Twisted (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 31

Fran's smile faltered when she saw my expression. Confused, she said slowly, "Yeah, I uh had sex with Harry to try and get him away from you. I really did try, Claire, but as soon as we were done he went back to you."

I got off of her, situating myself on the edge of the bed. Harry and Fran had...sex?

"When was this?" I asked.

"It wasn't that long ago, I suppose. Harry barged into my house, demanding me to tell him where you were. So I tried to distract you, because I knew you had tried to run away." Fran's voice was heavy with guilt, and that made me frown deeply. "And the bastard was just about to leave when you called me. He forced me to talk to you on the phone and find out where you were-that's how he did know where you were. I tried everything I could to keep him away from you; I gave myself up to him, but it was to no avail. He still wanted you in the end..."

The thought of Harry having sex with someone else stung me. It was like when I was drunk and saw Kim kissing him-it left a bitter taste in my mouth and made me feel...frustrated. I swallowed thickly and curled my hands into fists. "So he didn't rape you?"

"No." Fran murmured. "I started it. He would've never touched me if I hadn't taken off my shirt. I know it sounds insane, but I was so willing to get him to leave you alone. I was sick of sitting here, watching people get dragged off the streets. I wanted to make up for my years of cowardice by doing something good. But it didn't work."

It was silent for awhile. None of us spoke until she lightly touched my shoulder, her eyes peering over to glance at my face.

"Claire? Are you crying?"

How would she ever understand I felt?

I didn't even know how I should feel right now.

Ever since the night that I saved Harry, I had developed some kind of strong feelings towards him. I would hate to see him get hurt-and it would hurt me to see him sad, although I had never seen him like that before. But all I knew was that when I saw those men beating up on him, I couldn't just leave him. No, I went in there, throwing on an illusion of knowing how to shoot a gun-thus risking my life-and I saved him. And when I saw how beat up he was afterwards, I had to take care of him.

I could've just left.

So it was obvious I didn't harbor hateful feelings towards Harry. I really didn't hate him.

I just didn't know how I felt.

Do I love him?

I shook the question away. Love was definitely out of the question here. Love was patient, love was kind. Love isn't when a guy finds you in a dark alley during a storm and tricks you into wearing his jacket so he could find you later. Love isn't when a man enjoys seeing you writhe under him, or threatening you in horrific ways if you tried to "escape." I knew Harry couldn't love me; he wasn't capable of that. I had left his house through the back porch and he came after me with a gun. He claimed he wasn't going to shoot me, it was only to catch me since he was still in fragile condition, but the fact that he would go to that extent to keep me where I didn't want to me showed that Harry could not love.

I had always been taught that love was willing. Love was beautiful. Love was everything. Watching Disney movies as a kid showed that the love story always ended with a knight in shining armor, and the two would ride off into the sunset for a happily ever after. Love that was portrayed in movies was sometimes difficult, but in the end, it all came together.

But I had never seen a movie where a girl was forced to be with a man. I had never seen a movie where there was a city that was run my gangs, and later developed radical law enforcements. This whole situation really did sound fictional to me-it couldn't be real.