The Resident // Harry Styles H.S.

1

********WARNING:********

Just warning you again, that there is:

Ma.ture
S.ex
Ra.pe
Vio.lence
G.un
Sm.ut

in this story. So read on if you're ok with that!!

If you are ok with it, then let's begin!

Chapter 1:

A/N: I start out in third person POV, then switch to characters' points of view, until the end chapter, where I switch back to third person again.

Janel took walks a lot. There was nothing else for her to do, really. She was allowed to leave the group home she lived in, unlike most of the other residents there. She wasn't mentally challenged like them. She was a normal person. Except she grew up in abnormal circumstances. So in some ways, she seemed like one of them. Which was why she was placed here. Day in and day out....month in, and year out....she went through life. Not knowing what to do next. She had been left behind in a system that didn't know what to do with her. So when she wasn't listening to music, she walked around town, and sat on benches, walls, and at grassy parks, and people watched. Her goal was to learn how to be like everyone else. She was doing pretty well, actually. But at age 22, she felt like something was missing. Something she couldn't understand, but wanted to.

She was missing human touch. Human interaction. Friendship. Love.

As she'd sit for hours and watch people go by, she'd see them all the time. Couples. Two people, walking hand in hand. Sometimes hugging. Sometimes kissing. Sometimes even doing strange things together, that they looked like they were trying to hide.

She saw all these things on movies too. It made her all tingly sometimes. How she wanted just to try holding someone's hand. Let alone, having a hug. She couldn't recall EVER having been hugged in her life. She really couldn't recall ever being touched in any good way, ever. Only hit. And left alone. That's all she could remember about her life before this home. Not that she liked to remember her life before this home, anyway. It was something she didn't think about. She only thought of her life NOW, and how she could be like all these people walking around. They all looked like they had a purpose in life. A mission. They looked busy. They looked important. She wanted to be important. And busy. And.....touched.

Sometimes, she would get so desperate for a human touch, that when someone touched a street pole, or store door handle, or park bench, she'd touch it when they left. Just to feel the "people heat" as she called it. She'd feel the warmth their body left behind, and sometimes, she'd touch her heated hand to her cheek, just to feel what it felt like to be touched by someone else.

Even though, she didn't LIKE being touched. She shied away from it at all times. Every employee in the group home knew NOT to ever touch her. For Janel, human touch only meant one thing: PAIN.

The only times she was touched by humans in her life, was when she was being beat. Or poked. Or pushed. Or pinched. Or slapped.......

It took her months of people watching to realize that these people holding hands or hugging....were NOT giving each other pain, but giving each other something....good, it seemed. At first she couldn't understand why everyone did it. Why they would like being hurt by each other like that. But then she slowly realized, the touch was good. People smiled when they touched. Except a few times, she did see people cry when they touched. And this made Janel nervous and anxious and most of all, confused. So she didn't let anyone touch her, ever.

But she was mesmerized by it, and wanted it, yet at the same time. She was torn.

Janel was very unsure of herself and of other people, especially those from outside the group home. She was socially awkward. No one taught her how to socialize correctly. Spending years being mostly neglected, she had never learned how to act around people.