Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

13. Poor Little Fido

"Okay well, take this time to forget about him or leave, buy a pack of rubbers and go do the deed."

"It's the principle of the thing, plus he's currently in time out."

"Time out?"

"You'll see," I grumbled, waving her away as the instructor padded into the room and rang the gong.

Harry Styles

Three hours. She'd been gone for three fucking hours doing god knows what, god knows where with my bike. What the actual fuck was wrong with that girl? What misfired in my brain that caused her to think that giving me a full hard on, chaining me up to her bed like some kind of animal, and leaving me was a good fucking idea?

I had papers to grade and assignments of my own to finish. I never should have come up here in the first place. Hell, I never should have gone out looking for her. That was my mistake: letting Darien Grace get into my head. She was fucking with me and my sanity. I couldn't let that happen. I needed my job and letting her get to me was putting it in jeopardy.

For what seemed like the five hundredth time, I tugged on the cuff. The leather lining was keeping it from cutting my wrist but was doing nothing to prevent the bruising I was sure would be there later. Since when were sex toys well made? Handcuffs always had a safety lock unless they were used by law enforcement, so where was the release mechanism? There had to be a catch. No matter how hard I pulled, squeezed, or yanked on the damnable things, though, I was stuck.

"Jesus Christ," I groaned, Throwing my head back onto the mound of pillows and clothes strewn all over her bed. This girl's room was a right mess. Sheet music littered the floor and her desk was literally overflowing with composition books and Starbucks cups. She was a slob and the state of the place was beginning to drive me insane. How someone could live with so much trash around them astounded me. I cleaned up after every single thing I did; there was never a thread out of place in my apartment and being stuck in a room where I was sure mold was growing on a month old Chai Tea Latte was torture.

What kind of girl actually lived like this?

The only reason I had yet to attempt bashing my head in against her bed frame was the fact that she had left her MacBook Pro out and within reach. Normally I wouldn't condone breaking into someone's personal computer, but the girl had left me chained to her bed. All usual rules of social structure, behavior, and niceties had been thrown out the window on day one. Plus, I couldn't exactly be held responsible for the fact that she didn't have a password on the damn thing. I just opened up the screen and presto instant lifeline to the rest of society.

I had been planning on going straight to her internet browser, but instead a Word document popped up:

Darien Grace

Styles

CCW212

17 September 2015

Writing Assignment 1

Why Dwell In The Past When You Can Live In The Present

Memories are nothing more than diluted and often embellished ideals from one's past. Rarely— if ever— are the thoughts and actions "remembered" the truth of the event. How is one supposed to diagnose their own problems and personal demons when the instances that shaped them into who they are cannot be recalled as they truly were? What is to stop a person from perceiving a harmless disagreement between their parents as the root for all of their personal nightmares? Or a singular bad grade as the reason they failed out of college? One's personality, morality, beliefs, and quirks simply cannot be shaped directly by the events of their life. Rather these defining characteristic are formed as one views and experiences the challenges of the world— allowing these occurrences to impact one's judgement and decisions...