Harry Styles Imagines

62. He Hurts You Without Meaning To

Sick. He feels sick. The sick that makes him want to punch something; someone. There's no other way to explain the feeling. It's overpowering, and every time he even hears Y/n breathe is a drive to more insanity.

Harry storms into the flat, angrily throwing the door shut behind him. He has no care in the world if Y/n hasn't entered yet. He wants to be as far away from her as possible, any source of separation between the two of them is a weight off his shoulders.

She sighs, her eyes closing delicately as she tries to contain herself. She opens the door, quietly, barely making any sound as she enters her home. She leans her head against the door, breathing in the thick, tense air as she tries to calm herself down.

"How could you not tell me?!" Harry roars suddenly, making her flinch in her spot. "You're having sex with another man for your fucking career! How could you not tell me?!"

Y/n turns around, now facing an irate, pacing Harry in the kitchen. This is not the first time she explained herself. She feels she can never explain enough, especially when she has done absolutely nothing wrong. There is not one thing she can pick out in the situation that she can blame herself for.

"I didn't know either, Harry! This movie was never some sort of book before it was filmed! I had no idea! I just went to the shoot and they told me we had to film a sex scene! What was I supposed to do?!" She fires back, a toxic glare poisoning his demeanor.

He throws his arms up, his face scrunched in sarcastic confusion. "I don't know, back out?! Wouldn't that make sense to you?!"

Y/n stomps her foot, her face flushed with tears as she grips her head. This is all too much for her, she couldn't get his words out of her head for the life of her.

"My God, Harry! This is my career! You can't expect me to back out of the movie three months into filming! That's not how my job works, and you know that!"

Harry breathes harshly, his tenseness only getting stronger. He scrunches his face, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter, his hands covering his face, trying to get the picture of his girlfriend fucking another man.

"So help me, Y/n. I can't even look at you right now. I have not one thing to say to you."

More tears are flooding her vision, she can feel him slipping away from her before she could prevent him.

"Harry. Ple-"

"Don't. That image. I see–I see that fucking image. I can't–I shook his hand. I shook the hand of man who's touching you for money. I can't get that image out of my head."

It goes silent, and Harry swore under his breath every second he could. He could feel her, and the feelings of absolute disgust and comfort are fulfilling him immensely. How could she do this? Fuck another man while thirty others are watching, filming, for the movie come out for the public in a couple of months.

How could she? How could she do that to him, and not even tell him about it? Did she plan on not telling him? Did she want him to find out the night he went to go see it with her, after the work had been done? How disgusting of her. How fucking disgusting.

"You sicken me. You make me ill. Please just–just go. I don't care where you go, just leave. Leave here, I can't, I just can't be around you right now."

Y/n exhales harshly, a desperate noise releasing from somewhere deep inside her. Harry still hasn't looked at her, he hasn't looked at her since he found out. She just wants him to look at her. She wants him to see how desperate, how guilty, how sorry she is. But he just pushes her away, farther and farther every time she spoke.

She sickens him, and there was no other way for him to put it.

"I'm not leaving if you're not going to listen to me" she whispers, her gaze now focused on the tiled floor below her.

He shakes his head, hands shaking, breath uneven. He's turning into something he's never experienced, and all he desires is to take it to his advantage. He whips his head around, and Y/n gasps at how heinous he looks. The eyes that once reflected so much glow were now dark, far more sinister.

"Y/n, I'm telling you right fucking now, Y/n. Leave me alone"

She shakes her head.

"Stop being ignorant to me, Harry! Let me talk! Fucking Christ, you're killing me here!" Harry's fist immediately makes contact with the counter, and his now tense frame is making his way towards her. Every step toward her she flinches, backing away from him, her hands, her eyes pleading for him to stop, but she remains silent due to his outbursts.

"YOU WILL FUCKING LISTEN TO ME WHENEVER I TELL YOU SOMETHING! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" He roars, his finger digging into the middle of her chest, his hard body holding hers captive against the wall. Y/n's sobbing, and she has never felt more scared in her life. For the first time in her life, she fears she's going to be killed by the end of the night.

"Harry, come back to me, please i-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" His hand instinctively punches through the wall, concrete pieces falling onto her.

"Fucking hell!" She cries, attempting to shield herself from the broken pieces, but Harry was too strong against her. He has a drive to destroy her, in his head, it was the only thing that made sense. Not physically, but mentally, he wants to make her feel the way she deserves in this moment.

"IF YOU AREN'T GONE IN THE FIRST FIVE SECONDS I LET YOU GO YOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING REGRET IT!"

She takes the opportunity to run. For her life, for her safety, she is running as fast as she possibly can. She can hear his footsteps behind her, even over the breathing her asthma gives her. The second one foot is out the door, Harry slams it shut against her, and before she can stop herself, she falls head first on the cold, cement ground.

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