Broken Misery (H.Styles Fanfic)

Money, Honey

A chapter in their lives…

“Come on, Elena,” Harry growls in my ear, leaning over me with his sweaty body. I close my eyes and pant heavily, swallowing harshly the thickness in the back of my throat. “Faster.”

For the past thirty minutes he’s been telling me to go faster and harder, but I’ve reached my limit. The sweat rolls down the sides of my face, my chest heaving up and down and my middle section and thighs burning. I groan and try breathing a little better, but I’ve done too much.

“Faster, Elena,” Harry repeats, growling louder this time. I glare at him and he simply smirks leaning down and hovering his lips near mine, but I pull away. “Don’t be like that.”

“Fuck you,” I stutter with barely enough saliva and energy to speak.

He chuckles loudly, holding his stomach as I continue to pace an inhuman speed, but at this point all I feel is pain. I hold back the tears welling up in my eyes, refusing to look at Harry who’s still incredibly sweaty and sexy with the shine covering his tattoos. I whine at the sight, because he’s having fun and I’m suffering.

After two minutes too much, my body is about to give out completely. I grip at whatever my hands manage to find and I choke a cough, which causes a couple of tears to fall. Harry finally gets the point and exhales a long sigh. “Fine. Slow down.”

I jump at occasion and slow my pace, my dry cough decreasing drastically within seconds. The treadmill comes to a stop and I fall over the system, sobbing at the pain throughout my body. 

When I asked Harry to be my personal trainer, I wasn’t expecting him to take it so seriously. I told him I just wanted to lose a couple of pounds and tone my muscles because we’ve been eating way too much during Christmas and New Year’s, but he’s been making me lift weights that even he can barely lift, and he made me run for an hour and a half on the treadmill. Not jog, but run, and after an hour my body was giving out, and he just kept screaming at me to fight through the pain and keep going. 

While I try to control the sobs ripping through my body, I feel a hand rub on my back over the sweaty tank top clinging to my skin. “Get off of me, you piece of shit,” I hiss through clenched teeth and crawl away from his touch.

“El, I’m sorry,” he tries, low voice and all. “I’m just trying to push your limit. That’s how they train me.”

“And you’re also a few dozens of pounds heavier than I am, and you’re used to it–” cough, “–and I’m not.” My mouth becomes salty from the tears leaking into it. I try to cough more but the scratchy feeling in the back of my throat doesn’t seem to go away. “Fuck, Harry. When I ask to stop, you stop.”

He kneels on the floor beside me where I allow my body to collapse, and pushes my ponytail out of the way. It hasn’t gotten cut in almost six months now, so the tip reaches a little bit lower than the middle of my back when he pushes it back. “How about a shower and I take you out for dinner?”

With one finger swipe under my eyes, I lift a brow at him. “Sure, because you make me work out like a fucking maniac to make me gain all those pounds afterwards? Good thinking, Haz. Really.”

He sighs. “Fucking hell, Elena, I did what you asked me to. Not my fault if your premenstrual symptoms are getting in the way of your mood.”

“Don’t even go there,” I warn, but that earns me a smirk from his part. “Shut up.”

“You really think that after two years, I don’t know your cycle by heart?” I don’t answer, because it hits me then that we’ve officially been together for two years this year. It had been during Christmas time, too, even though maybe it wasn’t our best Christmas ever. And I also realize that I’m about to graduate college in four months. 

Harry and I didn’t even celebrate our two years. We’ve never really had an official date to celebrate to, other than the date he kidnapped me on three years ago. We simply spent the holidays in L.A. with my and his parents, having him home from tour for a couple of months until he leaves again. 

“I’m really mad at you so don’t speak to me and leave me alone.”

In those two years, he’s learned to leave me alone when I ask him to. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the one who grew anger problems, but having Harry around twenty-four seven often becomes a little bit too much. He needs attention, and a lot of it. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love him more than anything and the small ring on my finger sure proves so, but when I said yes to him on New Year’s Eve, or New Year’s, actually, because it was midnight, I should’ve considered all of the attention he needs.

This is just the premenstrual symptoms talking.

“I’m not leaving this room while you’re upset with me, El. I’m sorry I was rough but in the end you’ll like the results.”

“Do I get my money back if I don’t like the results?” I scoff at him, slowly getting up to my feet. “Because really, I only said yes for the workout part of this. There better me a warranty on this marriage proposal.”

Two weeks ago when it happened, he would’ve found this joke funny. Now, his expression twists into a snarl. “Fine, then. Give me back the ring and I’ll leave you alone.”

Just because I’m stubborn as hell, I reach for my finger to pull the ring out of it, but Harry throws his arms in the air in exasperation. “Fucking hell, Elena. Keep the damn ring on your finger.” He rubs his hands over his face, breathing heavily into them as he paces around. “Fine, okay? Next time I’ll just supervise and you can do things at your own pace.”

“Thank you.” His face shows disgusts as I force a smile at him, my eyes burning from the previous tears. 

“Just don’t take the ring off, please,” he begs quietly, taking my hand in his big one and rubbing his thumb around the diamond. 

Even though every muscle in my body is unbearably aching, and the back of my throat barely feels alive anymore, I nod firmly. “You’re lacking confidence, Harry. You should know that it’s not something like this that would make me take my word back.”

Instead of grinning like I thought he would, his nostrils flare. “Are you fucking serious, Elena?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “You ask me to help you with a workout, you make me feel fucking guilty about it and then, ‘Oh, Harry, you know it would take more to make me take my word back’,” he mocks in my voice. “Get back on the treadmill.”

“No.”

He points at the machine, eyes dark and demanding. “Treadmill. Now. Or else.”

Only because my breathing has found its regular pace again, I let my feet trail me back to the treadmill for another hour of pain.

But it’s okay, because it’s Harry who ends up cleaning my puke on the floor after he wouldn’t listen to me complain about being nauseous from running too much.

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Chapter End Notes:

THEY'RE ENGAGEDD!!!!!!!!! 

Keep an eye up for next chapter :)

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-Katexx