Chapter 70.

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As I drive away from Zayn's apartment I take a second to think about what I am doing. I know I left Zayn to go find Harry, but I really need to think about what will happen next. Harry will either say terrible things to me, curse at me and make me leave or he will admit that he has feelings for me and that all these games he has been playing are just his way of not being able to deal with his feelings and express them in a normal way. If the first situation happens, which I mostly expect it to, I will be in no worse of a state than I am in now. But, if the second happens am I ready to forgive him for all the terrible things he has said and done to me? If we both admit the way we feel about each other will everything change? Will he change? Is he capable of caring for me the way I need him to and if so, am I capable of putting up with his mood swings?

The problem is, I can't answer any of these questions, not a single one. I hate the way he clouds my thoughts and makes me feel unsure about myself. I hate not knowing what he will do or say. I pull up to his house, this damned fraternity house that I have spent way too much time at. I hate this house. I hate a lot of things right now and my anger towards Harry is almost to its boiling point. My car is parked on the street and I rush up the steps and into the crowded house. I head straight for the old couch Harry is usually perched on but I don't spot his mop of hair, I duck behind a heavy set guy before Steph or anyone else spots me and I rush up the stairs to his room.

I bang my fist against the door, annoyed that once again he has his door locked.

"Harry! It's me, open the door!" I yell and continue to pound again. No answer. Where the hell is he? I don't want to call him to find out, even though that is obviously easier than trying to find him but I am angry and I want to stay angry so I can say what I mean and not feel bad about it.

I call Liam to see if Harry is at his fathers, but he isn't. The only other place that I know to look is the bonfire but I doubt he would still be there. I don't have another option right now so I drive back to the stadium and park my car. I repeat the angry words I have saved for Harry over and over to make sure I don't forget any of it in case he actually is here. Almost everyone has left by now, the field is nearly empty and the fire is almost out. Just as I decide to stop looking, I see him leaning against the fence by the goal post. He is alone and he doesn't seem to notice me walking towards him as he takes a seat on the grass, he wipes his mouth with his hand and when he removes it, it is red. Is he bleeding? His head snaps up as if he can sense my presence, the corner of his mouth is bleeding and the shadow of a bruise is already forming over his cheek.

"What the hell?" I say and kneel down in front of him.

"What happened to you?" I ask him. He looks up at me and his eyes are so haunted, my anger dissolves like sugar on my tongue.

"Why do you care? Where is your date?" He growls. I roll my eyes and move his hand away from his mouth, examining his busted lip. He jerks away from me but I bite my tongue.

"Tell me what happened." I demand. He sighs and runs his hand over his hair. His knuckles are busted and bloody. The cut on his index finger looks deep and very painful.

"Did you get in a fight?" I ask.

"What gave you that idea?" He snaps.

"With who? Are you okay?"

"Yea, I am fine now leave me alone."

"I came here to find you." I tell him and stand up, wiping the dead grass off of my jeans.

"Okay and you found me so go."

'You don't have to be such an asshole, I think you should go home and get cleaned up. You might need stitches on your knuckle."

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