Damaged » h. styles au

Chapter 16 - Kirsten

He looked at me again, a little glimpse of amusement playing on his green eyes (which I gotta admit, were quite hypnotizing eyes). He didn't smile, nor did he laugh, but by his look I could tell he was being sarcastic; and then I did allow myself to grin.

"Kinda know that," he winked then slightly shook his head from one side to the other. "Would you mind getting me a glass of water?"

Silently, I nodded my head and stood up, still not sure why I was doing that for him. Maybe I had such a good soul, and I couldn't bear seeing people nearly dead lying on a bench in front of a stripper club. That was definitely the height of loneliness and despair.

Within minutes, I was back outside, holding the glass of water right in front of his face, which now was turned to the floor again.

"Thanks," he stated, drinking the liquid inside the glass as if he hadn't done that in years. Handling me the recipient back, he looked confused at me. "Why you doing this? I mean, being nice."

"I like to help needy people," I said while shrugging "Just a woman blessed with a great soul, what can I do?" He laughed and I pretended to be offended. "What's that laugh supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, nothing..." Harry stopped laughing but he still kept a little smile on his lips. "A great soul who likes to help, but doesn't like to be helped?" he questioned, and once again, the rich guy's aura was back, getting to my nerves easily. Why did he insist on going further than what he should; why did he like to cross the boundaries? When one of our conversations had started right, there he was again, trying to subtly find out something about me.

"I don't need help," I said, roughly this time, and I could see how Harry straightened his back ever so slightly, the mischievous grin fading from his face.

"Alright, fine. I was just joking."

"Now you're not. And neither am I." He sat completely straight this time, clearly uncomfortable with my words. But I couldn't help it, I truly hated people who weren't able to take care of their own lives, and Harry had already showed me he was one of those people.

The silence stood still between us, uncomfortably, for long minutes; and yet, I was standing in front of him, not daring to walk away. It felt as if there was still something to be said, and I kept waiting for him to open his mouth again. But for a while, he didn't. He just looked at me, clearly too into his thoughts to do anything else.

As the wind blew harder, I shivered and cringed, wrapping my own arms around me as the hairs on it prickled. Still in silence, I walked back next to the curly guy and took the sit next to his back again, asking myself why I was still there after all.

"Aren't you cold wearing, well... Just this?" he pointed with his head to the exposed parts of my body, referring to the tight and short clothes I had to wear while working at there. Why, for God's sake, would he even mention that? I was pretty aware everyone noticed – it was hard not to – but if he had even a bit of decency he wouldn't do such a comment. Oh well, that guy was certainly not the ordinary kind of guy, was he?

"Don't people judge you for wearing, well... This?" I didn't bother to answer his question, just replying it with another one while sticking my finger out and pointing at his old clothes. "I mean, I bet they'd think you're homeless or something. At least I did." I admitted, and he laughed at my observation.

"That's quite rude of you. People don't really like to hear that they look like homeless."

"They don't like to hear that they look like whores either," I barely whispered, wanting to punch myself for making such a comment. Why had I even said that?