About (Harry Styles)

41.

above is a pic of chris and elaine...Anybody ship them?

He betrayed my mother.

He touched me.

I feel like I'm screaming for help, yelling at the top of my lungs for him to stop, but the strained attempt is in vain. My entire body is paralyzed in a lucid dream, limp from the chloroform. I can't move. I can't see. I can't hear. I can barely think.

The sound of a vibrating hum is what I hear first when my eyes flutter open. A throbbing headache follows and I screw my eyes shut, hoping to relieve some of the fixed pain.

I take in the setting around me, realizing quickly that I'm no longer in that house.

I'm in a car. A moving car.

My head flies to the driver's seat and the blurry vision of my mother's husband's face takes over my brain.

All I can remember is struggling. I was struggling to break free of his rough hold on me.

My instinct kicks in at in incredible speed, adrenaline surging through my veins as a bloodcurdling shriek escapes from the deep pits of my throat.

I cower in my seat as I lean farthest back I can against the car door.

Car door. An escape. My hand flies to the door handle and I pull it so hard that I'm afraid I might've broken the only thing that would've been my freedom.

A hand grips my arm, a distorted, deep voice telling me to stop and to calm down. My heart rate increases at the contact. He still has the nerve to touch me. Sucking in a breath, my fingers clench into a fist and I swing my arm across the space, my clumsy aim striking right onto the man's ear.

He retracts in pain, his loud grunt of discomfort somehow clearing my senses. I remain fixed in my seat as I realize that it's not him.

An exasperated gasp falls from my lips.

It's Chris.

"Oh God, I am so sorry!" I yell. I thought I'd never be saying that to him. Never in my life did I think I would be so glad to see Chris too.

"Is this how you treat your savior?" He asks deliriously. Both of his hands move to the physical pain on the side of his face from my assault.

"Savior?" I mumble under my breath.

Half of his attention is given to me while the other half focuses on what I've done to his left ear.

"Yeah, your savior," he says, somehow more mocking this time. "Don't worry. He didn't do anything to you."

My heart stops for a brief moment, and my gaze immediately finds his as I hope to God that he's telling me the truth. He seems stunned by my gaze because in seconds, his falters to the side.

"More like, he couldn't do anything," he mutters more quietly this time. His eyes blinks back up to mine and I find myself silently praying that this isn't a dream.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice barely audible from the dread of remembering what I could recall which is not very much.

"You don't remember?," he asks. "That little bitch tried to touch you. You're lucky I came just in time before he could do anything stupid."

My gaze breaks from him and I look down to see that I am barefooted. My jeans are still on but the shirt I was wearing from this morning has been replaced with a blue one I don't even own.

Thoughts of him taking off my clothes flashes before me and I feel like I'm going to throw up, right here in Marco's car. Hot tears sting the corner of my eyes as I swallow the rising bile in my throat. Chris's hand cautiously finds its way to my back, rubbing and patting with concern as he asks if I'm okay.