Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars

HARRY

Her dark eyes, messy curls, and pale skin are embedded into my mind. They way her face fell when I told her that one simple word, no, would never leave my memory. It was engrained there, setting up camp, and claiming it it's home.

It wasn't that I was a bad guy. A bad boy. I fucking hated that term. Did I enjoy a cigarette, the burning taste of whisky and the occasional fight? Sure as hell I did. Do I like to have sex? With that question, I ask you this: do birds fly? That answer would be fucking yes, dip-shit. Of course I'd enjoy the occasional fuck with the drunken, lonely girl that would linger after hours at the bar. But a bad boy? That I was not. My unhealthy adoration towards small kittens automatically disqualified me from fully owning that title. I'd also much rather hang out at that shitty bookstore than get into more shit with people who had no plans for their lives. I didn't need any more problems in my life anyways.

I was simply one thing: an asshole. I didn't give two shits what people thought or said to me. Their opinions were worthless to me. I already knew I was a screw up. My mommy-daddy issues could attest to that. The opinions of the morons that surrounded me couldn't change what I already knew.

But even though I knew I was an asshole, the thought of being one to Isabella disgusted me. She was the only person that I wanted to be nice too. That thought alone was simply why I couldn't let Isabella in. I knew that I'd eventually hurt her. Knowing that I already scared her was enough to hold me back from giving her what she wanted. And for some fucked up reason, she wanted to get to know me. If she wanted a cheesy romance, she could go to Chase. That asshole was so in deep for her it was purely disgusting. He was practically drooling just looking at her.

Little did he know that she wanted me. Silly girl.

I quickly rushed out of her apartment, not bothering to look back. The bitter summer breeze cut through my plaid shirt. Shit, my jacket. Izzy still had my damn jacket. "Fucking shit." I quickly patted my jeans, sighing in relief once I realized I had my keys and wallet on me.

I ran over to my beat up station wagon and jumped inside it. I quickly sped off towards Ben's prestige apartment,. I fucking hated it. It was massive and wreaked of wealth. Our lovely mother's new husband had bought Ben this apartment, a way to buy his affection.

The moron.

He tried to buy me one too, but I said no. Actually, to quote, I said "Fuck no." I didn't need his pity money. That was why I left their stupid mansion in the first place.

The guy was a fucking idiot. My mother was just the same. They really deserved each other.

-

The bright light of the morning sun cut through the thin curtains, blinding me in my wake. I cursed myself for not shutting it before I fell asleep.

As I rolled to my side, the excruciating pain of last night's previous night's activities hit me hard. Working at the bar had it's perks. Being able to drink on the job was one of them. Having rough sex in the back room was another. Mandy, or was it Mindy, fuck, what was her name again? Whoever she was, I couldn't help but wonder if she was as sore as I said she'd be. I smirked to myself as I thought about the way her tiny hands wrapped around my neck as I pounded into her against the back of the Employee's Only door.

Fuck.

I looked at the clock, reading the time. It was already twenty after ten in the morning. I had a good forty minutes until I had to be at the bookstore.

Granted, I didn't have to be there. But for some reason, I found myself there every day at the same time. It was the only place, even though it was cramped and ridiculously disorganized, that I felt at peace. I'm sure Izzy helps too.

Isabella. My heart sped up at the mere thought of her name. I pushed the unwanted feelings down. I didn't need to distract myself with another girl. Unless I was rocking into them at the back of the bar, women had no interest to me. Sure that was an asshole thing to say, but did I care? No. Quite frankly, I didn't.

Women were ruthless and so was love. I didn't need either one in my life. Not now, and not ever.

Maybe that was why I was so quick to turn down Isabella's request. But then why do you watch her read if you're not interested in her? Why do you fucking flirt with her any chance that you get? My stupid subconscious questions. I simply tell it to go fuck itself and make my way over to the bathroom.

-

Her eyes don't meet mine once. I've been sitting in this same damn chair for the past two hours, reading one of the best literary novels known to man, and she hasn't looked at me once. Generally by now, I would have caught her staring at least fifty times. She hasn't looked over in my direction once, unless it's to answer one of my stupid questions. Is there a washroom here? Are you really reading Twilight? Where's the old guy that works here?

Simple, short answers are all that I get from her. Nothing less and nothing more.

This unusual ache of disappointment lingers inside of me. A feeling that I have long forgotten. A feeling that I absolutely hate.

Maybe it's because you were a dick, that stupid voice mocks me.

I huff to myself, letting out a frustrated breath and put down my book. If she wasn't going to look at me or fucking talk to me, then I'm going to make her. I get up and walk over to where she is standing. Her brown hair is cascading over her face, hiding those deep eyes that have been haunting me ever since I first saw them. She is flipping through some papers, a bunch of bullshit numbers that I could care less about. "Isabella," I say her full name, knowing just how much she hated it. Seeing her eyes flicker with a tiny bit of annoyance fueling me to do it even more.

She hesitates at first, but slowly looks up from her mess of papers. "Yes?" Her voice is quiet, quieter than it usually is. Her American accent heavy. Shit, I really must have been an asshole to her.

Way to go Styles.

"Listen. I don't do this, but you look like a fucking lost puppy and I feel bad. So, I'm sorry for being an ass to you last night." I shift from foot to foot, awkwardly running a hand through my mess of hair.

She looks at me skeptically. Her brows furrowed slightly. Her lips quirk up to the side slightly, showing that small dimple that was so damn adorable. What the hell is wrong with you. It's just a fucking girl.

"That's fine," she says. Her voice still soft but not as quiet as before, but snapping me out of my self-mockery. "You really were a dick, you know." She gives me a small smile, that same fucking dimple indenting even more. Fucking hell.

"Yeah well. I'm a dick." I smirk, chuckling lightly.

"You really are." She laughs fully this time, earning another chuckle from me.

"What are you reading this time?" She asks, changing the subject. I look over to the stupid chair that I've claimed to be home and pick up the book, showing it to her."The Old Man and the Sea?" Her voice is surprised. "You're a Hemingway fan?"

"I am. This right here is the best literary classic of all time. Hands fucking down."

"How so?" She asks me. I look over at her once more before going on about why this was my favourite story, withholding the personal significance it has towards me. She doesn't need to know that. Nobody does.

"The way Hemingway dissects the relationship between man and nature is genius. I like the way that he uses allegory throughout the novel. He makes you think, something that the whole damn Harry Potter series could never do. You have to figure out what the hell he is saying but that's why it's so great."

Her eyes study me intently as I explain why l I find this book so fascinating. It's boring as hell but that's why I like it so much.

"I can never grasp Hemingway. I've tried so many times but I just can't do it." She laughs, her eyes glistening as she talks.

"Not everyone can be as smart as me," I joke giving her a quick wink. Her cheeks flush a deep red, her hair falling over her eyes as she looks down again.

"You tell me that when you get a business degree." She says lightly. I know that she's joking but I can't help but feel a slight tinge of insecurity.

I never went to university. Fuck, I barely even finished high school. I got out of that shit hole as fast as I could, not even trying to get good marks. All I needed were my books. I didn't need a fucking degree to tell me that I was smart or not. I knew my way around the streets and I knew how to count, read, and write. When I told my mother that I wasn't going to follow her prize son Benny's footsteps and go to university, she had practically disowned me. Said that I was going to regret not getting a "proper education" and am going to ruin my life. She cried for days whereas her shit of a new husband kept telling me that I was better than this. They didn't know me nor did they know what I was going through; they didn't hear the voices of my own personal demons.

Not going to university was the fucking best decision that I had ever made. I had a job, not the best paying job but it got me by. I had a place to live (for now at least) and a shitty car that could get me from place to place.

I didn't need school, or a high paying job, or a fucking trophy wife. All I need is what I already have - that and this stupid bookstore.

"I'm sorry," Izzy's face falls. She looks at me, her eyes full of pity. I hadn't realized my own frustrated expression and tight grip on the counter. My knuckles turning white with each moment that passed. I quickly released my death grip on the counter and shook my head slightly, the curls falling against my face.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about." I quickly said as I straightened my body up.

"I can tell that school is a touchy subject for you," she observes. I glare at her slightly but quickly wash it away. The way her doe like eyes look at me takes away any frustration that I once was harboring. Her eyes are kind as they study my every movement. She has this look of innocence, but like they say - good girls are bad girls who haven't been caught. Her acceptance of my cigarette is a prime example of that.

"Harry?" I blink a few times, snapping myself out of my daydream once again. What is wrong with me today? I look at Iz and she is smiling at me once again. "Are you alright there?" She giggles.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." I cough. My hands run over my face and I blink a few times. "I just need a smoke." I hurry off outside and step to the side, leaning my back against the glass window, and let out a long sigh. I pull out the pack of cigarettes that sit inside the pocket of my jacket and pull out the last cigarette. I need to buy another pack, I mentally note.

The moment my lips touch the lit stick and I breathe in the nicotine filled smoke, my heart rate begins to settle down. What the hell was wrong with me? I have never felt this way over a girl, but for some fucking weird reason she has this effect on me. The way she looks at me, innocent and curious, makes me want to punch a wall. My heart begins to beat rapidly once again when I imagine her deep eyes and hair that smells like roses.

"Fuck," the word drags out as I shut my eyes, letting the smoke surround me. I turn around and look inside the window, catching a glimpse of her. She is standing in one of the aisles, bent over, picking up a book that she probably dropped. Her skirt rides up slightly, giving me a good look at her lace panties. Fucking shit. My pants begin to grow increasingly tighter and my hands begin to sweat. I needed to get out of here, quick, before I do something I know I'll regret.

I turn around and walk away as quickly as I can, away from Hemingway's and away from Isabella.

-

I push her body against the door, our panting the only sound that fills the small confide space. Her long nails scratch down my back as her moans fill the air. I bite down on her exposed collarbone. My hips thrust against hers, grinding. Mandy, Mindy, whatever her name is moans in sexual frustration.

"Harry, please." She begs for me to move. To bring us quickly into euphoria. With one quick thrust, our bodies meet. I don't stop, each thrust going deeper. Her legs wrap around my hips, her pants growing deeper with each hard movement.

"I'm almost- there- just - ah," She screams as I thrust into her deeply one more time. She throws her head back, her light pink hair falling back and cascading down her bare shoulders. She clenches around me, bringing me towards my high in full force. I groan as I reach my high.

As I come down, a pair of brown eyes and messy wavy hair invade my thoughts. Her sweet voice and curious eyes make their way to my brain and all I can think about is her. "Fuck," I breathe out heavily. I pull away from Mindy and quickly pull my boxers and tight jeans back on. I grab my black shirt and put it on. She looks at me from where she sits on the counter, her naked body exposed for all to see. She doesn't bother to pick up her dress. She just stares at me with a smirk on her lips.

"Listen," she speaks, "Are you going to finally take me out or not?" Her eyes rack up and down my body, lust filled behind her baby blue eyes. I pick up her dress and throw it at her. She quickly catches it and puts it on, not bothering to be discrete when she rolls her eyes at me.

"Listen, Mindy, you're hot and all but I don't date. You're a good fuck and that's it. Sorry." She looks at me and her eyes fall. Her cheeks flush. But her solemn expression quickly hardens. She jumps up from her spot on the counter and pulls her dress back on.

"You're an asshole you know that?" She says as she walks up to me. "And it's Melissa."

Right. She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to apologize to her. I don't say anything, not feeling bad at all. She huffs one last time and leaves as fast as she came. Pun intended? That snarky voice speaks up.

I was really starting to get really fucking annoyed with that stupid voice.