WEAK // (Harry Styles)

2

CHAPTER TWO

CLAIRE

I stare at the lamp sitting on the desk until the stale light causes me to rub my eyes. The ticking sound of the clock creeps up my spine, and I take a hundredth sip of coffee. I collect a few of the papers I've scattered on the table, and I stuff them all into my bag.

"I have to go home Chris, my boyfriend and I have dinner plans," I say and he nods at me, turning sideways in his chair.

"Harry Styles, right?" he questions, and I freeze. I stare at him for a few seconds, and he looks at me weirdly.

"How do you know his name?"

"What do you mean? Everyone knows his name," he says, and it takes a few seconds before I exhale. I shake my head, cursing myself for the moment of stupidity. I sometimes forget that Harry is famous and that most people know who I am. Especially after last year. The media frenzy that covered my abduction was insane.

It creeps me out and also saddens me that everyone I meet knows about everything that happened to me. Chris, whom I met only a few days ago knows my boyfriend's name and probably knows about the fact that I was nearly killed by a delusional stalker.

"Right, sorry," I say, and put my jacket on. I wrap my scarf around my neck and I leave the library.

I'm out on the streets within minutes, and I whistle for a cab. Once I get in and give the driver the address, I call Harry's cell.

"Hello love," he says with a tired voice.

"Hey," I say, leaning my head against the window. I blink rapidly to keep myself from falling asleep. He doesn't respond, so I just listen to him breathe for a few seconds instead.

"Home soon?" he says after a while.

"Yes, ten minutes."

He's much more calm tonight than he was last night. Yesterday was just a bad day for him, as it usually is when he can't sleep.

I feel bad. Ever since I came home six months ago, he hasn't been well. Neither have I, to be honest. I still get afraid sometimes. But not like Harry. And it's all my fault.

I spend a lot of my time absolutely despising myself for the things I did and said during my recovery. I didn't remember him, and I couldn't understand why he was being so possessive. It made me think the most awful things about him. At one point, I even compared him to Zayn. To his face. The memory makes me cringe.

I think most of the reason why he's so paranoid, is because I left him so many times. And I'm not thinking about the times I was taken away, I mean the times where I left him myself. I left him three times.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"For what, darling?" he asks, and I shake my head at myself. He hates it when I apologize.

"For... studying so late tonight."

"Don't worry about it Claire, I'm sorry for being so paranoid sometimes, you shouldn't have to worry about me like that. You shouldn't have to worry about arriving home a few minutes after you said you would, or telling me your location every ten minutes, I just get..."

"I know. Me too."

The car slows down once we reach the building, and I hand over a few dollar bills and say goodbye to Harry. I get out into the cold winter wind, and I raise my shoulder and bob my head down, walking towards the entrance. The streets are empty and slippery.

The scarf around my neck suddenly tightens, and yanks backward. I fall down onto the hard ice, the back of my head making cracks in it. I scoff heavily, opening my eyes slowly as I feel myself growing dizzier. A couple of hands grab my shoulders.