The Maid For Styles

Chapter 26

Chloe's POV

I made Harry go back to bed, knowing he wasn't fully cured. Fevers last longer than a couple of hours, and he may have looked okay, but that doesn't mean he felt it. I checked on him a couple of times and he was sound asleep. I guess our "discussion" wore him out. I don't blame him, I mean, it was pretty heated.

I still couldn't believe that he intentionally tried to hurt me. I knew I gave into him too easily, but I guess I crumbled under the desperate looks and pleads he gave me. It was pathetic really, but after he confessed that he had feelings for me, I didn't want to tell him to leave me alone. We both have feelings for each other, but I don't know where we stand. He needs to prove to me he's really and truly sorry, but after that, I honestly have no idea what will happen between us. It's complicated, so bloody complicated, but I hope we work it out.

I called Renee and filled her in on everything. She was disgusted with Harry's actions, but once I explained everything from my point of view, she understood. She warned me, telling me to be careful around him from now on. I took her advice, but I don't think Harry will try to hurt me again. I mean, he practically begged for my forgivness and still hasn't earnt it. I think he knows if he hurts me once more, I'm gone.

It was two in the afternoon and I had done absolutely nothing that proved I was a maid. Nothing had been cleaned and nothing had been washed. The house wasn't messy as such, because I would never let it get like that, but there were things that could've been cleaned. I sighed and pulled down my grey tank top and pulled my loose bra strap back up my shoulder.

I should really tighten that.

I walked into the kitchen and unloaded the dishwasher, wiped down the bench and made sure everything was in its rightful place. The boys had a habit of pulling out different items of food, and then leave them on the bench if they decided they didn't want it and wanted something else instead. It drove me up the wall. I mean, really, it's not that hard to put food back in the cupboard if you're not going to use it.

The lounge room was fine, seeing as everyone gathers in there everyday and it can't really be messy when everyone tries to sit in there. The boys actually hate it when the lounge is messy. According to them, "a mess in the lounge room is a no-no because it takes up all the space on the couches". That's partly true I guess, but the couches are huge, but hey, if they're willing to clean the lounge because it's messy, I don't have to do it, so I'm not complaining.

After the lectures I gave Niall, he seemed to understand that his room needs to be kept tidier than it previously was. He puts his clothes in the hamper now and puts all food scraps and rubbish in the bin, so I don't have to really clean his room anymore. Same with the rest of the boys. Zayn's bathroom annoys the hell out of me, though. His hair styling products are strewn across the bathroom bench, and all I want to do is pick them up and shove them in the cupboard, but no. He won't let me touch any of it, because apparently he knows where everything is and no one can touch his hair tools, in case they either damage it or try and plull a prank on him by putting dye in his shampoo or something. Honestly, that would be hilarious. But, after the numerous attempts I've made to try and persuade him to let me clean his bathroom, the answer is always 'no'.

After the couple of months I've now been here, the boys really don't make me do much. They tend to put their washing out for themselves, just make me wash it and put it away. I don't mind that honestly. They help clean and sometimes one or two of the boys even decided to make dinner with me. Living here isn't horrible, and now that Harry and I have kind of sorted out our situation, I'm sure it'll be a hell of a lot better!

I sat down on the couch and was about to turn on the TV when I heard a voice from behind me. "Chloe?" Mumbled a deep and raspy voice.

I turned around to see a tired looking Harry standing behind me, curls flopping over his eyes and his sweat pants hanging dangerously low. He wasn't wearing a shirt, once again.