This Love.

One girl, Cameron Daniels. One Boy, Harry Styles. One forbidden love.

Cameron has always insisted that she hated One Direction, her friends and family knew that. But what if she was hiding one heck of a secret? What if he loves her? No one knows about Harry and Cameron’s relationship, it all kept a secret. But what happens when someone finds out? And everything suddenly gets a whole lot more tense.

And a lot more dangerous.

This Love Has Taken Its Toll On Me.


7. Chapter 7.

~I apologise that it has almost been a month since I updated, but things have been busy with exams and all that. <THIS IS WRITTEN IN HARRY'S POINT OF VIEW>This is a really long chapter that isn't finished yet, but I didn't want to leave you hanging forever. *Also, just for a warning, this chapter contains strong language*~


Chapter 7




She stood before me, long, white dress cascading over her pale body. Her hair fell in small, dark wisps of smoke down her back. Ivory lace patterning her arms, a small white rose tucked into a headband that rested at the edge of her hair line. Her small hands were calloused by mine as we linked them together and her eyes met mine. I opened my mouth, ready to make her forever-


“Wake up, dude!” A voice yelled; Louis, I think. My eyes shot open, bright sunlight blinding me. My curls were plastered to my skull with sweat, a red flush lining my cheeks. My hand reached over to my left side, my palm brushing over the empty, crisp, white sheet. A sigh left my lips. I honestly wanted to be with her forever. To have and to hold, to cherish, to love. I fluttered my lids, hiding my gaze from the awaiting figure, shaking the beautiful image from my mind’s eye.  Louis scoffed, and my eyes reopened. “What, did one of the girls you brought home last night leave before you woke? I bet you had a wonderful time with one of your little sluts, didn’t you? I bet she screamed your name, while you thought about the next girl you could fuck, right?”


“What the actual hell, Louis? You know I’m not like that.” My hands clenched into fists, the knuckles no doubt turning pale as anger boiled ferociously inside of me. Since when did Louis start insulting people? My breath came out in laboured puff as I tried to calm down, but it was no use. “Get out.” I muttered, sharply, under my breath. His eyes widened at the darkness in my voice. The boys had never seen this side of me; only Cameron had to be honest. The side of me that was living in the past, the part of me that was lost. The lights that had once lined my heart had burnt out, only to be covered with the boy I was the rest of the time, things had happened, forced my to hide away, wanting to protect everything around me, everyone.


I pulled back the white duvet, it flying messily across the room as I pulled some dark, skin-tight jeans up my legs, messily hauling a loose shirt over my bed-head curls. I tugged them back, grabbing a grey-blue snapback and creasing them away. I dropped to my knees, looking under the darkness of my bed, finding a simple, light blue, almost white backpack. I flicked the brownish straps over my shoulders, the weight only slightly felt over my tall frame. I pushed open the white-painted wood door, stepping into the shared living space where all the boys were socialising. I slammed the door, silence coming over them like an extremely dense mist that arrived after a heavy rainfall. I pushed the sleeves of my oversized blue button-up up my arms, were I could almost see the muscles tensing as Louis shot a not-so-discreet glare at me. I cringed away from his eye line, muttering profanities to myself, not caring if the boys heard or not.


“Where you going?” Liam asked, his gaze focused on the television, like he cared anyway. “Out.” I spoke bluntly, making my way across the cream, stain-splattered carpet, towards the front door. “Where?” He asked again, his voice more demanding. “Does it actually concern you?” I threw back, sarcasm lacing my voice, undoing the latch and walking out, not without also slamming that door.


I knew I couldn’t take my anger out on my ‘friends’, but I had a short temper, which the boys hated. I swore a lot, my voice got deeper and my accent harder to understand. My shoulders would hunch over and my eyes turned shades darker. My lips creased together as a fan approached me, their faces contorting into one of shock as the saw the air drawn from my cheeks, the bones becoming more prominent and my lips drawn down into an almost sarcastic frown. I moved past them, my feet hitting the concrete quickly, my gaze linking up to the small, green signs I was following. Gym and Leisure Centre.


The modern building sat in front of me, weak sunlight streaming towards the windows, only to be reflected off the highly-polished mirror-like glass seconds later. The automatic door whirred to life seconds later as I approached them, revealing an almost cynical reception area.

"How can I help you today?" The man at the front desk asked. How the hell did he get a job in a gym? He wasn't exactly slim, let's put it that way. "Uh, I just want to use the gym please." I muttered, quietly. "Of course, young man, here's a gym pass. I hope you enjoy your time here." He spoke in a cheesy American accent that was incredibly annoying. "Sure, thanks." 


The locker rooms were almost empty, the occasional person coming and going, but I expected there to be more people present. 

I pulled my bag in front of me, dropping it on the bench. I hauled my shirt over my head, the cool fabric strewing my curls in every possible direction, I threw it angrily towards the old rickety benches and it pooled into a puddle of blue on the floor.  Easily, I unzipped the bag, grabbing an old t-shirt that was crumpled near the bottom. I put it on, along with a pair of long shorts that rested around the bottom of my thighs. I slipped my feet into my Nikes, tying the laces tightly. I rested my Snapback back on top of my curls, picking up my backpack once again and moving, slowly, towards the entrance. 

I felt my phone vibrated in my bag as I unknotted my apple headphones that had been lost in the depths of the bag. I slipped the phone out if its confines, sliding the 'unlock' button across and hitting the pads of my thumbs on the keys, unlocking it. I pressed the cool glass the ear, answering gruffly to the receiver. 

"What?" I said, and the person on the other end laughed. 

"Harry, are you... angry, again?" She questioned, Cameron that is. I nodded, then remembering she couldn't hear me and I spoke up. 

"Louis insulted me. He called me a bloody manwhore, for god's sake! He just expects me to be a player and complete user, treating women as frickin' objects. I'm not like that..." 

My voice was laced with a thick, dark poison, my accent becoming almost unrecognisable; obscurities flew from my lips in breaths, my girlfriend trying to calm me down. 

"Harry, calm down. I know you aren’t like that; you never get this angry unless someone really hurts you. Just breathe, think about when you get back into the UK, we can spend more time together. I miss you, you know?"

My breathing became a fraction lighter, and we kept talking for a bit, my back resting against the cool metal of one of the beige lockers. We soon muttered out goodbyes and I had calmed down slightly, I had from the minute I had heard her voice. Just as I was slipping the device into the zipped pocket of my backpack, it vibrated, signalling a text.

(One new message)
From: Louis

Why are you always on the phone anyway? Organising another session for tonight? I know you're lying when you said you're not like that, you always muttering to yourself or on the phone. Whispering about how you 'love' them. Telling a new girl you love them everyday, right? Making them believe that you care about them, when in reality you're gonna 'dispose' of them within a few hours of your paradise, not even phone them after a few days of contact. I bet you let them take control, making you feel everything you have ever wanted. 
You're sick, Styles. 

I dropped my phone to the floor, the screen cracking, again. I picked it up, checking it was ok, which it was, some of the glass scattered around but it was usable. I hope.  


I plugged my headphone is in, stuffing them into my ears and moving quietly from the locker room.


Labyrinths of winding passageways that seemed to lead no where, my boiling anger becoming harder to control. My hands were clenched into fists at my sides, one of them gripping onto the strap of the bag as I pushed open a pair of large, silver-painted double doors. As I walked in, I realised I found the exact place I had wanted in the first place.


Bold sparks of graffiti crashed along the wall, random words, phrases and pictures created with them. I dropped my bag from my shoulders, my hands fumbling inside to find the tape; I curled my fingers around it and pulled it out, beginning to plaster it neatly around my fingers.


Twenty minutes later, my hands were stuffed into my black boxing gloves, the punching bag in the middle of the room eerily swinging softly from side to side. I walked slowly forwards, music blaring-silently to outsiders-inside my mind. One of my fists collided with the swinging leather and a sigh left my lips. My hands started to move quicker, left and right, my feet swiftly moving and dodging in a direct rhythm.


“Oi! Mate, you can’t be in here” My head snapped up, and I pushed my hand free of the gloves, pulling my headphones from my ears. A man stood there, well-built, definitely a boxer. Tattoos scrawled up his arms, one resting across his beefy neck that was probably full of muscle. This was one man that didn’t want to be messed with. “Oh, uh, sorry.” I muttered, moving over to my bag and placing my gloves inside.

“It’s ok, I’m guessing from that accent that you’re not from around here, am I correct?” I nodded; obviously my accent had shone through. “Yeah, I’m from Britain, just here on… Vacation. I was just angry, uh, this is one of the only ways I can let my anger out.” I stated and he nodded. “Well, you’re good, man. Got a decent punch on you. How long have you been training?" He asked. "Uh, probably for about four years?"

"Wow. That's good. Will you be back here over the week?" He questioned and I shook my head. "I've got plans for the rest if the week, but if I come back to Miami, I'll probably be back."
"Ok, dude. I'll see you sometime in the future, I'm guessing."


The anger fully gone, my skin-tight jeans and shirt back on. I pushed my gloves inside my backpack, hauling it back onto my shoulders and slowly leaving the building.

Me and Joe, the boxing trainer, got talking, mostly about boxing, but then the subject turned to every day life and jobs and he work out who I was. "Oh, that boy band?" He said, as a look of knowing came over his face. "Tired of being in the spotlight, people knowing your every move, people assuming the wrong things?" I nodded in reply to him at the point ad it was if he knew why I was there that day, since. To be honest, I was dreading going back to the boys. Sure, I had just walked out before, one thing that we weren't meant to do unless we had informed our managers before hand.

Stuff that shit, did it look like I cared?

I honestly didn't want to go back to the hotel, Louis proably was going to ignore me, as I wasn't in his good books, not that he was in mine though. Insulting me wasn't the best wake-up call in the morning. To be honest, I ddin't know if anyone would want to even look at me after this mornings 'episode.' They had never seen me like that, and I didn't really want them too. It was a bit late now. 

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