CHLOE

May has passed into June, with no discussion between myself and Katie about her liaison with Harry a few weeks ago at the back of the Flute and Fiddle. I have watched how they interact, for signs of some sort of secret relationship between them. She is discreetly eager to serve him and he is nonchalant to the point of disinterested, so after a couple of weeks of observation I have come to the conclusion that it was either a one-off; or if it has happened repeatedly, it is a casual arrangement.

I am still disgusted by what I saw that night; not because of what they were doing, but because of the circumstances under which it was happening. Is this really what people do - grant each other sexual favours on a whim, at the back of a pub where anyone could (and did) see? Maybe Chris is right - maybe I am a frigid bitch, but I just don't see the appeal of getting on my knees for a random stranger, without any form of trust or feeling. 

Yet somehow, despite my disgust at what I saw, I cannot dispel the memory of Harry leaning against the wall; his eyes closed and his head back, his mouth slightly open and small moans of pleasure falling from his lips. I feel dirty for having seen him in such an intimate moment without his knowledge, but those few seconds play over and over in my mind. More and more I find myself looking up at the bar door every time it opens with a crash, a knot of anticipation forming in my stomach, only to be released when it isn't Harry arriving. I don't know why I am suddenly longing for a glimpse of forest green, but on the couple of occasions our eyes meet I cannot control the jolt of excitement that spears my stomach, leaving butterflies in its wake.

It is a Sunday night in early June when Harry enters the pub with a clatter, causing several people to look up. My heart misses a beat as he strides towards the bar, coming directly for me.

"Has Chris been in?"

I stare stupidly back, momentarily thrown off guard by the question. Looking into his eyes is enough to make me forget my own name, never mind the schedule of the local parasite.

"Not this evening," Katie answers smoothly from beside me, looking coyly at Harry. "Are you looking for him?"

"I need a word with him."

"He's in most evenings," I mutter. "I'm sure tonight will be no different."

A faint smirk passes over Harry's lips. "Keeping tabs on him, are you?"

The insinuation isn't lost on me. I dread to think what Chris has said to Harry about me. If the way he speaks to me is anything to go by, he has probably boasted about how I am constantly wet for him, and would do anything to get on my knees for him. The thought makes me shudder. I have far better things to do than monitor that little scrote's whereabouts.

"Yeah, Chloe's got it bad for Chris," Katie teases, without breaking her gaze from Harry.

"Are you joking?" I splutter in disbelief. "Hell would freeze over before I would go anywhere near that weasel."

There is a moment of stunned silence, before Harry's smirk returns. "Not what I heard."

"Well, don't believe everything you hear," I mumble, my cheeks turning crimson at the thought of Harry and Chris talking about me; at what Chris might have said; at what Harry might be imagining now.

He chuckled softly. "I'll bear that in mind."

"You staying for a pint?" Katie asks, reaching down to pick up a glass before Harry has even confirmed.

His expression darkens, almost as though a shadow has passed over his face. "Yeah. I'll wait. See if he turns up."

Katie grins as she pours the drink. "Sounds ominous. What's he done?"

Harry looks up, glaring. Katie's smile slowly fades.

"Asked too many fucking questions."

I do my best to hide my own smirk at this pointed comment, and busy myself with wiping the bar with a cloth as she meekly takes his money and enters it into the till. I look up as Harry takes his pint, and just as he turns he catches my eye for a split second, and I notice the briefest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he walks away to take a seat in the corner of the lounge. My heart skips several beats this time, and it takes all my concentration to keep my hands from trembling. Katie walks off to the other end of the bar with a huff.

It is just after ten o'clock before Chris appears, just as I am hanging my apron on the back of the kitchen door at the end of my shift. I am not on the close tonight, thankfully, as Katie, Ian and Colette are all in. I pull on my jacket and walk back through the door just as Harry says menacingly to Chris, "A word. Outside. Now."

I don't hear Chris' reply, but I feel them both behind me as I walk towards the main door, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up as I sense trouble.

"You finished, Chloe?" It is Chris' voice.

"Yep."

"What you doing now?"

"Going home," I reply, shortly. I reach the door and pull it open, praying they will conduct their business elsewhere and leave me to walk home in peace.

"Party back at yours, yeah?" Chris jeers. "Bet it's gonna be a wild one. I'll bring the gear, you can supply the... entertainment."

"Fuck off, Chris," I mutter. 

"Oh yeah, I forgot, Little Miss Boring doesn't know how to have fun."

If snorting some chemicals up your nose and fucking anything that moves is the definition of fun around here, I think I'll pass. 

"Leave me alone," I say out loud. 

"When are you gonna loosen up?" Chris continues from far too close behind me as I walk up the side of the pub and turn towards the park to take the shorter route home. It is not yet completely dark, and therefore marginally safer than it would be in an hour's time once night has fallen. "Does Harry do it for you instead these days? He does it for Colette, don't you Harry?"

I am so shocked by this that I stop dead in my tracks at the edge of the children's play area and turn around. "Colette?" I echo, looking from Harry to Chris. "Don't you mean Katie?"

Harry's expression turns from dark to murderous. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"N-nothing," I stammer, feeling myself withering under his stare. "I just mean... Colette's married to Ian."

"What the fuck has Katie been saying about me?" Harry hisses, taking a step towards me in the dusky light, his eyes flashing.

"Nothing!" I insist, backing away through the swings, knowing safety is only a hundred yards or so behind me. "I got it wrong, I'm sorry."

"Damn right you fucking got it wrong," he spits. "Don't fucking spread shit about me, do you hear? Unless you want me to shut you up once and for all."

"Harry, mate, fucking hell," Chris mutters, putting one hand on Harry's chest and pushing him as I continue to back away. "Can it, yeah?"

"I'm not your mate," Harry says, turning on Chris. "You're just as bad, talking about me to every man and his fucking dog."

"I haven't said anything about you," Chris replies, continuing to walk towards me, past the graffiti. "Unless you mean to Chloe. She's gagging for it, mate. Reckon she'd have us both back at hers. What do you say, Chlo? Let me satisfy at least one of your urges tonight."

"You're vile," I tell him, and I turn away from both of them, my legs shaking, praying they will let me leave without a fuss. I can see the door to the stairwell of my block of flats. I could run the distance in a few seconds.

Before this thought has even fully formed in my head, I feel Chris' fingers close around my wrist. I try and pull away as panic rises in me, but he is too strong. With one tug I am enveloped in his embrace, his arms locking me against his body as I start to struggle. He smells of weed, and unwashed bedding.

"No!" I shout. "Let me go!"

"You love it," he breathes in my ear. "Rubbing yourself against me like this. You're already wet, aren't you?"

My voice doesn't seem to work as I writhe against him, desperately trying to escape, my fingernails clawing at his bare hands and leaving scratches on his pale skin. He yelps and his grip loosens momentarily, and just as I am able to wriggle free I feel a rush of air behind me and hear a sickening crack as Harry's fist makes contact with the side of Chris' face.

A screech of fear leaves my mouth as I break away from them and run towards safety. I hear a second crack, followed by a grunt, and rapid scuffling in the dirt at the edge of the play area. I daren't look back, and I daren't wonder how my legs are suddenly working when less than a minute ago they were barely holding me up. All I can do is scurry to the door of the building, terrified I will feel a clammy hand enclosing my wrist again, although this fear lessens as their muffled scrap sounds farther and farther away the faster I run.

I reach the entrance to my block and cast a brief look back. Harry swings his arm back and throws his fist into Chris' face with such force it knocks Chris to the ground. They are far enough away for me to take a moment to watch from the shadows, as Chris lays motionless in the dirt and Harry swings his fist down at his head again. Chris doesn't react to this blow, yet Harry stands up straighter and kicks his right foot into Chris's side, and then kicks him again in the same spot. 

Chris doesn't move.

I am paralysed with fear; frozen to the spot watching this scene unfold, feeling the fury emanating from Harry even from this distance. I don't know what happened to provoke such an extreme reaction. One punch had released me from Chris' grasp, so why did Harry go for him like that? 

As Harry straightens up fully and turns his head towards me, I duck through the door and into the stairwell of my block, out of sight. The smell of stale urine is usually so overpowering here it burns my nostrils and makes my eyes water if I linger, but tonight I don't even notice. My heart is beating so hard it hurts, and it is causing my whole chest to shake. My breath is forcing its way in and out of my lungs, piercing my body like a knife. I don't move for ten or twenty seconds, willing my heart rate to slow; my breathing eventually calming too. I pluck up the courage to look out of the door again at the spot where Chris and Harry were fighting - or rather, where Harry was attacking Chris. 

There is a body slumped, motionless, on the gravel. Harry has fled the scene.

I should go and see if Chris is alright. I should call for help - he suffered quite a beating. He could even be dead for all I know, and the thought of touching, or even just seeing, a dead body terrifies me. But I can't just leave him there, even though it is what he deserves. He could bleed to death. I have to see if he is OK. It is the right thing to do.

It takes me half a minute to work up the courage to cross the derelict land at the back of the flats towards Chris' unmoving form. Harry is nowhere to be seen, but he is the least of my worries. I silently pray that someone will come out of the building before me, having heard the disturbance and seen the body on the ground. But fights like this are commonplace around this area, so no doubt the neighbours have just turned the volume up on the television to drown out the sound of bones breaking.

I reach Chris, and feel bile rising in my throat at the sight of him. His face is a bloody mess, his nose appearing to be caved in, and the dirt at the side of his head is splattered with crimson. I put my hand over my mouth and nose to block out the smell of blood and turn away, taking a couple of deep breaths, trying not to heave. I am starting to feel lightheaded.

After a moment I turn back and look down at him, trying to see if his chest is rising and falling, but in the early summer dusk I cannot see clearly, and my vision is starting to blur as shock sets in. I reach into my back pocket for my phone to call for help, but then I hesitate. 

All my life I have been a pushover, a mug, a doormat. Stupid Chloe, always being nice to everyone and being treated like shit in return. I have put up with months, if not a year of abuse almost daily from Chris and his friends. Why should I do anything to help him? He degrades me, laughs at me, bullies me and above all, frightens me. He is the scum of the earth. Why am I considering helping him?

If Harry hadn't stopped him, how far would Chris have taken things tonight? His vile, crude jokes have always stopped short of any real action, but tonight was different. He grabbed me, forced my body against his, made disgusting innuendos. Was it for show, for Harry, or was there real intention behind the bravado? 

Another wave of nausea hits me as I contemplate what might have happened had Harry not hit him, had I not ran away, had Chris not been knocked unconscious. Would he have assaulted me? Raped me? I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing deeply again for a few moments with my hand still over my nose, before turning back to look at his miserable shape on the ground.

What goes around comes around.

---***---

This is part two of a double update today! The first part, chapter Three, was Harry's POV in case you missed it.

So... is Chris dead or alive? Will Chloe call for help? Why did Harry lose his temper so violently? I'm so excited for this story - I've been planning it in my head for almost 2 years before putting pen to paper. I hope you like it!