𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈

"…MR. and Mrs. Little…na-named…him…Stu-art, and Mr. Little ma-made him a tiny bed out of four cloth…cloths…close…clothespins and a…cigarette…box."

"Harry, you're doing a wonderful job!" Mrs. Roth, his literacy coach praised as she clasped her hands together in front of her.

The other literacy coach had referred the Styles to Mrs. Roth a few weeks ago, stating that Harry was moving along at a moderate pace and no longer needed a specialist, but simply someone skilled in working with rudimentary readers. Apparently Mrs. Roth was that person.

"You know, Stuart Little is my absolute favorite book of all time. My third grade teacher read it to my entire class and I immediately fell in love with reading and I've loved it ever since," Mrs. Roth prattled.

Harry nodded as if he was listening, but he absolutely was not. His mind was still reeling over the fact that Bree was off planning a future without him. And he knew that there was an entire year before she'd head off to college, but the fact that she could even think about leaving him behind, while he couldn't fathom a separation…it left him feeling emasculated and angry.

"So, is there anything you'd like to read, Harry?" asked Mrs. Roth.

Of course, Harry shook his head that there wasn't.

"How about your science homework. Would you like to work on that?"

"Science? I thought you were here to help me with my reading," Harry reminded her in a casual tone.

"Well…you have to read your homework to actually do it, don't you?"

As nice as she was, Harry just wanted Mrs. Roth gone. He couldn't concentrate on anything until he talked to Bree, and he was sure after he did, he'd be in even a worse frame of mind.

"I'm good," Harry stood up, signaling that he was done. Fortunately for him, Desmond was busy attending to Maddie and wasn't around to monitor his session.

Mrs. Roth looked like she had additional commentary, but there was a knock at the front door and Harry all but ran to get it.

"Connie?"

"You motherfucker!" Connie shoved her way inside of the Styles home and squared off with Harry.

"What the fuck?" Harry asked her when she pushed her tiny hand against his chest.

"I can't believe you would put Bree through all this bullshit just to get in her pants. How can you be such a calloused prick?" Connie asked.

Harry looked over Connie's shoulder and noticed his mother watching the exchange. She was approaching them, but her eyes were on Connie, and she didn't look happy.

"Connie," Anne said in an matronly whisper, "I'll thank you to watch your tone and your language in this house." She then turned to Harry. "Same goes for you."

Harry spun and walked towards the den, not even inviting Connie to follow him but knowing she would.

As soon as they were alone, without the watchful eyes of Anne, Harry turned on Connie with a vengeance he thought he'd lost.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he sneered.

"I'm talking about the way you've been blowing her off ever since she spent the night with you."

"I'm not blowing her off," Harry answered in agitation. "Bree said I was blowing her off?"

"Well aren't you? You're not calling her back when she calls you or calling her at all, for that matter."