"The fourth year was basically just like the third except for the fact that Harry and my father had got into a fight."

I can't believe I'm still here, in this damned office where no life is. But actually, there truly isn't any liveliness in me after love came. It fucked me up, it fucks everyone. My mother had heard about the incident that night I came home, Mrs. Formance calling her and informing her of my supposed breakdown. I could have skinned her ass for saying that when I saw her today, but of course, I held in my anger as I'm doing now, trying not to explode any second.

Only forty five minutes left, I can do this.

"A fight between Harry and your father?" Mrs. Forman questions even though she heard me the first time I had said it. Her pen is put to the side and she sits in the chair this time, very comfortable at her old desk.

My eyes scan the dirty floor, hands trying to grab onto anything as my nerves start to build. Finally, they grip onto the blonde strands of my hair, tugging and pulling at the roots. Harry always hated this nervous habit as of how I strongly disliked him chewing on his fingernails when he would get anxious. Most of the time I saw his face, his nails would either be gnawed on or his hands would be in his curly hair constantly. That was another habit.

"Yes, a fight between Harry and my dad," I roll my eyes and try to make it out to Mrs. Forman that it is obvious.

"What was the fight over, Brooklyn?" Good thing she knows my name and did not call me my last name because I am absolutely not in the mood to argue with her at the moment.

Harry and my father had many verbal fights, but none of them turned physical except this one. This one was full of raw emotion towards each other, and I knew that my father had been wanting to take out his violent acts towards Harry since his emotion toward my love was hate. Both of my parents felt hatred toward him and never had the guts to accept him into their lives as well as mine.

"It was stupid while meaningful," I roll my eyes at the thought of the fight. "Harry had dropped me off at my parent's house, but before I could leave, my father came up to his car door and started screaming at him for everything Harry had basically done."

I should not have come here. My parents should not have invited me over for dinner. Harry and I need to be back home, cuddling or doing God knows what, rather than being sucked back into this drama.

The fight has mostly consisted of inappropriate words that surprisingly are coming from my father and not Harry. I can feel that they will be splurting out of his ruby lips any second by the way his face is contorted into a mix of anger and frustration. My mother is out on the lawn, too, trying to hold my father back from punching Harry any second.

"A fucker like you doesn't even know how to treat Brooklyn right! You don't even deserve-"

"Mr. Young, I do treat her right! God dammit, I'm sick and tired of people saying this shit!" Harry interrupts my father's yelling, and I watch as both of their jaws clench roughly. My arm is already on Harry's large bicep, trying to get the distance between them much more.

"How can you even say that when you are always touring around or when you're fucking other bitches?" My mother responds, anger evident in her azure eyes. Her body has now stepped in front of my father's.

That set me off. My parents saying and accusing Harry of one unneccessary thing is absolutely too much. And all in a blur, my body reacts before my mind can. My hand is suddenly stinging with my mother holding her cheek with her hand, and Harry is in front of my body, trying to keep me tamed.

Before I could get pulled away from her, I saw my mother's face. It is turned into a look of horror, and judging by the words she says next, she is absolutely disgusted with me.

"You're not my daughter," she scowls and her hand is still placed against her cheek. "This boy, this one you think you are in supposed love with, it's nothing, Brooklyn Grace," my body finally quits trying to fight with Harry and I peek out from behind his back since my arms are restrained. "He will ruin you, absolutely ruin you, and don't come crying to me when it is all over."

"You honestly don't realize how wrong you are, Mrs. Young," Harry seethes, his grip on my arms becoming tighter. "I love your daughter with everything, and it looks like you guys honestly don't care because you don't support her decision."

"You're a fucking bastard! I know about you and Brooklyn's fights! I know about guys like you, Harry Styles, don't think I don't," Dad steps, once again, his body being put in between my mother's and Harry.

"Harry, let's just go," I breathe out, tugging on his bicep and trying to control the rising anger in my blood.

Harry does not seem to notice as his viridescent eyes are still cast on my father. A frown takes its way upon his face, but his grip is lost on my arms as he puts his fists to his sides, clenching tightly. His hazel curls are slightly messy from our previous actions in the car before we came, ending with us trying to look decent when we arrived at my parents' house. But, from the looks of it, I will not be having dinner with my family.

"You think you know everything about me, don't you? But actually, you both do not know a single damn thing about me. I love your daughter, but everything you try to keep her away from is absolute bullshit," Harry spits out, taking a few steps toward my father.

"You don't know a single thing about love, and nor does she. The fights between you both, every single thing was fake. Brooklyn, you're twenty-years-old, and he has only been your ever boyfriend. You don't want this," my father replies, his voice becoming softer in the end.

I know what I want. I have ever since I met Harry, and with dad trying to convince me to change my decision, he is not helping at all. My parents never approving of Harry has always made me somewhat more rebellious, but after hearing their words moments ago, my mind and opinion has completely changed.

"I do," I speak up from behind Harry, getting out from the back of his body. "I love him, dad."

Mom has been standing beside my father in the midst of her thoughts. Her eyes are cast on the ground while she bits her lip frantically, and I know she is thinking of what to do in this situation. She never experienced this before, me being the only child, and I know it has to be tough on her. But, what my parents need to understand is that I am independent. I'm okay.

But the next action that happens changes everything. A slap comes to my cheek as Harry's body is already on top of my father's.

And my father fucking slapped me.

My eyes are a blur while my cheek is probably burning in red. A small hand, which belongs to my body I realize, comes to cradle the throbbing cheek as my eyes switch over to the fight. Harry is on top of my father, his fists repeatedly going into his face as my father tries to fight back. My mother is trying to pull my boyfriend off, but there is no way. This needs to be stopped, it is not right.

"Harry, please," I groan, tears clouding my vision as I use my free arm to grab onto his bicep. "Stop."

And he does, surprisingly. But, as his lanky body moves towards me, a fist goes to the back of his head.

"Stop!" I scream, grabbing onto Harry's black shirt and shielding him.

He's awake, but from the large fist impaled into the back of his head, I know he either has a concussion or a bad knot on it. His green eyes are still vibrant and the grip on my arm is still strong, luckily. My father is more beaten up than Harry, supporting a busted lip with crimson blood leaking out of it as well as a large gash above his eyebrow. I automatically think of the silver rings clinging onto Harry's large fingers doing the damage.

"Goodbye, mom and dad," and we both get into the car with a struggle.

"I don't know what I was thinking, nor was Harry. I mean, I had slapped my mother and my father slapped me, so I guess it was an act of protection for me. God only knows," I mumble, attempting to tear this damn string off of my shirt.

Mrs. Forman's eyes went wide the whole time I told her the story, not the dialogue, but in summary. My eyes, well, they were either full of tears or cast on the scuffed floor. Eye contact is not my favourite thing to do, but rather of doing nervous habits. She had remained silent the entire time of the story, not wanting to interrupt me because I would either lash out or completely ignore her. Thankfully, none of that happened and hopefully, not for the next sessions.

"I don't want to talk about the fight because seeing your actions while you were telling it, I noticed everything, Brooklyn. I want to ask you, if you ever saw Harry again, let's say today, what would you do? What would you say to him?" She asks, putting aside her notebook once again and trains her eyes on me.

"If I saw Harry today," I mutter, pursuing my lips to stop the tears from building. "I honestly can't promise you that I would say anything or speak to him. So many damn things go on inside my mind all at once, and when I make eye contact with him, all these feelings will build up in my stomach. I can't really tell you if I want to kiss him or slap him for everything that has happened."