Superhuman (Harry Styles)

•Part One• ✔

(Now starting to rewrite chapters 1-3, please read them when posted! They will be new!)

I wrapped my jacket even tighter around my body as I walked the wet streets of London. Here's the part where I should say something like, 'If my dad and or brother were to find out I was alone, they'd flip.' But I don't. I can still feel the heat on my skin and I can still hear my brother's cries.

I felt someone fall into light step behind me, right then I began to regret my midnight outing. I picked up the pace a little, and so did whoever was behind me. I crossed the street, hoping whoever followed me wouldn't want to have made it totally obvious that they were following me by crossing the street, but they did.

And then I was running, my Chuck Taylor's slapping the ground roughly each time they landed. I tried to memorize where I was running, burn the path into my brain forever, but it was futile.

My heart was in my chest as I realized my attacker would have me when he wanted. He was just messing with me, making me think that I could really outrun him. I was panting and in desperate need for a tall cold glass of water, but he was fine.

I yelped as a hot body crashed into mine, bringing me sailing to the ground. The stench of alcohol around me was overwhelming. The man flung me down to the ground, stretching my hands above my head leaving me defenseless.

"I like the fighters," he grinned at me, his breath reaching my face making my stomach turn. I kicked out then, with everything I had. I kicked and squirmed and did everything in my power to get away. Seeing I wasn't planning on giving up, the guy grabbed my head and slammed it against the pavement; stunned, I stopped moving. When I heard him chuckle and what sounded like his pants dropping to the ground, I sobbed quietly.

"This can feel real good if you let it, baby." He whispered in my ear as he unbuttoned my shirt, copping a feel when he had unbuttoned it down past my chest.

"Get your fucking hands off her, before I take them off of her myself." A deep raspy voice growled from behind us. Even in the dark, drunken state this man was in I could tell he recognized the voice,

And that he was terrified of it.

The man flung himself off me, and I scooted away in terror, quickly buttoning my shirt up as I did. The person that the deep raspy voice belonged to stood a couple feet away, towering over the man he had pushed to the ground. Even in the dark I could tell that this boy was tall, perhaps close to six feet. His hair was a curly halo, resting on his head in beautiful curls. He definitely had muscles; I could see them moving from here under his multicolored button up shirt, covered in a charcoal black shirt that the collar was popped up on.

"What kind of a man," The boy spoke quietly, "takes advantage of a poor girl, with no way to defend herself? You sick bastard, you don't deserve the air in your lungs, you're lucky she's here, or I might've robbed you of that,"

The man mumbled something in terror, I couldn't make it out; but a few seconds later, the man pulled himself of the ground and stood in front of my savior and I suddenly feared for the boy, but he looked amused.

The man took a swing at the boy, but the boy caught his fist in midair and punched him right back. He landed that blow right in the man's face; even in the dark I could see the dark stuff streaming out from his face. The boy still had the man's fist in his hand, and he twisted it until the man began to scream.

"Don't ever touch her again, or I'll make it worse." They boy said to the man, who was laying on the ground in a fetal position, moaning. I marveled over that statement. It seemed personal to the boy, as if he knew me, as if he cared for me. As if my thoughts had been spoken allowed, he looked up at me like he just remembered I was there. He took a step towards me and I shrank back for reasons I couldn't explain.

"It's okay love, I'm not going to hurt you." He spoke to me, like one would speak to a lost child in the store looking for his mother.

"I can take you home if you want?" He asked me again, and I nodded. His face filled with relief as he closed the distance between us. He offered his hand to me and I took it and he pulled me up. I was right in my six foot guess; he was easily a head taller than me.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, "Did he hurt you any?" As soon as he said that, my head flared up with pain, as if shouting at me 'Tell him! Tell him stupid!'

"I-I think I'm fine." I whispered.

"Are you sure, love?" He swiped a piece of loose hair and slid it behind my ear; it seemed intimate but I didn't mind.

I couldn't find it in me to speak anymore, as my head began to pound. I felt my body begin to fall, and the boy darted out to catch me before my head hit the ground.

I woke up; in a room that wasn't mine. I sat up as the memories came flooding back: the drunken man, the boy saving me.

That's where I must be then, I decided. The boy's house. I really needed to figure out his name, I didn't want to keep calling him "the boy" forever. I quietly got out of the bed, relieved to find that I was still wearing my own clothes, and looked around the room. I could tell the sun was peaking up over the horizon, the clock on the boy's wall said it was five in the morning; it wasn't uncommon for the sun to rise early in the spring months when you lived in London.

I looked around his room to see a very neat and tidy room, with paintings that looked like they costed more money than I had ever seen in my life on the walls, a flat screen TV that was on, quietly humming in the background. I thanked him quietly; I couldn't sleep in the dark without some background noise. I wondered how he knew that. There was another door in his room, which I discovered to be a bathroom. This boy had lots of money, whoever he was. His house was very cold, the cold floors seeming to seep the warmth right out of my body. I noticed my satchel and shoes were on the nightstand by the bed.

I also noticed my savior wasn't asleep in what I assumed to be his own room, which made me feel very guilty.

"It's alright, you know," A voice said behind me, "My couch is pretty comfy." I spun around to find my savior standing in front of me. He was smiling at me, and his smile was breathtaking. His eyes were unlike any color I had ever seen, it wouldn't be fair to label them one color. They were emerald green with never ending swirls of gold and brown in them, and I would swear on it that there was some blue in them too. His curly hair was unruly on his head, messy bedhead style but it worked for him. He had on different clothes from yesterday. Now he wore just a plain white T-shirt and some khaki shorts that worked marvelously at showing off his muscles.

"Thank you for saving me." I smiled back at him, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. I raked my fingers through my blond tumble-weed head of hair, and tried my best to straighten my shirt out, noticing a missing button near the top of it. My stomach churned at the reminder. I couldn't wear this shirt a second longer.

"You're welcome, love. Do you want something else to wear?" He asked me, the deepness in his British accent stunned me.

"P-Please?" I stuttered.

Instead of answering, he walked over to his dresser and pulled out a black T-shirt with white letters on it and a pair of boxers. I blushed at the thought of wearing another boy's boxer shorts but quickly hid it by coughing. He handed me the clothes. I started unbuttoning my shirt, not caring if he was there or not; I needed it off. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't get the shirt unbuttoned.

"Love, it's okay, you're okay." He grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes, this close up I could see the blue in them, hidden within the green and gold.

"Do you want me to help?" He asked me, in a total non-perverted way. He didn't look at me like I was a piece of meat, he looked at me like I was a human girl who had had a very rough night.

"Y-yes," I stuttered again.

He nodded and quietly finished unbuttoning my shirt for me. I quietly thanked him as he turned away, without being asked, too. I slid the shirt off my shoulders and quickly put his shirt on over me, noting the wonderful scent it carried. I slid my jeans off and balled them up into an ugly heap, never wanting to see those clothes again.

"I'm done," I told him, and he turned around and looked at me.

"I'm okay now," I nodded.

"Are you sure?" He asked me.

"Y-yeah." I stuttered again.

"I better take you home," He said regretfully, "probably a brother or a father waiting for you." At the word 'brother,' I flinched. He would never wait up for me again.

"I live alone." I said shortly. He looked at me for a few seconds, as if he sensed there was something wrong but he just nodded and left it alone.

"I don't want to take you home then, not if you're going to be by yourself." He said. I didn't complain, I didn't want to be by myself either.

"What's your name?" I asked him, my plain question catching him off guard.

"My name is Harry." He smiled at me.

Harry. That name fit him perfectly.

"How old are you, Harry?"

He seemed more reluctant to answer.

"Twenty." He answered.

I was shocked, but then again I wasn't. I knew he was older than me.

"What's your name?" He asked me; he seemed bored.

"Devon." I answered.

"How old are you, Devon?"

"Seventeen. Harry, I have to go home now." I really needed some clothes that were mine.

"No you don't." He spoke quietly. I walked up to him; he was blocking the entrance that led to out of his room. His voice was very level and quiet. I tried to push past him but he glared at me, grabbing my arm and dragging me to his bed. When I resisted, I felt his arms go around my waist and I was lifted up and thrown over Harry's shoulder. I punched his back a few hundred times before he finally slammed me onto his bed.

"You don't go anywhere that I don't. You aren't to leave my sight, do you understand me?" His grip on my wrist was beginning to hurt.

"But Harry, I have to go to school." I whispered quietly, suddenly very afraid of him. I understood why the man cowered last night at the sound of his voice.

"Then I'll take you," He said angrily. "Get up; I'm taking you to your house to get some clothes."

"Harry I can-" I began. He turned around and pressed me into the wall, resting his hands on either side of my head, his whole body touching mine.

"Tell me Devon, how am I supposed to keep you safe if I'm not with you?" He growled, his face inches from mine.

"Why . . . why do you want to?" As I asked him the question, his pupils dilated. He stared at me for a while, I could see the conflict in his eyes. He glanced at my eyes, then at my lips, then back up at my eyes again. He leaned in a little but jerked away at the last second. Something in me faltered. I wanted him to kiss me.

"Let's go, now. Before you're late to school."

***
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-Hailey xx