I stood outside the large, mahogany wooden doors of the library, staring at them as if they held some sort of answer for what was to come. I wasn't quite sure how long I had been standing here, staring at doors, but it was certainly long enough to be thought odd by anyone who may have been watching me.
Thankfully, no one had yet to come by this hall and catch me in my oddity.
I admittedly felt nervous. I wasn't usually a nervous person. I always knew my place in a crowd, or with other people. Spoken or not, I had an edge over them. It was something I never consciously acknowledged before this moment, but it had always been there. And now, as I stood here, I realized; my edge over Harry Styles was questionable.
He had thrown me completely off my game in our earlier encounter that morning. I had gone to him feeling confident and sure that he would be like any other male. Easily manipulated. I realize this is quite cocky of me, but that was my experience with the opposite sex thus far. With the exception of those older than myself, such as Ford or my Grandad, all men were the same. Distracted by charm and a pretty face. And I had both.
But, I learned quickly, Harry seemed immune to those traits. He was immediately no nonsense, launching in to his expectations of our time to come together. I didn't know how to respond to him, as I had never been spoken to so directly, without pretenses or games. Games were all I knew. My life, at times, was one big game.
I had spent the entire time between that first meeting, and now, pouring over every detail of the encounter. How he had looked at me. What he had said. I tried to pick him apart, trying to find a weakness or way to sway him. The harder I thought, the more frustrated I got. And the more frustrated I got, the more my head hurt.
I refused to give up my plan, however. He was on my turf. This was my home, my life. This was my reality, not his. I had to remember that I knew the ropes of Royal life. He didn't. Regardless of what control he felt he had, or had been granted him by the courts, this was still my world. And I ruled it.
The little pep talk only half helped as I finally pushed off my bed, trudging down to the library for my afternoon meeting with Harry. He said he wanted to go over what was to come, and what we could expect from each other. So far, all I knew I could expect from him was a challenge. And I was not fond of challenges.
Finally, after my third deep, cleansing breath, I pushed open one of the doors and stepped inside.
As I knew I would, I found Harry easily. He was seated on one of the plus sofas, still in his jeans and t-shirt. His long hair was wavy, falling over his face as he leaned forward, scanning pages he had set on the table in front of him.
Hearing my entrance, he looked up.
"Hello there," he greeted with a smile. It was a friendly, unguarded smile, which should set me at ease. But all it did was make me want to decipher it. As if it was merely a ploy. A trick to make me comply.
"Hello," I responded, stepping up to the couch along with him. Sitting at the opposite end, I turned to him expectantly, folding my hands in my lap. My back was straight, my posture perfect. Years of training made it so natural to me to sit this way. My friends would laugh, but they didn't understand. I had been literally schooled in this tiny aspect from an early age.
I watched Harry as he collected the pages in front of him. He seemed so relaxed, so completely at ease. Should he be at least a little nervous? I was fucking anxious as hell, and I lived here. I knew my role. He should be unsure, coming in to my life, expecting resistance. And yet, he seemed so completely calm as if this was nothing to him.
But it was everything to me.
"Shall we get started?" he finally asked, angling his body to face me.
"Of course,"
Handing me a few pages, Harry started.
"Let me start off by saying, I understand this isn't something you like,"
I had to stop myself from snorting. Well, at least he wasn't stupid.
"No one wants to have someone else over their shoulder, observing their every action. Especially at your age. So let me say now that I want to try to be as respectful and supportive in this as I can be, and limit my intrusion in to your life."
Great, then how about you just leave now? I thought.
"Thank you," was what I said.
"In saying that, you need to be clear on my responsibilities. I will be overseeing your spending, as it has been noted as an area of concern. There is a lot of frivolous transactions," he said, pulling up a page. I didn't see the whole thing, but I could tell it was my bank transactions. What the fuck!? He had my banking summary? "I get that you have a lot of money, Charlotte. But that doesn't mean you should be wasteful. Your family has asked me to try and curb this habit, and I have agreed."
My blood was already boiling, and I knew my face was probably turning pink in anger. But I kept calm, and said nothing.
"Mainly," he continued. "My role is to help you avoid risky behaviors. Clubs, bars, drinking and the like. Your increase in the party lifestyle has been well documented, and I was aware of it and you even before I was approached to take this case. You are getting more and more reckless, and it needs to be addressed."
Case? He was again acting like I was a fucking troubled child needing a stern handling. Im sure that was how he saw me, but that was not what I was. I was an adult, who was being railroaded by her family and a judge!
Harry paused, watching me intently. I bit the inside of my lip, trying to keep calm.
Finally, he smirked.
"You're fuming, aren't you?"
I balked. "Excuse me?"
"You're angry," he said confidently. "Everything I have said so far, you have gotten redder and redder in the face. You are about to bite a hole through your lip in a moment."
I said nothing.
"Remember what I said earlier," he sighed. "I will be honest with you in all things. But I need you to do the same. If you have feelings or questions about this, I need to hear them."
I snorted. "I doubt you want to hear my thoughts right now."
This caused him to smirk. "Try me."
"They aren't very kind," I pressed.
"Im tougher than you think."
I took a deep breath, and let it all out.
"How the hell do you think you are to come in here and control my spending?" I blurted. "Yes, I spend more than the average. But I also have more than the average. I like nice things, but I am expected to be seen out and about at countless events and charities. Yes, I don't need it all. But who does?"
Harry said nothing.
"But more so, who are you to come in here and tell me my life is reckless? I go to clubs, like everyone else my age. I go to bars and drink, like everyone else my age. How the hell is my behavior different and reckless, when they are just normal nineteen year olds? Why is it that I get an adult babysitter, and everyone else can be normal."
Harry moved to open his mouth to respond, but I cut him off quickly. Now that I was talking, I couldn't seem to stop.
"And further more, what the hell qualifications do you have to control me like this? Reading in books about troubled youth and how to guide them? You know nothing about me. You know nothing about my life!"
By the time I was finished, my voice had raised to a shout. I hadnt realized it until I stopped, and immediately sat back slightly in my seat. Harrys face had remained impassive, merely observant of my rant, letting me finish without interruption.
"Are you finished?" he asked coolly.
Okay, now Im fucking pissed.
This time, as I opened my mouth to respond in a not so kind retort, he interrupted me.
"First off, as I said, I realize you have money. But that doesn't mean you have to be wasteful. And you are, Charlotte. You throw money around as though it has no meaning. And that may be nothing to you now, but for someone who seems to want to be 'normal' as much as you do, that is a reality to all 'normal' people. They don't get to buy Yves Saint Laurent shoes or purses on a whim. They have to think about what they spend, and where the money is coming from. And that is something you desperately need to learn."
"Secondly, your reckless lifestyle has been well documented, as I mentioned. It is not me saying this or making this judgment. It is the media, the public, and quite frankly, the law. You drove drunk, hit a tree, and almost killed yourself and others. That is reckless in its purest definition. So to question me on how I would deem your behavior as reckless and your choices as careless, I point to that one example as the tip of the iceberg."
I again opened my mouth to respond, but Harry's voice came out.
"And finally, I have much more experience with dealing with people with your issues than reading about it in books. More than you will ever know."
When he finished, he sat back just as I had. But where I had raised my voice, letting my own emotions, anger and frustration show, Harry still seemed completely unfazed. He regarded me with the same calm composure has he had the moment I walked in, as if everything I had said had meant nothing.
He was so fucking confusing!
After a moments silence, he spoke again.
"Do you feel better now?"
"What?"
"Now that you got your resentment off your chest, do you feel any better for it?" he repeated curiously.
Oh, Harry. If you think that was the whole of my resentment, you know nothing of me.
"Yes," I lied.
"Good," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Shall we continue?"
Over the next forty five minutes, I was given paperwork outline Harrys expectations of me, what I could expect from him, what his role was and the like. It all made me more and more angry, but I was much more careful of my display than I had been before my outburst. I would be damned if I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he upset me. How easily he got to me, and how quickly.
He expected me to appear at my required engagements without coercing. He expected me to behave appropriately at such functions, although admitted from his knowledge I was quite professional with respect to my duties. This portion of his expectations was completely quickly because of that.
I was on a fifty quid a day budget, something that put a sour taste in my mouth. He said if I wanted to spend nothing every day, and save that money towards something of a higher price, that was fine. That was what 'normal' people did. His frequent reference to 'normal' and 'normalcy' was irritating. Mainly because it hit so close to what I really felt. How I thought. My deep routed desire to be that; normal. I hated that this stranger seemed to know that, and used it to his advantage.
I was forbidden from attending my usual hang outs; clubs, bars and the like. I was also not allowed to have contact with this involved in the accident, partly due to their 'influence' and partly due to the courts. They didn't want us conversing about the case and our respective sentences. I was allowed to go out once a month to a pre approved place, with Harrys accompaniment.
He was to come with me to all events, functions and outings. We were to have weekly meetings to discuss my progress. He was expected to pass reports forward to the judge, and said he would allow me to review these reports if I so choose.
My expectations of him were simple; honesty, and fairness. He would always tell me why he felt something was wrong or a poor choice, and would always try to give me alternatives.
"Im not here to say no all the time," he told me. "Which is why there is almost always something else you can have or do instead of the negative choice. It is a matter of finding out what that is, and agreeing on it. And, eventually, feeling that you can make that decision, rationally, on your own."
I hated how he spoke to me like I was a child. Like he was a psychiatrist, and I was a head case. It drove me crazy, and despite the fact he was being quite fair, and surprisingly nice to me, trying to find mediums and mediation with me, it only seemed to increase my annoyance.
By the end of our meeting my head was spinning, pounding, and I had a stack of papers.
"Do you have any further questions for me?" he asked, setting his own papers on the table."
Before I could stop myself, I answered him.
"I do,"
He leaned back expectantly.
"Why do you do this?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, why this?" I repeated. "Why is your job coming in to the lives of people like me, and fixing it. Like an emotional housekeeping service. Straightening everything in our heads to make it in order. Adjusting our behavior to the status quo. Why do it?"
Harry paused, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth.
"Long answer, or short answer?" he finally responded.
I wanted to know the long, if I was being honest. Despite how much he bothered me, irked me and infuriated me in the short time I had known him, he also intrigued me. He was charming, in a comparative way to me. He was soft spoken, but also firm handed. He was a proverbial saint with ripped jeans and tattoos.
But I opted for the latter.
"Short,"
His face was completely impassive, his green eyes regarding me without emotion.
"Because I wish I had had someone to do this for me, when I was you."