The Direction of Fate

When Ellie Harper's parents ship her off from Australia to live with her brother in Holmes Chapel, England, the arrogant and obnoxious Harry Styles enters her life. Their frequent encounters have them both suspicious, but Ellie shrugs it off as just an irritating coincidence. But the more they see each other, the more she questions if this is something more than just chance. And it doesn't help that she has vivid nightmares involving her quite dominant and sadistic curly-haired neighbour.

Was this the direction of fate, or was the universe honestly burdening her with this pompous boy band member?


25. Bone Breaking, Miserable Song

Ellie's POV

Once the door closed, I broke down against it. My weakened body slid to the ground and I slammed my head back as the tears and shakes racked through me. I'd kept such composure all day, but when I saw him, every sickening feeling rose back up to remind me that I couldn't hold it down forever. He honestly looked awful. When I said those harsh words, I had enough time to assess his poor-form of untamed curls and sunken eyes. Yet, despite his bad shape, he was still that beautiful boy that continued to rip at my heart.

     I hated him. I hated how he broke our space and talked to me. I hated his pleading voice. I hated how despite my hatred for him, I hated myself more. I hated how I shut the door on him, when all I wanted to do was fall into his arms and for him to whisper, "Everything will be okay."

     But this was reality and nothing was okay.


I honestly tried telling myself that when I woke up this morning, I'd be fine. When I got to school, I played the "I'm just tired" card if anyone asked. But who actually cared about my feelings? Honestly, no one ever wants the answer.

     But being alone with Abby yapping away with Friday night's party, my lack of enthusiasm gave myself away. She just kept going on about "my kiss with Louis" and "how much Louis likes me" and "Niall is a gem (despite the whole boy band thingo)". I had simply nodded vaguely until she said, "You've barely spoken a sentence today. What's wrong?"

     And out came the generic, "I'm just tired".

     "That's a lie. You're always tired, but something's up. Tell me before I poke you in the eye with my pen."

     God, I'd forgotten how sharp her attentiveness was. I had sighed against my palm whilst we were sitting in the library. We'd both shared a spare, which worked perfectly with my unmotivated mood. The only problem was I had Abby slowly yanking at the truth I'd so desperately tried to keep.

     "Boy suck," was all I mumbled. She frowned. "But Louis is literally perfect. And the other night-"

     "I wish none of it happened."

     Abby looked at my deadpanned face. "Why do I suddenly get the feeling we aren't talking about Louis anymore?"

     "Harry kissed me too," I had said quietly. Saying it out loud made everything worse. The fact that his name and "kissed me" fit into the same sentence was so unbelievable, andunbearable. It all happened so quickly, almost vaguely, and in the process I lost someone I hadn't particularly planned to lose.

     "What?!" Abby shrieked, piercing the silent air with her pitchy gasp. I hushed her quickly before saying, "I really don't want to talk about it."

     "Harry-kissed-you-oh-my-God-!!" she pressed her hand over her mouth when some students glanced up from their work to frown confusedly at us.

     "Saying it again isn't making me feel better."

     "Wait, so you didn't kiss him back?"

     "That's the problem," I sighed. "I did, and I think I really liked him-but we fought and now it's over."

     "Does it feel over?" she asked.

     No, it didn't feel like it was. The constant dull ache in my heart still contracted at random points of the day, which was a mixture of sorrow and yearning. He may have lost my heart consciously, but the subconscious side was still clinging on to its lifeline, clinging on to hope.

     "Yes," I whispered. I was doing what I did best; supressing my emotions until I became shallow and detached. That way it's easier to let go, and maybe finally the hurt wouldn't be so harsh.

     Supressing only worked so well when you were persistent, and when the boy you fell crashing hard for shows up with a drunken demeanour and a breath spent on apologies, you really have no choice but to continue to cram all those feelings away and replace it with a mind deadened of emotion. The defences are then much more severe.

     I had spat more lies at Harry until I knew he'd give up on us. If he moved on, then essentially, I could begin to as well.  There just could never be an us; that's what I told myself as I slammed the door on him. But was I even kidding myself?




"It hurts, doesn't it?" Harry whispered into my hair. I closed my eyes and tried to block out his bright, striking ones. "Look at me when I ask you a question."

     They flew open involuntarily, and I had no choice but to stare straight into his vile pits of acid green. He smiled coolly, a patient smirk on his lips. He still waited for my answer, for me to humour him.

     "Yes," I gritted between clenched teeth. "It hurts so much."

     I could almost hear the irregular beats of my broken heart. But this time, my heart literally felt like someone took a hammer to it and cracked it open, the sharp edges stabbing into the surrounding area of my chest. And it hurt more than when I was awake.

     Harry smiled wider. "Now you know how I feel when you won't love me."

     "And I never will," I laughed humourlessly. The shudder of my ribcage caused the shattered pieces of my heart to press into my lungs. Harry appeared furious, but his calm was kept unnervingly well.

     "You better be careful what you say, sweetheart," he said. "I don't know how much more your little heart can take."

     "It has enough to walk away from you," I spat, turning on my heel. At first I walked, but then I ran, ran faster than my legs were willing to go. There was no sign of me being followed, but that didn't stop the sickening worry that I actually was. But, when I came to a halt, I hadn't expected to see what I now did in front of me.

     "No, Harry," I watched myself say a short distance away after disconnecting my kiss with him. Last weekend was replaying like a rerun before my eyes, but this time I watched from a third-person perspective as the horrible memory repeated.

     As if rehearsed to perfection, Harry spat those venomous words at the past me, and that's when the first snap ripped through my body. I screamed out in complete agony, and with every word Harry said, I felt everything the past me felt at that moment and more. This time, my heart wasn't the only thing breaking; my bones were cracking like brittle pieces of wood.

     I collapsed to my knees gasping, "stop!" to the past Harry, but the show just went on. Soon enough, the burn of broken limbs caused me to lay crumpled in a pile on the ground a short while away from where the past me had fallen on the kitchen tiles. I reached out to her with twisted fingers and she looked up at me with tear-stricken eyes.

     "Hold me," I whispered, and she did. She held my hand and whispered, "I'd rather have broken bones than to feel this alone."

     "I'd rather die," I said in return, and soon after I did so in the wake of my naïve self.


I woke up quietly. For the first 20 minutes, I just stared into empty space, regathering and recollecting my dream. Suddenly, I felt frustrated. Why did my mind decide to torture me with the idea that I couldn't live without Harry Styles? I'd survived plenty of heartbreaks over my existence, but who selected this one to be the most tormenting? It just seemed so insignificant, yet I woke up each morning with the same lack of enthusiasm and ache for him. And it didn't help that I entered each day replaying the demented endeavours of my subconscious realm.

     The faster I could convince him to let me go, the faster I could get to the end of this bone breaking, miserable song.

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