Moonstruck ⟡ HS

06!

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link: spoti.fi/3h2x7Td
ROLL CALL | THE NEIGHBOURHOOD
PUMPED UP KICKS | FOSTER THE PEOPLE
YOU SAY I'M IN LOVE | BANES WORLD
SO ALIVE | LOVE AND ROCKETS

London, England
April, 1983

He remembers the first time it happened.

His bottom lip was bitten between his teeth as his jaw vigorously trembled, shaking from the wretched torment of heartbreak as he watched through the cracked door. He was scared, anxious and sick to his stomach as he witnessed his parents use their fists and palms and nails and feet to express their love for one another. He remembers it like it was yesterday, when he had to go to sleep that night with the nightmare going on around him within his reality. Screams and shouts were heard from down the hallway that night, he drowned them out with his pillow shoved over his head with soft cries flowing from his lips, tears drenched his pillowcase, and the next day he went to school like nothing happened, with swollen eyes and a heavy heart.

His father worked out of town during the week, up in Sheffield as a stock trader or some shit—who knows—but during the weeks, he was left with his mother and his mother was left with him. They got on fine, he didn't ever understand her and she never understood him, but their time spent together was always peaceful until the weekend came around and his father traveled back to London. He looked forward to the weeks a lot, the weekends were dreaded, and as he got older, he understood his parents less and less.

He didn't understand anyone, really.

People fascinated him in the worst ways, confusing him beyond belief, and unlike any school subject he mastered or whatever hobby he gave his best shot, nothing peaked his interest more than human emotion did. He learned his arithmetic, how to use verbs and pronouns, why the solar system is held together, but for the life of him, from the day his mind sparked up to the current state of his being, he never could understand feelings. Sure, he felt things. Like when he accidentally touched the hot stove, or when he scraped his knee running outside, or when he itched a raw bug bite. He knows those kinds of feelings, but the ones inside of him, the ones that people explain with words and emotional expressions, he could never figure it out.

Like when Cindy Sudomir kept glancing his way in Biology class.

    "Hey," It was Tom, one of his classmates who he got paired up with to sit beside. Despite his off putting nature, Tom always made it a point to talk to him, regardless of the topic, but his sudden urge to spruce up a conversation mid lecture was no shock. In fact, it was expected and sent him glancing over his shoulder at the blonde haired boy. "I think Cindy has a thing for you."

He looks the other way, narrowing his eyes through the thick lenses perched on the bridge of his nose, and when his eyes lock with Cindy's unapologetically, he watches as she shies away from his gaze and turns her attention towards the front of the room. He's known of Cindy Sudomir since he was in his first year of school, when she had a snaggle tooth and his hair was barely blonde, so confusion dawns on him when trying to make the connection of Cindy liking him. He also didn't understand what this "liking" him meant on his end, as if he were meant to do something about it, albeit these weren't his feelings. They were Cindy's.

    "Why?" His question sends Tom chuckling under his breath with a slow head shake, finding amusement in his confusion while he was simply just looking for answers that he couldn't find.

    "Dunno, she just does." Tom tells him, "When girls stare, that normally means they like you." He hums in response, finding no interest in Cindy and her feelings, and focuses back on the lecture being given from the front of the class. "Cindy's a cute girl, why don't you ask her out or something?"

    "To do what exactly?" He cluelessly asks.

    "Oh, Harry . . ." Tom sighs, dropping his head towards his lap as he stares emotionlessly and uses his pointer finger to move his glasses back to the top of his nose, "Haven't you ever liked anyone before?"

    "No." He answers without hesitation, sending Tom's brows hunching over his eyes as he continues on, "I don't think so."

Suddenly before Tom can reply, his name is being called from the front of the classroom by his teacher, scolded for talking during the lecture, though he keeps his head down and continues to take his notes after that, not wanting to get into trouble again. All because of Cindy's wandering eyes and Tom's incessant need to pry into his life. He shakes his head to himself and keeps his handwriting neat, within the lines of the notebook paper, and once the bell rings, his professor reminds them of the activities of next class, one that had peaked his interest since reading the syllabus at the beginning of the year.

Dissection.

In a frenzy, he gets his things together and shoves them into his bag, only before slinging the backpack over his shoulder and accidentally bumping into someone on his way out of the classroom. When he picks his head up from the ground—something he does out of habit—his eyes meet Cindy's, round and blue with a hint of amusement in them while his were all out of light. He adjusts his glasses, taking a step back so she can exit the classroom first, and with a small smile to her lips, she gives him a curt nod of gratitude before walking through the open door.

That was until he rounded the corner and noticed she was standing there, leaned against a row of navy blue lockers, one of them being his. He hadn't spoken to Cindy ever, he knew of her but not her specifically, and he didn't really have any desire to know the girl. She hung out with the athletes, the jocks who make comments about him under their sour breath in their tattered letterman jackets. He was disgusted by them, he was disgusted by most people—disgust and appreciation being the only two thrills he experiences—and he didn't know why someone like Cindy was so keen on intertwining with him.

"Hi, Harry." Is what she says to him as he approaches his locker, needing some of his textbooks for his next class, and as Cindy stands beside him he offers a tight lipped smile paired with uncomfortable silence that doesn't do the trick of driving her away. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"Here and there." He mumbles awkwardly under his breath while dialing in his combination, only before jerking open the door and noticing Cindy twirling her hair between her fingers. Why was she doing that? "Is there something you need?" He didn't mean to come off so bluntly, but he doesn't show any concern for her feelings as he exchanges his Biology textbook for his Trigonometry one.

"Well, I-I was just wondering if you were going to the school dance?" Cindy asks him, putting a sharp halt to his movements before he snaps out of it and continues on. "I mean, I'm sure you are—it's coming up soon, and I just wanted to—"

"I'm not going." He tells her and slams his locker closed, causing Cindy to jump at the harsh sound, but he doesn't stick around long enough to see it.

The school dance? Was she serious? He almost laughs at the idea of attending something so trivial and useless, but laughter reaches his lips like a smile does—rarely ever and mostly forced—and as he walks down the school hallways, he keeps his head down. He doesn't like stepping on the lines of the tiles, he's mastered the art of never doing so, and as he clutches his textbook to his chest and uses a free hand to push his glasses back up his nose, he makes it to his Trigonometry class and sits in the back, away from everyone else.

His teacher cracks jokes he never understands, albeit everyone else in the class laughs while he sits, looking around in confusion and curiosity as to what was so funny. Oh, well, he thinks to himself and rests his temple against his closed fist, drawing and scribbling into his notebook when the lecture slows down and the personal conversations start. School was merely a chore for him at this point, and while he enjoyed learning things and getting to know how things work, the social interaction was draining—and he was the most antisocial person in the school.

When his last class of the day ends, he goes to gather his things at his locker and watches as a note falls to the floor when swinging open the door, causing him to bend down and pick it up with a sigh slipping from his lips. He presumes it's from Cindy, noticing a scribbled down phone number and a lipstick print at the bottom of the nameless note, but he's less than interested and tosses the note into the trash as he makes his way out of the school. It was sunny, paired with a slight wind, but with May right around the corner, the weather was more than pleasant when he had to walk home from school—despite him enjoying cloudy weather much more.

His mother asks him the same questions she always does at the dinner table that night, how was school, did you learn anything, how was your walk home, etc. He knew she was trying, as if she felt guilty to subjecting her son to the toxic relationship both her and his father created, but he didn't care. He was numb to it at this point, and really it had numbed him to not only their relationship, but most things. She tried though, she made his favorite meal for dinner on Friday evenings, made sure he was healthy, got him new clothes from time to time. If he was going to love anyone, it would be his mother, but when he looked at her, sat across from him at the table with age and exhaustion cast over her features, he feels nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He does the dishes, boxes up leftovers, and makes his way up to his room after his mother bids him a goodnight. He lets out a sigh of relief when he closes the door, as if it was mentally draining to be around other people who weren't like him, and once he steps further into his room and towards his desk, he sits down, letting his eyes glance towards the yearbook sat on his shelf that somehow peaks his interest. He sighs again, reaching over to grab it, and as he flips through the pages, he finds Cindy. Cindy Sudomir, with her honey blonde hair and her rosy cheeks and her doe-like eyes. Conventionally, she was beautiful, he knew that much, but it wasn't anything he would rave about.

His confusion as to why Cindy was interested in him never seemed to falter, especially as he looks between her photo and his, knowing there was no thread attaching them in any aspect. He wasn't popular, he didn't mingle like the rest of his classmates did—he wouldn't be shocked if this was some kind of prank being pulled on him—but he shakes his head, closing the yearbook before putting it back up, and does his best to forget about it. It's stupid, he tells himself as he pulls out his homework from his bag, and for hours he sits at his desk and does his homework, studies, anything to keep his brain active. He doesn't like having nothing to do, and to prepare himself for his next Biology class, he brushes up on the topic of anatomy.

The brain and the heart have always seemed to catch his attention more than the rest,  because of his desire to understand how they work, or more specifically because of his desire to know why his don't work the same as everyone else's. He knows that he's supposed to love his family, his relatives and all, and that he's supposed to like the girls who like him and he's supposed to have unholy desires to see their tits or wonder about what they smell like. He's supposed to learn how to love, feel it in his heart and acknowledge it in his brain, but he just doesn't. He can't.

He's broken, is what his conclusion always is when he tries to figure this out. There's something not right, something out of balance, and whether it's in his brain or his heart, he has no idea. Love comes from the heart, he's heard that since the moment he was able to retain information like any other person, yet his heart beats and he's never felt love a day in his life. His mother loves him because she's supposed to, his father—he didn't even try to think about that—but he couldn't even begin to fathom what it would feel like to love someone else. It doesn't click in his mind, and it wasn't like he wanted love for the sake of being loved, but solely to soothe his confusion.

"Me?"

"Yeah." Cindy nods with a subtle giggle, and for a moment he thinks that she's making fun of him, but the teasing never comes and she stares in expectancy. "I heard Mr.Clemson was letting us choose our partners, and I might not be the best at dissection, but I'll try my best. I promise." Cindy tells him with a refreshing smile to her lips, and for a second, a short and passing second when looking at her, he feels inclined to say yes.

So he does.

From that point on, he can't help but feel a bit squeamish when thinking about working with Cindy, or more so working with anyone else besides Tom, albeit he's sure Tom will applaud him for working with Cindy over him. He assumes that Cindy asked him to be her partner because of what Tom said—that she likes him—but he truly can't understand that, and decides that he doesn't need to know everything once he gets to his Biology class and sits besides Cindy instead as she waves him over. She was already wearing his goggles and gloves, he almost thought that she looked cute, and as he places the goggles over his glasses and tugs a pair of gloves over his hands, he looks over his shoulder, seeing an encouraging look from Tom from across the classroom.

Once they got their spiel from Mr.Clemson, the dead frogs were passed out to each pair of students, and as the girls grimaced and the boys marveled over the flesh lying dead before them, he clenches his jaw as Cindy's face twists in disgust. He begins to follow Mr.Clemson's instruction from the front of the class, taking one of the knives to make a clean cut down the belly of the frog and Cindy watches in horror, though he doesn't know why she's so grossed out. The thing is already dead. But he continues for the both of them and does everything their teacher says, almost finding pleasure in the activity unlike the rest of his classmates, which only pushes his assumption further that there's something wrong with him.

"I think I'm gonna hurl." Cindy mumbles from beside him.

"You know where the trash bins are." He remarks under his breath, focused on the task at hand, and as Cindy lets out a small chuckle, he isn't sure what was amusing enough to laugh, but he doesn't ask and focuses on the dead frog.

"What are you doing this weekend?" Cindy asks him, as if she were trying to distract herself from what he was doing, and while he would normally be annoyed by the small talk, he didn't focus much on it, but on the instruction of Mr.Clemson and the knife gripped between his fingers.

"Nothing." He replies.

"Oh," Cindy says, "well, if you're interested in doing a bit more than nothing, some of my friends and I are going to the movies. You can come with if you want to?" Cindy asks him, and with a heavy breath, he looks over at her while hunched over the desk in front of them, seeing a glimmer of hope in her eyes that somehow makes him want to say yes—again.

"I'm not sure." He tells her with uncertainty wavering in his voice, knowing what kind of friends she has and knowing how they're probably not as welcoming as she might be. "I'll have to ask my parents." He says, even though he knows his mother would be thrilled he would be doing something over the weekend, desparate to have a normal child.

"O-Okay," Cindy stammers with a smile and a frantic nod of her head, as if she wasn't expecting him to even consider it, and while he honestly wasn't, she seemed happy about it. "well, if you can, just call me—you got my note, right?"

"I lost it." He lies emotionlessly, not wanting the repercussions he would face when telling Cindy he willingly threw the note away, but this doesn't seem to stop her. Instead she pulls out one of her pens, a pink one with specks of glitter in it, and etches her phone number down on a corner in her journal before ripping it off and sliding it towards him along the desk. With his hands preoccupied with the dissected frog, he nods his head, remembering to take it regardless of whether he was actually going to use it or not.

"We were thinking of going to see that new one . . . Flashdance, I think it's called." She tells him while leaning on to the desk, keeping her eyes on him rather than the wide open frog he was working on. "Have you seen the trailer for it?"

"No."

"Oh, well . . ." Cindy trails off, unsure of what to say as he follows another order from Mr.Clemson, "do you want me to help you? I-I can try—"

"No." He repeats and watches her hands retract, but she doesn't ask him again, as if she were thankful he declined her proposal. "Thanks, though." He adds, something he doesn't normally do, and it seems to please her as a smile creeps on to her lips and she nods her head.

"You're pretty good at this," Cindy remarks, "maybe you'll be a surgeon or something. I heard they make a solid amount of money." She tells him with a small chuckle, nearly sending a smirk curling over his lips, though his face remains stoic as he lets out an airy snicker.

"A dead frog is a bit different from a human." He says to her in a mumble.

"I guess you have a point." Cindy replies, "Do either of your parents work in the medical field? I've heard skills like this run in the family." She asks him, and without a word, he shakes his head, not wanting to converse about his parents any more than he would a pile of dog shit.

He continues on with the dissection as Cindy's perfume begins to outweigh the fumes coming from the frog, most likely formaldehyde from what he's read, and while he doesn't exactly like how close she is, he'd much rather smell her perfume than the chemicals. Maybe I should be a surgeon, he thinks to himself, knowing that dissecting this frog has little to no affect on his psyche unlike the rest of his classmates, albeit he didn't know what it would be like to take on a human body, knowing they're much more complex than an amphibian.

When Mr.Clemson begins to come around the room to inspect the work of the students for their grades, he sits in his chair beside Cindy as she talks about drama between some of the girls, something he honestly couldn't care less about, but he doesn't say anything. It wasn't until Mr.Clemson hovered over their desk did he seem impressed, annoyed and aggravated with the rest of the immature class that did the lab improperly, and the teacher's acceptance doesn't go unnoticed by his peers, simply because Mr.Clemson wasn't shy about his approval either.

"Excellent work, Mr.Styles . . . Ms.Sudomir." Mr.Clemson adds with an abrupt clearing of his throat, knowing Cindy didn't do shit, "Maybe some of your classmates will follow your lead next time instead of mine." Is all Mr.Clemson says before continuing on to the next pair, and while that kind of praise never had a place with him, he couldn't help but feel good about it.

That was until someone had something to say about it.

"I'm sure he does this kind of shit at home for fun." It was one of the jock assholes in the back of the classroom, and while he didn't give into the shit they were talking, Cindy heard them and quickly turned in her seat to face them. "What? I'm just telling the truth—" The guy says in response to Cindy's scowl, though he doesn't need her to defend him, and he doesn't want her to either.

"You don't know shit, Jack." Cindy snaps, though it's more like a Chihuahua yapping than a Rottweiler growling.

"C'mon, Cindy, don't tell me your actually defending the dweeb—"

"Shut up, Jack!" Cindy exclaims, and he's had enough. Class was nearly over anyways, so as he rips of the goggles from his face and tugs the gloves off of his hands, he drops them on to the table and promptly grabs his things. He didn't want to be there anymore, not when all the attention was now on to him—the dweeb—so with his bag slung over his shoulder, he mutters an apology to Mr.Clemson and walks past him to exit the classroom. "Harry, wait!" Is the last thing he hears before the door closes behind him, and while he wasn't angry or upset, he just didn't want to stay and be the classroom's personal laughing stock.

As he walks down the hallway, he hears his name being called again by the same, familiar voice of Cindy, who runs after him with her braids bouncing against her back and her steps twice the speed of his own. He doesn't slow down, but lets her catch up with him as heavy breaths flow from her pink lips, though he doesn't listen to a word she says, just keeping his eyes on the ground, careful not to step on the cracks in the tiles. Then she touches his arm, causing him to jerk away from her as he stops walking, and finally he looks over at her, seeing that she was visibly worried.

"What? What do you want from me, Cindy?" He can't help but ask.

"I-I just wanted to see if you were okay, that's all—" Cindy tries to say to him, but his confusion has become too prominent, too strong to ignore.

"From the first day I got to this school, I've been like this." He tells her with his voice low, having trouble keeping eye contact with her when her gaze was so intense. "I've been the weirdo, the dweeb or whatever else everyone else says—"

"I don't think you're weird, Harry." Cindy cuts in with a slow shake of her head, letting her brows hunch over her eyes as she stares ta him. "Not at all, I just think you're shy." I'm not shy, I just hate everyone, he thinks to himself, but presses his lips into a thin line to prevent the truth from slipping out.

Then the bell rings, sending the masses into the hallways to fill the floors with scuffing shoes and loud chatter, and as Cindy continues to stare at him, waiting for a response, he doesn't have anything to say. He doesn't know why Cindy is so keen on knowing him now, during the last months of their high school careers, and while he would ask, he doesn't care about the answer all that much. After all, he's the dweeb, why would his word matter anyways?

"I'll see you this weekend?" Cindy asks with hope threaded through her words, shining in her eyes, and with a shrug to his shoulder, he turns on his heels and heads towards his locker, wondering if the twist in his gut was guilt or if the formaldehyde actually got to him.

After that class, he returned to his normal seat beside Tom, who commended him for being Cindy's partner despite the unwanted attention he got for it. He didn't say much about it, only took his notes and ignored Cindy's stares, even when the formaldehyde was gone and the weird feeling in his gut was still there. Maybe I should try to be nicer to her, he thinks to himself, wondering what kind of smile he would have to force in order to make her frown go away, because he didn't like knowing that he was the cause of it.

Oddly, he felt himself slowly begin to care about Cindy's feelings. Clearly she had way more than he did, he could see them displayed on her face without hesitation, and she was much easier to read than most people. She smiled a lot, frowned when she didn't get her way, and let her eyes widen big when she was surprised. His face was always the same, emotionless and stoic with the occasional eye roll or raise of his brows. He wonders if she thinks about making those facial expressions, or if they just come naturally, or if it's a mixture of both. He wonders if she feels the subtle dullness inside of her like he does, but that thought quickly gets discarded when he sees her again, looking enthralled just to have him look her way again.

"Harry," It was Cindy, of course, waltzing up to his desk once the lecture was over and a couple spare minutes were left at the end of class, "have you thought about the movies? We're going tonight, if you end up wanting to go." She tells him, bending at the knees to rest her arms on his desk as he puts all of his notes in his bag.

"I'm not sure, Cindy—ow!" He hisses when feeling Tom's elbow dig into his side, causing him to narrow his eyes at the guy sitting beside him before looking back over to Cindy. "I have a lot of homework to get done, and I haven't talked to my parents about it—" He tells her with a shrug of his shoulders, disregarding Tom's poke, and watches as Cindy frowns.

"Well, I really hope you change your mind." Cindy tells him, "You have my number still, right?" She asks him, standing back up from the desk with her hands pressed against the wood.

"Yeah," He nods, and this time he did actually have it, and Cindy smiles down at him.

"Okay, let me know if you decide you want to go." And then she walks away, and as soon as she's out of earshot, he feels another jab against his ribcage that sends him turning towards Tom with his brows furrowed in frustration.

"Again?" He hisses in annoyance.

"What are you doing?" Tom asks him, as if he was making the most idiotic choice in the world, and while he knew having a girl like Cindy Sudomir interested in him was damn near close to winning the lottery, it wasn't like he could force himself to like her back. He didn't hate the girl, if anything, he would rather be around her than others if he had to choose, but regardless, he harbored no feelings for her. None whatsoever. "She's so into you, man, why aren't you flirting back?"

"I don't like her." He shrugs, rubbing his hand over where Tom elbowed him with a scowl on his face. "Ever thought about that?"

"You a fag or something?" Tom inquires, something he wasn't expecting to be asked as confusion dawns on him once again.

"What?" He gapes, "No, I'm not gay." He shakes his head and turns back to look into his lap.

"Then what is it?" Tom quickly asks him, "Cindy's practically on her knees with your dick in her mouth, and here you are, trying to stop her—"

"Why do you want me to get with her so badly anyways?" He can't help but ask, knowing since the moment Cindy started looking his way, Tom has been the first person to push him towards talking to Cindy. "It's not like it's your business, so what's the deal?" He adds, watching Tom's eyes narrow at him.

"I'm just trying to help."

"Well, don't." He remarks right as the bell rings, and without another word, he pushes himself up from his seat and stalks out of the classroom.

He doesn't think of Cindy again until the following Saturday morning when his mother knocks on his bedroom door, and as he mumbles a command for her to come inside while he was sat at his desk, working on something for his Literature class, his mother enters his room with a smirk, looking happier that morning than she had on any other Saturday in her life. He didn't know what it could be, knowing his father was home for the weekend and was usually wreaking havoc amongst the household, but when he notices the torn piece of paper with Cindy's phone number on it pinched between her fingers, he quickly understood.

His mother had found the piece of paper in the pocket of his jeans, doing the laundry like she normally does over the weekend, and as she walks further into his bedroom and closes the door behind her, he couldn't help himself from rolling his eyes, certain that his mother would try to push the Cindy agenda like Tom did. He didn't understand why it was such a big deal, he didn't think much of it at all, and genuinely wished that he understood their excitement and anticipation, just to know how he could combat it.

"Why don't you give her a call, Harry?" His mother presses once he explains why it was in his pocket anyway, "I'm sure she's a lovely girl, and I—"

"I'm not interested in her." He cuts in with a shake of his head, plucking the phone number from his mothers fingers only to crumble it into a ball. "She's popular . . . and is friends with the other popular people, and I don't like them."

"Well, I'm sure she's much nicer than you think, Harry." His mother replies, "There's no harm in giving her a try."

"You don't know her."

"You might not either." His mother softly smiles, "You'll never know unless you try, and even if you end up hurt, you'll learn something in the end." She tells him while taking slow steps to him, only to press a chaste kiss into the top of his head with her arm wrapped around his shoulders. He doesn't like the touch, but he remains silent, staring at the wadded up piece of paper on his desk with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

"She invited me to the movies last night, but I never called her." He confesses to his mother, who quickly sighs and shakes her head at him. "What do I do?"

"Call and ask to see her tonight." His mother tells him encouragingly, which didn't come as a shock to him considering how often she asked him about his social life. "I'm sure if she's interested in you, she'll overlook what happened last night. Especially if you tell her you had to stay at home for family dinner." His mother winks, causing a ghost of a smile to curve over his lips before he grabs the paper and unfolds it.

"You really think I should call her?" The real question was, do you really think she'll answer, but he watches his mother eagerly nod her head before he follows her downstairs to the phone.

He thinks of Cindy and feels nothing, like he does when thinking of death or those super sad dog commercials, but something about romance intrigued him, perhaps because it was another box added to the list of things he doesn't understand. He isn't romantic, he doesn't know how to love and he doesn't know why people indulge in such a vicious cycle that only seems to break people, but at the same time, he'll never know unless he tries, and him calling Cindy Sudomir that Saturday morning was the first step to trying to understand.

He asked to see her that night, but in a twist of events, she invites him to a party at one of her friends house, which was immediately off putting, but with his mother shaking her head and egging him on, he somehow agreed. Anxiety pecked at him until the sun was taken from the sky, and as he stands in front of the mirror in his bathroom, he slides his glasses off from the bridge of his nose and sets them on the counter top, squinting at his reflection while running a hand through his hair. He hasn't gone without his glasses since the moment he got them, but he feels as if this would be the time to trade them in for momentary blindness and a chance of being cool.

Whatever the fuck that meant.

He takes his mother's car and passes his father without a single word, and as he remembers the directions Cindy gave him over the phone, he pulls up to the crowded house with ease and a pit of worry in his gut. He hasn't felt this way in a while, but as he carefully parks the car and shoves the keys into his pocket, he makes his way to the front door and awkwardly walks inside. He looks around, noticing the intoxication of nearly every face he passes, and grimaces to himself before searching the house for Cindy.

"Harryyy . . . " She draws out, giggling from whatever was inside the cup she was holding, "you came! Where're your glasses?" She quickly frowns, noticing the lack of lens, and he shrugs, mumbling something stupid, but her attention quickly moves on to something more interesting. "Come get a drink! There's shit in the kitchen, I'll get you whatever you want." She tells him with a subtle slur to her words, and with her hand wrapped around his wrist, she tugs him through the crowd of drunken bodies to the kitchen.

If it weren't for his discomfort, he would have declined her drink offer, but he needed something to make this situation better, and at the time, alcohol seemed to be the tension reliever. That's all he was— a ball of buzzing tension. Whatever Cindy gave him sent him grimacing, but as it coursed through his veins with an unfamiliar warmth, he couldn't keep himself from drinking more until he was full of it. He had never been drunk before, he never understood why people drank in the first place, but as soon as he deemed himself intoxicated, he understood it.

"C'mon, let's go dance—"

"No way, Cin."

"Please, Harry?" Cindy whines, tugging on his arm with her warm hands and round eyes, "Jus' one song? That's it, I swear—" Her words get cut off by an excited squeal as he finally nods his head and gives in to her. She grabs his hand and pulls him towards the group of dancing teens in the middle of the roommate, swaying and bopping their heads along to the music blaring throughout the house, and with alcohol fresh in his system, he finds it much easier to follow Cindy's lead than it would be if he were stone cold sober.

"Can I tell you somethin'?" Cindy says over the music, though with her lips hovering over his ear, he hears her clearly and nods his head, "You look good without your glasses . . . like, really good." She giggles with a set of rosy cheeks that sends his own flushing.

"Think so?"

"Mhmm," Cindy nods her head with her lips tugged into a drunken grin, "knew you would, 'm glad you're here." She continues while moving her hand up his chest and over the t-shirt he wore, feeling along his body unlike anyone else ever has, and he isn't sure how he feels about it—or if he feels anything at all. He lets his eyes flicker between Cindy's, trying to pry what she was feeling out of her gaze, and as she looks up at him, he can't help but notice her inching closer and closer to him.

"Cindy?" He can't help but choke out, timid against her boldness as his breathing picks up.

"Harry . . ." She chuckles, letting her nose brush against his as she pushes up to her tippy toes, "I'll kiss you . . . only if you want me to?"

"Why?" He breaths out, having no burning desire to kiss her, but to know why she wants to kiss him. "Why do you wanna kiss me, Cindy?"

"'cause I like you, Harry." Cindy replies, as if it were obvious, and maybe it was to anyone else with a working brain and heart, but he felt as if he was dealt a bad hand, a circuit board with a shortage, and he didn't know how to like Cindy back.

"With my glasses too?" He asks her, knowing the metallic frames will sit on his nose the following morning, and the next day and the next day, and it wasn't necessarily about the glasses themselves, but the symbolism between the Harry she has in her arms and the Harry she sees in the halls at school.

"Course." Cindy grins, but lets her smile dim as she continues to speak, "Do you . . . do you like me too?" She asks him with a stammer, looking between his eyes and his lips, and he has two options: lie or disappoint.

But before he can reply, a wave of nausea rushes through him, sending him away from her and to the nearest hallway he can see, knowing the last thing he needed was to puke in front of a crowd. He blames the alcohol, Cindy's confession, her sweet smelling perfume, the stench of sweat, his lack of dinner, and before he knows it, he's hunched over a toilet, spilling his guts in the worst way possible. He coughs, spitting into the toilet bowl once he was done, and as he flushes the vomit away and wipes his mouth with a wad of toilet paper, a harsh bang is placed on the door, causing him to flinch.

He swallows thickly and tastes the bile on his tongue, his head cranked to face the door, and with heavy breaths flowing in and out of his nose, he jumps when the person bangs against the door again. He doesn't know who it could be, the possibilities are absolutely endless, and with his vision blurred and his mouth tasting of vomit, he's certain that this is a nightmare come to life. He takes slow steps towards the door, uncertain as to who was waiting for him on the other, side and once he opens up the door, he's met with the eyes of a stranger, who's quick to push past him and use the toilet like he once did to empty his stomach.

He lets out a sigh of relief and leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him for the guy who just walked inside, and as he rounds the corner to exit the hallway, he accidentally bumps into someone while walking with his head down. He looks up, his throat burning and brain throbbing from the alcohol, and wishes he never went to that stupid party when seeing that he had bumped into Jack, someone who was only going to make this night worse.

    "Styles?" Jack asks, as if he can't tell who he is without the glasses and the school uniform, narrowing his eyes at him as his friends trail behind him. He goes to walk past him, having no desire to converse with him about anything, and wants to go home now more than ever, but with a strong hand pressed against his shoulder, Jack stops him. "Where you goin'? The party's just started—"

    "I'm going home." He tries to say, but as soon as the last syllable leaves his lips, Jack shakes his head and steps in front of him, blocking his path way to leave, and he feels cornered—no, he is cornered. He isn't fearful, whatever happens will happen, but he's annoyed, angry, aggravated he even came to this stupid party in the first place when he could have been at home. "Get out of my way—"

    "Or what?" Jack presses, taking a step towards him that causes him to take a step back. "Or what, Styles? What're you gonna do?"

He looks around between the group of guys surrounding him, letting heavy breath after heavy breath flow through his lungs rigidly, and as he weighs his options, he doesn't have many. He can try to punch Jack in the face, hope his friends are concerned about him, and make a bee line towards the front door. He can sit here, take whatever beating Jack and his stupid minions have to offer him, and hope he can still drive home. Or, he can lock himself in one of the rooms in the hallway and hope they get bored.

He goes with the latter.

He spins on his heels and darts down the hallway, hearing the group trail behind him, and he jerks open the first door he sees, stumbling into the room and slamming the door closed behind him. He presses his shoulder into the door while fumbling with the doorknob, going to find a lock, and when he came up empty, feeling over the smooth knob without a single lock, he curses to himself and feels them push into the door. He looks around the room, seeing there was a door connecting the bedroom to another bathroom, and he runs towards it, only to close the door behind him in time to save himself from the group of pretentious pricks. He fastens the lock with his heart beating out of his chest and his eyes narrowed, having trouble seeing the tiny lock, but finally gets it and leans against the wall with a sigh.

He slides down the wall and bends his knees, sitting on the floor as Jack calls out his name from the other side of the door, and threads his fingers through his hair as he catches his breath. He looks around, letting the banging drown out, and with a curious mind, he reaches forward and opens the cabinet in search of toothpaste or mouthwash or anything that can make his mouth taste like something other than vomit. Thankfully he finds some purple mouthwash and takes a swig in his mouth, standing up off the floor while swishing it around, and as he hovers over the sink to spit it out, he curiously looks inside the cabinet behind the mirror.

Suddenly, an idea comes over him when his eyes take sight of the sharp razor blade sat on the ledge. He puts the mouthwash up and takes the blade in his hand, knowing Jack and his mongrels were still outside the door, and he had no desire to stay locked in there the entire night. So, with a newfound confidence and his mouth tasting of peppermint, he clutches the blade in his hand and lets the door swing open once unlocking it. Jack and his friends stood there, ready to jump him with clenched fists and eager looks in their eyes, but as soon as he raises the blade up, ready to use it, they all flinch.

    "Woah, woah, woah . . ." Jack breaths out, shocked that he would even hold the metallic weapon so tight in his fist, ready to use it on anyone who stepped any closer. "Ju-Just calm down, Styles. We're just messing with you—"

    "Back the fuck up." He grunts through gritted teeth, taking a step towards them, and as they do as he says with their hands held high, he thickly swallows and lets out a breath. In a haste moment of realization, he notices the power he has over them, gripping the blade in his hands and walking towards them, they walk backwards. Their muscles and social status alike, they're both rendered useless as he moves towards them, watching fear shine in their eyes as they stare at him. "You weren't messing with me, you were gonna beat the shit out of me—"

    "N-No, we weren't, Styles." Jack defends, though he doesn't believe him.

    "Right," He bitterly chuckles, "and why shouldn't I use this on you now? After all, I'm sure the moment I see you in the halls at school next week, you'll be back to teasing me and calling me a fucking dweeb—as if you couldn't pick a stupider name." He scoffs, shaking his head as Jack's adam's apple bobs up and down with his heavy swallow.

    "We'll go . . . alright? We won't talk to you again, ever." Jack promises, and while there was something enjoyable about holding the sharp blade to them, he knew the consequences he would have to deal with if blood stained the carpet of this bedroom. So he sighs and lets his grip on the blade loosen, only before he makes his way towards the door and quickly walks out, dropping the blade in the process.

With his bloodstream free of alcohol, sobered up from the terror of getting his ass kicked, he climbs into his mother's car and makes his way home, vowing to himself that he'll never go to a party again. He doesn't care about Cindy, or Jack and his buffoons of friends, or the alcohol, or the music, or the guy vomiting in the bathroom. He doesn't care, not one bit, but what he couldn't shake that entire ride home was the itch to hold a blade to someone like that again. The terror, the utter fear he saw in their eyes was something that put life inside of him, something he couldn't exactly explain.

When he arrives home, his parents are asleep and he makes his way up to his room, closing the door behind him while immediately stripping the sweat ridden clothes from his skin. He emerges into the bathroom, feeling the need to take a shower, and as he turns on the water, he waits for it to get warm as his eyes glance over to his glasses sat on the bathroom counter. He takes a couple of steps and picks them up, looking over the lenses that slowly fog up from the warming water, and in a haste decision, he drops them back on to the counter. He exits the bathroom and grabs the first textbook he can find, and without a second thought, he drops the heavy book on to the glasses, breaking them completely.

⟡

    "Shit."

He narrows his eyes again while taking the contact between his fingertips, letting it balance on the pad of his pointer finger, and with his other hand, he widens his eye. Putting contacts in was never easy for him, he gets squeamish when having to touch his eyes, but he knows it's something that has to happen and forces the lens into his eye anyways. That was until it slipped again, but this time, it fell past his hand and down the drain of his sink. He sighs, ready to punch the mirror in front of him, but opts to grab his spare pair of contacts instead. Once he's finally granted vision, he puts the contact case back in the cabinet and runs a hand through his hair, irritated he dropped one of his contacts down the sink—again—and makes his way out of his bathroom.

It was sunny today, but he could tell the weather was beginning to cool down with the end of September creeping up on him, so he gets dressed in a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, letting his mind fill with Josephine when noticing her perfume lingering in the sweatshirt he chose. He could have sworn he washed it, but let himself take a heavy inhale when slipping the thick cotton over his head, almost feeling glad that there was a part of her still woven in the material. He pushes his belt through the loops and kicks on his shoes that were sat by the door, and once he was ready for the day, he grabs his keys off the rack and exits through the garage.

As the door lifts slowly, he lets a smile curve over his lips when seeing her already stood by his bike, leaning against the seat with a jacket tugged over her arms—one of his jackets. It was a leather one, it cost him quite a bit of money, but he didn't care, liking how it looked on her better than how it felt on him. She smiles at him when noticing the garage door open, and as he walks towards her, she's quick to skip over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck while he greedily plants his open palms on the back of her legs. He picks her up and feels her lips smash on to his own, and with her legs squeezing his sides, he lets his tongue press against hers, tasting the bubblegum in her mouth that somehow gets moved to his own.

"Look so pretty today, kitten." He mumbles against her lips while chewing the piece of gum, and as she grins down at him, she kisses him once more before sliding down his body and moving to pick up her helmet from the floor of his garage. "Excited?" He asks as he grabs his own helmet, only to shove it underneath his arm while helping her put on her own.

"Yeah," She nods, letting her eyes met his for a split second until he looks down at the clasp and fastens it without nagging her precious skin. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Could've been better." He smirks at her, pressing his lips to her cheek before tugging on his own helmet and swinging his leg over the seat of the bike. "You? I know you've been spooked since . . . everything."

Everything was code for Celina Nelson being kidnapped from the bonfire, when she disappeared into the woods and was never seen again, and that was almost a week ago. Josephine was terrified, he remembered her coming to his house when her father was at work, crying with the most pitiful eyes he had ever seen, and he invited her in. She sat with him on the couch while he distracted her with movie reruns on the television, brushing her hair out of her face as soft hiccups erupted from her lips. But little did Josephine know, that the root of her fear was the one holding her tight, the one wiping her tears and keeping her safe from the dark she ran from.

It was almost amusing to him—almost.

"Last night was better." She tells him just before he turns on the bike, sending the engine roaring before he kicks up the stand and pulls out of the driveway. He feels her arms circle around his waist, squeezing at his flesh in a comforting manner as he drives down the street, and it was a feeling he never wanted to pass up—one he wouldn't care for in years past.

They had planned to use the weekend to their advantage and venture out of Chagrin Falls, to a nearby town where no one knew about the missing girl or the teenage boy that was accused of being a murderer. Derek was the prime suspect, the puzzle pieces were all there and the cops were putting together the picture, though the only missing one was solidified evidence connecting Derek to Celina and Kelley. He knew the moment he took care of Celina for good would have to be when the police let go Derek again, not wanting them to rid him as a suspect completely, and their second round of the seventy two hours was almost up. It was almost time.

But today wasn't about Celina, but about Josephine, and with her arms wrapped around him and her front pressed against his back, he was reminded of that. It was beginning to worry him, how much she made him feel compared to the rest of the people in the world, and he wasn't sure what he had to do about it. At first, he was attracted to her for her undoubted beauty, something everyone could recognize with a single glance, but now it was different. He liked hearing her voice, her perfume was the perfect scent, and her touch was otherworldly. He wasn't sure what made her different from the rest, why she had access to his control panel while others didn't even know where it was located, but he tried not to think about it too much as his bike came to a slow stop in front of a quaint diner.

He helps her off and undoes her helmet, setting it down beside his before they trail into the diner and sit in one of the booths. He orders an iced tea while she orders a strawberry milkshake, and once the waitress leaves them to look over the menu, he listens to her ramble on about how much her father has been working recently, though he has an inkling that she only feels this way because of Celina's disappearance. He listens though, and as the waitress returns with the tea and the shake, he snags a sip of her milkshake before she does as she scoffs, albeit he only winks at her with a smirk curved along his sweet tasting lips.

"You know what's right around the corner?" He asks her as she sips on her milkshake, and his question sends her brows raising, as if she was telling him to continue on. "A sex shop." His words send her choking for a split second, though once she recovers and he lets out an amused chuckle, she shakes her head at him.

"That's gross, Harry." She scowls at him, frowning with her brows pulled inward, though he knows she can't stay mad at him for too long.

"It's not gross, J. It's fun." He tells her with a smirk, "Ever been in one before?" He asks her, and with a shy look cast over her features, she shakes her head. "Then how do you know it's gross? If anything, I think you'll like it—"

"Are you calling me easy?" She asks him with her eyes narrowed, and with a ghost of a smile on her lips, he lets out a laugh and shakes his head.

"Never." He replies and reaches across the table for her face, but she's quick to move back, teasing him with a pout on her lips that sends him standing up and leaning towards her. She giggles loudly as he grabs her face in his hands, pulling her towards him as he bends down to finally press his lips against her own. "Try to dodge me again, kitten, see what happens." He jokingly threatens, and as she laughs once more, he kisses her lips again before sitting back down.

"Are you serious about the sex shop?"

"Yes." He replies and takes a sip of his iced tea, watching her cheeks redden as their waitress comes back around to take their order. He orders for the both of them as Josephine shyly sits across from him, and once the waitress takes their menus, they're left with their drinks and Josephine blushing cheeks from the mention of the sex shop. He can see why she might be a bit uncomfortable, she's shy by heart, but she hasn't stopped smiling to herself since he mentioned it, and he can't help but wonder if she's even had sex to begin with. "Are you a virgin, J?" He blurts out without a second thought, causing her eyes to widen before she looks around, as if she was making sure no one heard him.

"Harry, you can't just—"

"I'm just wondering." He shrugs, not seeing the big deal about asking if they were going to be involved with each other like that. "I mean, I think I would've figured it out eventually." He adds and watches her drop her face into her hands.

"I know, Harry, but you just . . ." She sighs, looking back at him with an annoyed look to her eyes. "Yeah, I am." She finally gives in with a mumble, grabbing her milkshake off of the table with a bit of attitude, but before she can move it, he grabs it too, letting their hands brush as he looks at her with intensity glimmering in his eyes.

"I was just asking, kitten, there's no need to get your precious panties in a twist." He tells her with his voice low, granting her silent wishes to speak quieter about this topic, and she still glares at him, but lets out a huff and pulls the shake from his loosened grasp. He sits back in the booth and decides to give her a minute, not wanting to watch her roll her eyes anymore and pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plucks one from the bunch. "I'll be back." Is all he says to her while standing from the booth and pressing a kiss to the side of her head, only to waltz out of the diner shortly after to get a breath of fresh air he can quickly pollute with nicotine.

He smokes the cigarette, but quickly grows bored of it, crushing it beneath the sole of his shoe before walking back inside to see that Josephine had disappeared. He assumes she went to the bathroom and sits back down, stealing another sip of her shake, and shortly after their food comes out. He orders another shake for her and a chocolate one for himself, and by the time the waitress walks away, Josephine comes back from the bathroom and seems to be happier than before. He genuinely didn't understand why asking her that was so mortifying when just a week ago she was grinding against him on the hood of his car, but he doesn't bring it up again and lets her take one of his french fries off of his plate.

"Good?" He asks her when she takes a bite of the sandwich on her plate, and as she nods her head, he nods his own and takes a bite of the burger he ordered. "Wanna try it?" He asks her and she shakes her head, but offers her sandwich, he can't pass up, causing her to giggle under her breath as he takes a bite.

Once they were done eating and paid the tab, they decided to walk around the small city and fell upon the sex shop he mentioned, one that sent her into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. On the exterior, she was all shy grins and bashful laughs, but deep down, he knew she was intrigued as fuck. She stayed next to him the whole time, looking around with wide and wondrous eyes at the walls of toys that had come a long way from the last time he entered a sex shop, though he has every intention on getting something. Hopefully something to use on Josephine if he was lucky.

"C'mon, kitten, it's not that taboo. You just aren't used to being with someone who talks about it with you." He mumbles to her as she leans into him, "You know what this is?" He asks her, pointing to one of the many vibrators hung along the wall, and poor Josephine didn't have a single clue.

"No." She replies and he smirks, because while it was enjoyable to be with someone else who was experienced and knew their limits, it was way more of a trip to be with someone who was fresh, someone who needed to explore and be taught certain things. Josephine barely knew the difference between a dildo and a vibrator, which was amusing to him, but he tried his best to not tease her too hard for it. "What is it?"

    "It's a vibrator." He tells her, "Most girls use it and put it on their clit—"

    "What's that?" She asks him cluelessly, causing his eyes to slightly widen in response, but he tries to keep his shock to a minimum so she doesn't feel bad. He can't believe that Derek never touched her, that he didn't at least eat her out or some shit like that, but it only gives him the greater chance to open up that door for her himself.

    "It's a part of your kitten, kitten." He says to her and let's his eyes move around the shop, seeing that the rest of the customers were on the other side of the store. "I can show you, if you want me to . . ." He offers with a smirk curved over his lips, and with an indecisive look to her eyes, she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth before nodding her head. "Yeah?" He muses, causing her head to nod again.

    "Only you, though."

    "Well, yeah only me." He replies with a scoff, "I think I'd rip someone's head if off they ever tried to—"

    "Okay, okay. That's enough, you crazy." She cuts in with a laugh, shaking her head at him while running a hand down his chest, only does her smile fall when he reaches towards the wall to grab one of the packaged vibrators, serious about wanting to get one. "Harry, no—"

    "Josephine, yes." He devilishly smiles, pressing a kiss to her temple before picking out a pink one that matched the color of her lips."Anything else you want, J?"

    "Absolutely not."

    "C'mon, don't be like that." He chuckles, hooking his arm around the back of her neck while walking towards the front to check out, "You'll be thanking me later, I promise." He whispers to her before he greets the clerk working the cash register. He pays for the toy and walks out with her hand in his own, the bag in the other, and does his best to keep himself from thinking about what Josephine will look like from the perspective of his head between her legs.

Heavenly, is the only word he can think of, but his train of thought comes to a halt when Josephine stops walking and yanks him back with their hands clasped together. He looks to where her attention has been stolen, and without any warning, she's pulling him across the street and towards the boutique calling her name. He sighed to himself, but gave in, knowing he dragged her into that sex store—despite his beliefs of her secretly enjoying it. Shopping like this was something he dreaded with a heavy passion, wanting nothing more than to be sliced open and stuffed like a dead moose head than to shop, but for some reason, he couldn't let his aggravation transfer past his lips.

They don't stay in the quaint boutique for very long, Josephine didn't like anything, but that didn't stop her from leaving with a wide grin while bidding the woman behind the counter a goodbye. Money was never an issue for him, despite working at Paulson's and refusing to get new shoes sometimes, because with a steady inheritance from his dead grandparents, he was able to live the way he wanted, and if Josephine wanted everything in that damn boutique, he was ready and able with his card in his hand. But he didn't like people knowing about it, he assumes his car and rented house say enough for him, and he was thankful Josephine hadn't asked about it, not really wanting to give a story time.

"Can we go back now?" She asks him with a subtle pout to her lips, "I'm tired of walking."

"'course." He nods and watches her faintly smile, leaning in to him as they walk along the cracked pavement. They make it back to his bike with ease and he goes to help her put her helmet on, though she tries to do it herself this time while he puts the bagged vibrator under the seat, and with her attempt comes a small whimper when her skin gets snagged in the clasp. "Kitten, why didn't you wait?"

"You looked preoccupied, I don't know." She whines in a mumble as he goes to help her, making sure she didn't accidentally cut herself, and when he sees that her skin was only red, he presses a kiss to her lips and tugs his own helmet on.

It wasn't until halfway home does he feel Josephine's hands move along his front, sneaking underneath the thick hem of his sweatshirt, and while he assumes she's going to greedily run her fingertips along the skin of his stomach, she goes the opposite direction. His smirk falters, and with his heart pounding in his chest, he nearly stops breathing when she runs her fingers over the band of his underwear. He isn't sure what she's intending on doing, if she's thinking properly or understands the power he has over both of their lives, but she never goes any lower, only fiddling with the band of his underwear like the teasing little minx she was. See, she could blush and hide in his side all she wanted, but he knows her, he sees right through her for what she really is.

She's perfectly made for him.

When he pulls into his drive way, he's quick to grab her wrist before she can retract her hand from his touch, and with the engine cut off and her front pressed into his back, he can practically feel her heavy breath shuddering against his neck. Just the idea of Josephine's hand creeping into his underwear alone has him on the verge of losing his composure, but he swallows thickly and reminds himself of his surroundings, the situation, and the girl that the wandering hand belongs to. Josephine was eager, he knew that much, but he didn't feel right letting her close when she barely knew herself that much.

"'m still convinced you have a death wish, J." He tells her, fighting against every urge to guide her hand lower and lower, but finally lets her retract from him, only after her pulls her hand up to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to her knuckles. He lets her get off first and swings of his legs over the seat once she was off, only he stays sitting down while she stands between his legs, letting him undo the clasp to her helmet before taking it off of her. She does the same to him as he sets the helmet down beside him on the seat, telling himself he'll put it in the garage when he gets up, and as she pulls his helmet off of his head, he lets his hands slide down her waist and around to her ass with a subtle squeeze. "Wanna come inside?" He asks her with a grin growing on his lips and with a sheepish smile, she nods her head.  

"Only for a little bit, though. I promised Alice I'd sleep over at her place tonight, she swears you're a kidnapper or something with how much time we spend together." She tells him and he chuckles, kissing her once more with his hands spread across the back pockets of her jeans before picking up both of the helmets to take inside.

He hands Josephine one of the helmets to carry as he opens the seat to the bike, grabbing the bagged sex toy out from inside before shutting it and following her up to the front door. Having someone else inside his house feels like a fever dream sometimes, solely because he has grown so used to being in the house by himself, but when Josephine steps inside, everything seems to be much more vibrant, like a home rather than a house. She rarely comes over, only when she's scared and her father is at work, but this was different, especially with her nonchalant ways of teasing him.

"Want something to drink, J?" He asks her as she kicks off her shoes and he does the same, "You can have whatever you want, I'm not stiff or anything."

"No, I'm okay." She replies politely, but follows him into the kitchen and quickly changes her mind when seeing strawberry soda sat in his fridge. Her sudden change of heart sends him laughing under his breath when pouring the carbonated soda into a glass of ice, and once she takes it, leaned against the kitchen counter with his leather jacket folded over the back of one of the chairs at the table, he grabs a bottle of beer and undoes the cap with his teeth. "Oh, Harry, that can't be good for your teeth." Josephine grimaces when he drops the bottle cap on the counter and he shrugs.

"That isn't either." He says, nodding his head towards her soda, and she rolls her eyes, but takes another sip before setting the glass down on the counter. "I'd much rather have something else between my teeth, though . . ." He trails off with a smirk, watching a glimpse of confusion flash across her face before it clicks, sending her cheeks bright red and her eyes wide.

"Harry—"

"Don't Harry me . . . as if your hand wasn't in my pants just ten minutes ago." He teases her, and instead of harboring the same, bashful look she typically sports when he gets flirty with her, she lets her lips curve into a smirk as she shrugs her shoulders. "What does that mean?" He asks her and mimics her shrug with a playful smile on his lips.

"C'mon, let's go sit in the living room." Is all she says to him before she grabs her glass of strawberry soda with one hand and pulls him behind her with the other. He lets her pull him along with his beer in the other hand, cold from the fridge, and he's quick to set it down on his coffee table before sitting down, not wanting it to spill. "You ever read any of these?" She asks him, referring to the books set out on the coffee table, and he shakes his head, causing her to gently chuckle. 

"They're for decoration, J." He reasons with a quick roll of his eyes, but as he notices the space of couch cushion between them, he can't keep himself from reaching for her, wrapping his arm around her waist with his hand cupping her side in order to pull her closer to him. That was until she reached for the television remote and turned on the T.V., flicking through the channels until landing on MTV, which was playing a song she clearly liked as she begins to mumble the lyrics. His eyes roam over the title and the artist, reading that it was So Alive by Love and Rockets, a song he knew vaguely, but he enjoyed the light in Josephine's eyes when hearing it much more than the actual tune itself. "You like this song?" He asks her and watches her head whip around to face him.

"Yeah," She nods, "do you?"

"It's alright—I like you way more." He tells her with a grin, sitting up from the couch with one hand pressed into the back cushion and the other resting on her knee. She smiles, letting her eyes flicker between his own and his lips, and as he kisses her, he slowly moves his hand up her leg and she doesn't stop him. She rests one of her hands on his jaw, the other moves to the side of his neck, and as his lips move against her own, he grabs her waist with both hands before pulling her on top of him. "Kitten . . ." He breaths out as her legs straddle his waist, knowing he's on some thin fucking ice, albeit with her hands cupping the back of his neck and her lips ghosting over his own, she gives in to his touch. "you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"Mhmm," She nods her head as her eyes shift to meet his curious gaze, "please? I-I'm curious and . . . well, Derek never did any of that stuff with me—I never really wanted to—but with you . . . with you, I do." She stammers and stutters, clearly nervous about approaching him, and despite her hesitation, he was enthralled to know she felt secure enough to say that and be honest about it.

"You sure, J?" He asks her with a serious gaze, watching her nod her head eagerly with her fingers threading through the ends of his hair. "You can always say no, whether it be now, or in five minutes, or whenever you want to."

"Okay," She nods her head in understanding, still looking visibly nervous as she looks between his eyes. "I trust you." She tells him and he believes her, knowing she wouldn't do half the shit she did if she didn't trust him, but it makes him smile before he leans in to kiss her. She kisses him back with the same passion he brings, moving closer to him as his hands grip her sides once slipping underneath her shirt. Her skin is warm, as soft as could be in a velvety way as he moves his hands around to the front of her stomach, where the button of her jeans remains fastened and he's aching to take them off.

"Can I?" He asks her with his fingers running over the metallic button, looking up into her eyes as she meets his gaze with a nod. "Don't be nervous, J. I've seen your underwear before, remember?" He teases, trying to take the edge off, and she nervously giggles while he undoes the button and pulls the zipper down, revealing her petal pink panties with a small bow at the front.

Fuck.

He feels her wriggle off of his lap to stand on her own two feet, letting her jeans fall down her legs as she pushes them off, and as she leaves them on the ground, he doesn't hesitate to pull her on top of him again, desparate to feel her skin. Her lips attach to his as his hands glide down her smooth legs, bare from the hem of her ankle socks and to the lining of her underwear, and he wants to explore it all. He can already feel himself growing hard within his jeans, but he's internally vowed to himself that this was about Josephine, about showing her how good she can feel with the intense vulnerability. He could wait another day to have her touch him, so he'll survive. 

"Ha-Harry . . ." She mumbles against his lips, moving back from him with a glint of panic in her eyes that he wants nothing more than to soothe. "Is it—umm, is it okay if I keep my underwear on?"

"Anything you want, kitten, you can have it." He tells her with the upmost confidence, reaching up to move her hair behind her ear as she bashfully smiles and nods her head. "And I can still make you feel good with your underwear on, you know that, right?" She doesn't use her words, but nods her head once more before leaning in to kiss him again.

His hands move from her sides to the bare skin of her ass, gripping at her flesh as if he was worried she would evaporate into thin air without a death grip, and she didn't do anything except kiss him harder. She smelt so good, like lavender and heaven, and it was as if he couldn't pull her close enough to appease his need for her. A whimpered moan tumbles from her lips and into his mouth when he feels her rock her hips against him, almost as if she was shocked by the feeling, and he genuinely couldn't believe Derek was with her for so long and deprived her of one of life's greatest gifts: an orgasm.

"Wanna try out the new toy we got? I'll be gentle, I promise. I think you'll like it." He tells her with a smirk curved over his lips, looking up into her vibrant eyes, and she thinks for a moment, but ultimately nods her head with an enticed glimmer to her gaze. "Be a good girl and go get it, yeah? 's in the kitchen." He asks her, pressing a quick, sloppy kiss to her cheek before she climbs off of him and disappears into the kitchen where he left the bag.

Moments later she waltzes back into the living room with the bag in her hand, handing it to him like it was a ticking time bomb, and he couldn't keep himself from chuckling. He opens the packaging with ease and puts in the batteries it thankfully came with, and she sat beside him, knees tucked underneath her with wondrous eyes and a blush to her cheeks. He looks over at her when feeling her stare on him, catching her gaze and winks as he closes the battery compartment with a click. He's never had to be as careful as he had to be now, knowing she's sensitive and unsure of what to expect, which is a fatal combination when with the wrong people. Thankfully, he knew how to be the right person and hoped that he could take her edge off.

"Lay down, kitten." He tells her and watches her do as he said, lying down on the couch as he turns to sit in front of her legs, "If you don't like something, just tell me, okay? I'll stop." He adds and watches her nod with her bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

With a gentle hand, he runs his palm up her leg before moving it to the inside of her thigh to push her legs open. He presses his lips into the skin of her inner thigh, looking up at her through his lashes to see her eyes on him with a curious look to them. He smiles, it's hard not to, and as he moves his hand to the cloth of her underwear with a subtle amount of presses, he watches as she releases her bottom lip and quietly gasps from the feeling. He uses his thumb to rub tight circles into her underwear, starting off slow and steady, easing her into the pool of pleasure that he's hoping she'll want to swim in more often.

"Feel good, kitten?" He asks and watches her nod her head with a heavy breath, letting her brows crease as his pace quickens against her. "Good . . ." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to her thigh once more as he moves his fingers up and down her clothed center. He can feel her warmth through her underwear and wants nothing more than to get a good taste, but he tells himself to wait and grabs the vibrator from his lap before turning it on. The sound sends her flinching, as if she wasn't sure what a vibrator even was, and he didn't put it past her.

"O-Oh, my . . ." She gasps as soon as he places the toy on her, hearing her breathing pick up as she lets her eyes flicker between his gaze and the cloth of her underwear. He smirks, seeing her already feel the euphoria course through her from the lowering of her eyelids and she moans. She lets her head tilt back before looking back down, gripping the side of his couch with white knuckles as her hips jerk from the feeling.

"Like it, J?" He asks her and watches her feverishly nod her head as he moves the vibrator along her center, wishing he could see her in her most vulnerable state, but he waits. "Knew you fucking would, gonna do it more often, right?"

"Mhmm, yeah . . ." She breaths out with a nod, "Oh, my God, Harry—" She moans out, and the sound of his name coming from her lips like that nearly sent him coming in his underwear without a single touch, but he keeps his composure and focuses on making her come. He decides to change the position, wanting to show her as much as he could without pushing her too far, so he retracts the vibrator from her warmth and watches her brows tug inward with frustration.

"Relax, kitten, just wanna switch it up." He tells her, pressing one more kiss to her skin, but this time it's on the lower part of her stomach before pushing himself upright. "Lean over the back of the couch, yeah? On your knees, it'll feel good as fuck, I swear." He says and she doesn't ask a single question, only nodding her head and doing as he says with her forearms pressed into the back of the couch. He moves behind her, reaching between her legs to run his hand over her clothed center that's more sensitive now than before.

He pushes the vibrator into her clit and feels her body shudder from the feeling, and while he knows she won't last much longer like this, he takes in the sight as much as he can. She's stunning, everyone knows that, but with her ass in the air and her back slightly arched, he can't help himself from tattooing the sight into the back of his eyelids, just in case he forgets one day. Her moans echo throughout his living room with ease, sounding more heavenly than any song playing on the television, and he's absolutely enamored by the sight.

When he feels her body begin to twitch underneath his touch and underneath the buzzing vibrator, he knows she's close to her climax. She whimpers and cries, pushing herself into him as he uses his other hand to smooth over the skin of her ass. He wants nothing more than to pull her underwear to the side and flatten his tongue against her arousal, to taste her sweetness from this angle instead of from her lips, but he doesn't want to push his boundaries. A cry falls from her lips as she reaches her high, twitching and jerking against him as he smiles down at her, wishing he could watch her go on like this forever.

    "Good girl, kitten, it feels so good, doesn't it?" He asks her while leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek, only to remove the vibrator from her when she calms down and turns it off. He tosses it to the side of the couch before pull her to him, pressing his lips to her own as heavy breaths flow from her nose, and she smiles, breaking the kiss as he opens his eyes to look at her. "What?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head, kissing him once more before pulling away and standing on her feet. "I should go. Alice's probably gonna call soon." She tells him while reaching down for her jeans on the floor.

"Is that all I am to you, kitten? A booty call?" He teases her with his hands folded behind his head, leaning into the couch while watching her get dressed again.

"Bite me." She says and rolls her eyes while tugging her jeans up her legs and fastening the button. "I'll see you soon?" She asks him, as if he could really stay away from her now, and he nods his head before reaching for her. He hooks his fingers through the loops of her jeans to pull her into him, sitting on the edge of the couch while quickly pulling her face down to his own for a kiss.

"Bye, kitten." He tells her, and finally lets her go as she passes through the front door and shuts it softly behind her.

He lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair, left with MTV playing on his television and a girl in his basement that he needs to do something about. From his prior knowledge, he knows that Derek should be let out from the police station any minute now, knowing their hours to question him were up, and they couldn't hold him any longer—which was just perfect for him. So he pushes himself up from the couch and turns off the television, dropping the remote on to the coffee table where Josephine's strawberry soda was, along with his half empty beer. He downs the rest of the beer and carries the bottle and glass of soda to the kitchen, disposing of both of them before turning off the lights and heading towards the basement.

The stairs creak slightly as he walks down, shutting the door behind him, and as he turns on the lights, he sees that she's asleep. That didn't shock him, but once he walked past her and to the boombox sat on the counter, he quickly turns it on and cranks the volume, which sends her body jerking up with consciousness and a harsh gasp. He smirks, chuckling to himself while watching her look around, as if she was hoping to be woken up in her bed at home.

Sadly, that was not the case.

"Morning, Celina!" He shouts over the music as she tugs against the restraints, something she does every time he walks down into the basement, though he doesn't know why she keeps trying, it's clearly useless, he has her in there good. Her wrists were raw from the rope, her cheeks shiny from her refreshing tears and running makeup, and with her mouth covered with duct tape, her cries are muffled—thank God. This one was far more annoying than Kelley. "What? You don't like this song?" He asks her as Ozzy Osbourne's Flying High Again blares through the speakers. His question only makes him laugh to himself as he shakes his head and tugs a pair of gloves over his hands.

He mumbles the lyrics to himself as he ignores Celina's attempts to free herself, knowing it's no use while he lets his eyes graze over the vast array of cutlery. He purses his lips, picking one of the shorter knives with a sharper edge, and turns to face Celina, which only sends her into an even crazier frenzy when seeing the knife in his hand. Her midriff was bare, apart from her bra and the necklace hung around her neck, and a small incision had already been made before, but had scabbed over with a slight infection. He didn't give a damn, and clutched the handle of the knife in his hand with a sense of familiarity.

"Today's the day, Celina." He tells her, letting the blade drag over her cheek gently before she jerks away from him and ends up cutting her cheek. He sighs, shaking his head while wiping away the seeping blood with the pad of his thumb before wiping it against her bra. "Moron . . . anyway, today's a big day for us—my favorite day with you so far, I think." He reaches for the duct tape around her mouth and pulls it off, letting her breath heavily and scream until she grows tired of it. "Are you done now?" He dully asks her as she shakes.

"You . . ." Celina swallows thickly while trying to catch her breath, "You're the one who killed Kelley."

"Look at you . . . maybe you're not as stupid as I thought you were." He chuckles and taps the blade against her nose, "Now, you are an idiot for being an asshole to one of the sweetest people on the planet, that I do know."

"Josephine?" Celina scoffs, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe it, "She knew what she was getting in to when she decided to be known as Derek Randolph's girlfriend. She's not stupid and the guy's a total prick—" Her words get cut off as he whips his hand around and uses the back of it against her cheek.

"You're a bitch, Celina," He tells her without any fun, no amusement and a dull look to his eyes, "and bitches deserve to die." His words send her crying, screaming for help, thrashing against the rope tied around her wrists and ankles, though it does nothing but annoy him.

So he stabs her.

A blood curdling scream falls from her lips like the blood dripping down her skin, and as he drags the blade through her flesh, she cries even harder, pleading for him to stop, though it's clearly too late for that now. The blade is plunged into her chest, near her heart to the right a little bit, just like it is every time. Her screams slowly dull, the pain becomes too much for her, and by the time she stops screaming and lets her head fall to the side, he's left with blaring rock music and blood drenched gloves.

"Fucking finally," He mutters to himself when Celina stops screaming and with a deep gash in her chest, he removes the knife and grabs another one, a shorter one for more precise work. The song changes, KISS's Heaven's On Fire plays within the basement and he nods his head to the beat, all while he gets a glance at Celina's slowly beating heart. "Feel my heat . . . takin' you higher . . . burn with me . . . heaven's on fire," He mumbles the lyrics before letting out a grunt, cutting at her arteries and ligaments and tendons that hold her heart in place.

In one final pull, he reaches into the girl's chest and feels her heart slowly beat in his palm, only before ripping it out from her body and leaving her as dead as a fucking doornail. He lets out a breath, looking over her motionless body with her front drenched in ruby red blood, and with her heart still thumping in his hand, he swallows and uses his clean forearm to push his hair back from hanging in his eyes. Celina's heart was much harder to rip out than Kelley's was, though they were both the worst kind of teenage girls, which made the guilt transparent to him.

He didn't feel bad at all, knowing the most she would ever accomplish is getting first in the carpool line while picking up her snotty kids from school, so as he drops her heart on the plastic covered table, he moves to grab the rubbing alcohol and looks over at her lifeless body. He smirks to himself, feeling the same buzz he does every time he's left with the aftermath, and goes to clean up the mess he made.

⟡

so uhh ... any questions?