Whispers

Yellow light still cast out over the city as Rae made her way across the parking lot towards her car, going her separate ways from an amazing girl’s lunch. With Finn going to Liam’s and Trystan going to work, Rae found herself wanting to go to Harry’s and curl up on one of his couches with one of his books.

Walking to her car, she slowed as she looked at the man getting out of his car next to her. His car was nothing that she recognized, and it was common enough in her neighborhood. It was when he lifted his head to look at her that she recognized Harry’s father.

Slowing to a stop, she wasn’t sure if he would even recognize her. She could pretend that she didn’t see him, or she could wait for him to notice her as the girl who had yelled at him in his own household for mistreating his son.

A lot of unpleasant words and phrases went through Rae’s mind when he looked up, glancing around as he closed the door. It was a casual glance, but he had seen her, and from the frown that creased his forehead and made his lips turn downwards, she knew that he recognized her.

Harry’s father was a man of many things, all of which Rae did not like. She did not find that he possessed many qualities worth praising over, but she had given him a chance. And she was still willing to give him a chance, if he ever decided that he wanted to take it.

Taking a breath, she waved slightly, timidly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Styles.”

“Miss Bastian.”

“How are you?”

He walked around the car, stopping in behind it and glancing her up and down. It rang with disapproval. She also saw tired lines on his face, the bags underneath his eyes. He looked tired, if nothing else. “Do you really care, Miss Bastian.”

Her face soured and she shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want this to be a battle with him, but she was not impressed by his lack of manners and inability to be kind, even if he had to fake it. “No, but it is always polite to ask people how they’re doing, especially if it’s their boyfriend’s father. Sorry I disturbed you.”

Rae brushed past him, shaking her head and unlocking her car. She got all the way around to the drivers side and opened the door when he turned around, saying, “You speak to me with such vehemence, and yet you do not know enough of me to do such. Do you know that?”

Licking her lips, she sighed. Edward Styles had never thought to ask her the question when she had met him once. Rae had assumed him to be a haughty man who would ignore her dismissal, but he wax fixated in the spot. He wanted a challenge, and Rae felt herself rising to the occasion, as if almost by pure instinct.

“Mr. Styles,” she said without trepidation, not wanting to go over all of the reasons she thought that he was a lousy father, “I don’t know you at all. But I know your son, and I can see that whoever you are, whatever kind of father you have been, wasn’t the sort that he needed.”

He laughed without a hint of humor. She wasn’t sure what it was about her that kept him there, arguing in the parking lot of a fine dining place with a nineteen year old about his twenty year old son. “You think you know my son so well, but you don’t know Harry. You don’t know what’s best for him. I’m his father, I know what path he needs to be on.”

Her temper piqued. “I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but what kind of father do you think you are to think that you know what he wants or needs? Harry tried constantly to please you, and when you continued to ignore him, he acted out. And you let him. You let him do things that no father should let their son do.

“I am no father, Mr. Styles. But as a girl very in love with your son, I can say without regret that you have failed as a father, and if you ever think that Harry or I will forgive you for it, you’re an idiot. He needed a father, not an arrogant prick to make him miserable.”

When she was done, she realized her hands were balled into tiny little fists and that she had stomped her foot in a semi-immature manner. His father stared at her. “You’re right.” She shot her eyebrows up. “You over-stepped your boundaries. You know nothing.”

“I know that you failed in fatherhood and in your marriage. Not me. Have a nice day, sir.”
Bristling from the argument, Rae got into her car and slammed her door shut. She was so mad that she was shaking, dropping her keys on the ground and make her yell out in frustration as she fished for them with her hand, hitting her head on the steering wheel in the process.

Rae was so frustrated that she let out another yell before she finally reached her keys, shoving them in the ignition and finding it within herself to drive away, breathing heavily with annoyance and anger.

It was completely out of her place and no business of hers to tell Edward Styles what he had and hadn’t failed at doing. Guilt welled up inside of her and she swallowed it down like sickly tasting cough syrup, washing it down with her anger for his attitude towards his son.

Nothing about the man made sense to Rae. He had spent Harry’s whole childhood ignoring him, telling him what he needed to do only in the business aspect of his life. He did not care that Harry went out drinking, or that Harry got in trouble in bars, or that Harry got in any kind of trouble. But Harry’s father had some sort of obsession and investment in Harry’s workplace and economic drive.

It just did not click, with her.

Driving home was a series of convincing herself she was defending Harry in a respectful manner and that she had not told his dad off just for the sake of having the last word. It was hard to tell herself that it wasn’t about a matter of pride when it came to who knew Harry better. But there was that small sense of doubt, even as she pulled up to Harry’s house.

Letting herself inside with his spare key, she sent him a text informing him that she was over. Setting her things down on the counter, she quickly went upstairs, stealing his father’s sweatshirt, trying not to grimace at the irony of the situation. The way she saw it, she was making better memories in the sweater for Harry.

Going to wear he kept his books, neat and balanced in the living room, she scanned the shelves for one she felt like reading. Harry had many different kinds of books; classic books, mystery books, finding yourself books. But the special thing about his books, is that each and every one of them had notes written down in the margins of them, commenting and asking questions, or just writing a single word that pertained to a memory he had that linked with whatever he had read.

Rae understood some of his references. But on days when she felt like she needed some sort of therapy, she liked to sit and read what Harry wrote in the margins in his small hand writing, trying to work them out, or running her hand over the ink fondly if she knew what it meant.

Selecting The Great Gatsby, Rae unfolded the paperback novel, burying herself into the novel. His notes were the same, until she got to a certain page in chapter one, where fresh blue inked decorated the page ornately in Harry’s penman ship.

It was right next to a quote where Daisy Buchanan speaks, saying, “I hope she’ll be a fool- that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.” His hand writing swirled in small letter as she ran her finger over it, squinting to read what it said: She isn’t a fool. She is kind. And I love her.

Forming a line with her mouth, she closed her eyes before letting her mouth slip into a smile. She spread her hand out over the page, as if she could feel what Harry was feeling when he wrote the words down on the page. She wasn’t not there when she wrote it, but she could feel that it was about her.

A creak went through the house as the front door opened, making Rae turn around, clutching the book to her chest with a smile, intending on asking Harry about it. The smile fell from her face the same way a glass vase falls from a table, hitting the hard ground and shattering into sharp shards, ready to cut flesh and bring pain.

Harry, followed by an uneasily quiet looking Zayn walked into the room. But it wasn’t there faces that made the smile from her lips, it was Harry, who had a newly earned bruising eye, a busted lip, and what looked like the dried remains of blood under his nose.

Going up and over the back of the couch, Rae ran to him, raising her hands to touch his face, wordless horror ghosting on her lips as they parted, no sound able to present itself. Harry caught her hands one large one, holding them away from his face, shaking his head.

“What?”

It wasn’t a very logical word, but it was all that Rae could get out as her eyes brimmed with tears. She blinked and let them fade away, swallowing the tightness in her throat. She didn’t have to ask why, but Harry answered her anyways. “We were just sitting around and talking,” he murmured, voice rough. “And Sean came in.”

“And he attacked you?”

Harry didn’t answer. Awkwardly, Zayn said, “Well. Harry sort of… attacked Sean.” Harry flashed him a very angry glare over his shoulder, but Zayn took it with full eye contact, unwavering. “It’s true, mate.”

Letting Rae’s hands go, Harry stepped back from her, resigning within himself. Rae was still frowning at him, trying to grasp any concept of what had happened. But the fear of what she was seeing on his face was making her breaths come in faster.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, well I’m home in one piece, Zayn. You can head home.”

Zayn lingered for a moment, sending a questioning glance before nodding, giving Rae a look that she translated as to take care of Harry. She almost nodded, but she looked away instead. She had the horrid urge to leave, too, which was new.

Silence fell between them. Rae licked her lips and whispered, “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “Because, I was angry.”

It was such a simple response. But it spoke volumes to her. It seemed that slowly and surely, Harry’s rage was working it’s wake back into his system. Something her fathers had told her about not being able to change people made her want to flinch. Instead, sighed, wrapping her arms around his middle and hugging him tight.

Let me be a fool she prayed. Let me be a little fool.