you awake?” His voice was heavy from sleep.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s under control.” He replied coolly. I shifted in the bed, scooting to where I was laying right next to Harry. My hands reached out and grabbed a firm hold of his arm, wrapping my arms around it like it was a teddy bear. Even in the thick darkness I could feel Harry’s eyes watching me.
“Goodnight.” I murmured, leaning my head against his shoulder blade.
Harry didn’t reply. But just as I was about to fall asleep, I felt his entire body move so that he was fully facing me now. His arms pulled me closer so I was fully against his bare chest, the warmth from his body keeping me content, and I shortly fell asleep.

Notes

Another Chapter, Woohoo! :D Anyways, thank you all so much for the views we got 9,000+ views for only 21 Chapter! that is caaarazzzyyy ;) I'll update as soon as I can luv yah! :*

Don't forget to SUBSCRIBE, RATE AND COMMENT DOWN BELOW WHAT YOUR FAVORITE SCENE/PART OF THIS CHAPTER!

Byeeeee ^.^