Broken Misery (H.Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Previously on Broken Misery :

The dimples on the corners of his mouth dip and his eyes soften as he grins, holding out his pinky finger. "Pinky promise," he chuckles as he wraps his finger around mine for a couple of seconds, before pulling back and holding his arm out, which I accept gladly. "Now give me a proper hug, love."

"You really seem to be better," I tell him quietly as I nuzzle deeper in his chest, the hardness of it more apparent than it used to be. He bends pulls me closer and helps me sit on his lap, and for a second I consider pulling away, but my body refuses to take action.

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"I have better control," he admits, his arms snaking around my back. "On tour, I have to behave. They make me work out and see a therapist but things get hard. It's why I had a few slip outs."

I snort. "A few?"

I would've thought that my comment would anger him, but it doesn't. Instead, he throws his head back and laughs out loud, my favorite sound filling the room, which I reply to by curling my arms around his neck. "Alright. I've had a lot of slip outs, but none of them meant anything. And like, I haven't kidnapped a woman in six months."

Me.

"Was I the first one?"

He nods. "First and only. I was taught that when I wanted something real hard, I could just take it. And so far, you're the only thing I've ever wanted."

I watch him carefully for a few moments, his words hitting me harder than I thought. I know I can't do anything about it, since it would be betraying Alfie and I did promise myself that I had to be strong, but hearing it still makes me feel all giddy inside. "But who taught you that?"

"I'll tell you when we're both ready," he repeats in a sigh, bringing his lips to my cheek. "Now, I have a question for you."

I lift an eyebrow, skeptical. "Go ahead, Haz. You've never asked for my permission before."

He ignores my comment and smirks. "If cultural policy, also known as democratization of culture, is a policy established to promote cultural diversity in a society with the help of arts by building institutions that will allow an easy accessibility for everyone, can you please define cultural democracy?"

My heart stops. "How - Harry, how do you know that?"

Democratization of culture and cultural democracy are two of the definitions I've placed on my pile. I regret taking Arts and Culture as an option, since sociology has never really been my thing, but if you look past the hard definitions and nonsense words, the course is actually interesting. The definition Harry gave, however, is a much more simplified version of anything I've learned through the semester, and yet explains perfectly its sense.

"Well, for starters, I'm not as stupid as you think I am." I'm about to correct him on that, because I don't think he's stupid at all, but he places his finger on my lips and shuts me up. "Second, if I were to go to university, it'd be in sociology. I find it completely useless for a future but it's extremely knowledgeable, and I love to learn. Third," he adds with a smirk, "I've secretly been reading your books when you leave them somewhere in the house, just because I was expecting you to need my help. It's like I'm going to school, but I don't suffer through three-hour classes, midterms and finals."

"You -" I choke on my words, my eyes wide in amazement. He's done this for me. He's been reading excruciatingly boring school books in order to help me if I ever needed it. "Harry, why would you do that?"