fight for control ↠ harry styles [b1] ✓

CHAPTER 52

Renleigh Kensington

Some may describe me as hot headed, which is actually pretty accurate. This one time, I read an article about hot headed people and I personally felt attacked after I got to the end. It mentioned a bunch of stuff that I related to on another level. It felt like they wrote the article based on me, when in reality, they probably have no idea I exist.

It was still clear in my mind – the things mentioned. Strong characters or personalities. Passionate, deeply loving and caring on the inside. Also, very sensitive. True feelings covered up by anger. Spontaneous, energetic and leader of the crowd. Unable to deal with their anger. Likely to become explosive in arguments especially if it is something they clearly care about. Independent, bossy and goal-oriented. Generally loyal and secretly desire true love/companionship.

Those were all things I found to be true about myself therefore 'hot headed' no longer felt like an insult but a compliment instead.

I still did lash out when things didn't go my way – like when someone did something, regardless of what they had been told.

Like Styles.

He didn't need to go and talk to Jack but he did, anyway. This caused a bit of a scene and attracted attention, my father's in particular and since he wasn't the biggest fan of him from the start, I had my theories of how he'd try to change my other dad's view on him.

We ended up leaving the party.

It didn't feel right to stay and, in all honesty, I was slightly scared. That was a hard one to swallow – admitting it to myself – but it had to be done. Sitting with it in the middle of my throat was not an option, especially when Styles and I had a few things to cover.

We got an uber back home – the drive was silent other than the couple of times when Styles tried to explain himself but I just gave him a death stare and he shut his trap – then I went straight for a shower. I needed a burning hot shower after those few minutes of feeling his touch on me.

It lingered on my skin and I needed to get rid of him. The touch of his hand was on my waist after he brushed his fingers over my arse. He gripped my side to show he still had power over me. I didn't move when his scent hit my nose and he knew I knew he was there. He knew he still had something over me and he used it to make me feel like shit and make him feel powerful.

There were tears in the corners of my eyes. They burned as they begged to just roll down my cheeks. They begged to be set free. They wanted out and the best of me. But I fought them. I fought them back as hard as I could because there was no way in hell, I would have given him the satisfaction of making me cry.

He already violated me, my dignity, in public – which obviously wasn't the first time – and I didn't want to give him more power over me. It bothered me that I even let him touch me again. It really did make me feel weak, useless and embarrassed of just how- how stupid I was.

How could I let him touch me again?

Even if it was only for a few moments before he happily accepted my uncle's welcoming hug. It seemed so small – his action – so unworthy of mentioning or feeling hurt over. But that was the thing. It felt that way when actually, it was so wrong. But I was made to feel like it wasn't. Like it was OK and- and it caused my head to question myself. When I shouldn't have.

I knew it was wrong – it felt wrong – therefore I shouldn't have let others make me think it was innocent. Or just friendly gestures.

Loud knocking caused me to get out of my head. I jumped a little at the sudden sound, it was unexpected and for a second, I thought someone broke into my house.