The Boy With The Bruises(Harry Styles)

"What happened to you, Harry? Why are you afraid to let me touch you?"

Harry Styles is broken. He moved to America as a foster, his mother sent to jail for brutally abusing him and his father long dead. He keeps himself away from other people, snapping at them when they get too close, and at school that earns him a reputation of a bully and everybody is afraid of him. The truth that nobody knows is that he is afraid of them.

Serenity is a small girl, and sensitive to the touch. The tiniest thing can bring tears to her eyes, and she hates it. She wants to be stronger, but she just can't do it.

When she meets Harry, he frightens her and she wants to push him away, but she finds it impossible. Fate seems to bring them together, because Serenity and Harry can help each other in ways they can't imagine.
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3. Chapter Three

"I've told, like, three people already. I was just under the weather, okay?" I stuffed my hands in the pocket of my hoodie as I walked to my locker with my friend Aliza. "It's not that big of a deal."

"But you're never sick," Aliza insisted. Her blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her eyes looked tired, like she hadn't gotten any sleep in a while. She looked pretty sick herself. "I was just asking, no need to bite my head off."

I sighed as I approached my locker, and Aliza went to hers. There were only a few separating ours. "Sorry." 
Spinning the combination on my lock, I shrugged. "Just in a bad mood from missing a day, I guess."

When I had woken up that morning, the fight with Chris came back to me instantly. I must've woken up on the right side of the bed, because I told myself I didn't want to be mad at him, and that I would make peace with him. I didn't care how, I would. 

As I was getting my things for my first period class, which was art, Aliza came up to me. "Here," she said, handing me a book with a worn leather-bound cover. 

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Where did you get this?" I hurriedly took it out of her hands. It was my sketchbook. Old and used and I'd had it for about a year, but I still used it every day for art class. Drawing was something I loved, and the sketchbook was a private thing of mine that I'd never let anyone look at. I had no idea why it was in Aliza's possession; it should've been in my locker, where I'd left it last. 

"This kid came up to and gave it to me. Do you know Harry Styles?"

I looked up from the sketchbook and blinked. "He gave it to you?" My mind was racing- how? And what if he had looked in it? 

Aliza nodded, her tired eyes a little earnest. "He just walked up and practically shoved it in my hands. Then he, like, almost ran away." 

I glanced around, almost as if I thought that Harry was nearby. Why had he had it? As I thought about it, realization crossed my face. It must've fell out of my locker when I had rushed to leave the school the day before, and it had probably gotten mixed up in Harry's books while I scooped them up, then handed them to him with my sketchbook unknowingly in the pile. But that explanation only answered one question. "How had he known to give it to you?"

Aliza seemed to consider that, then shrugged. "He probably saw us together at lunch or something." She paused. "And our lockers are pretty close."

Sighing, I added the sketchbook to the things in my hands for my first class. "Okay, then, thanks." Something about the whole story didn't add up, but I didn't really want to dwell on that. 

"How do you know him?" Aliza asked curiously. 

"He doesn't- I mean, I don't. I have no idea why he had my book." I honestly didn't want to explain the whole Harry situation to Aliza. "Gotta get to class." Walking quickly, I rushed passed her to get to art. She was going to get it out of me later, I knew, but evading it for a while would give me to think about an efficient lie to feed her. 

The cool air of the art room blew past my face as I entered, and instantly I felt more or less calmed. It was a small room, with linoleum floors and creamy white walls. The tables were wood and square, with matching stools, and unevenly spaced out around the room. There were two people to a table, but since there was an uneven amount of students in the class I was the one seated alone. I liked it better that way, anyways. It was easier to concentrate. 

The class was an advanced art class, and it was filled with the quiet type of students. Artsy, thoughtful people that all had different types of wonderful talents. I didn't really talk to anyone in the class, but I liked them nonetheless. 

The bell rang, and a few moments later the teacher waked in. "Okay, class," he said. His name was Mr. Jennings, and he was most definitely my favorite teacher. He was tall and lanky, and something about that made him seem even more laid back than he really was. He was a wonderful artist, as well, and he taught with a great sense of humor. 

"Today's project is a single day one, and by far is my favorite. It won't be for a grade." The last statement earned a few cheers, and he laughed. "All you need is a single sheet of sketch paper and a sharp pencil, so get that ready and I'll explain." 

The class volume rose to a murmur to a minuet as the class got their things ready. I carefully tore out a piece of paper from sketchbook and took out a lead sketch pencil, the rested my chin in my hands as I waited for Mr. Jennings to tell us what we were going to do. 

"So," Mr. Jennings began, taking a dry-erase marker in hand. He drew a square on the whiteboard, meant to resemble our papers. "Today we are going to focus on our minds. You will be drawing what had been on your mind the most lately, whether it's a book, a song or a person, or anything, really." He walked around the classroom as he spoke. "Maybe the thing you've been thinking about most is completely subconscious. You don't know, or you think you do, while you really don't. Does anyone have any idea how to know for certain?"

A boy with blond hair and blue eyes, named Jacob, raised his hand. He had a faint smile on his face, as if he knew exactly the answer that the teacher was looking for. "You don't focus on the fact that you're making art. You act as if you aren't."

Mr. Jennings nodded. "Exactly. Does anyone know how to do that, how to not focus on your art? Art is supposed to be something you focus on, right? Especially a realistic sketch." When no hands were raised, he continued on. "The answer is simple," he said. "You will be drawing with your eyes closed." 

I watched the teacher in interest, thinking about how it would be to draw like that. I knew I had a talent when it came to art, so I wasn't expecting drawing with my eyes closed to be all that hard. 

"You'll draw like you do always," Mr. Jennings said. "Same position, nothing special. But instead of focusing on actually drawing, let your mind work. You know when sometimes you space out, and your mind begins to paint pictures, or thoughts, like on a blank canvas?" He watched us, waiting for our nods or some other form of understanding. "That is how you must let your mind fall while you work, and then you'll do the project right." 

He clapped his hands, then sighed. "Before you begin, let me ask you to guess what you will be drawing about. Most of your result will surprise you, I'd guess, if you let your mind space out while you draw." 

Immediately I thought of Chris, and I was pretty sure that's who my picture would end up as. I still felt guilty for fighting with him yesterday, and guilt always seeped into my subconscious. 

"Begin," Mr. Jennings announced, and I set myself up to draw before I closed my eyes. Before I moved the pencil on the paper, I imagined my mind as a blank canvas, as the teacher had said. As I drew, it was actually kind of hard to put together what I was thinking, but I thought my mind drew to the fight the day before. 

I heard the scratching of pencils against paper, it was so quiet in the room. I had to fight to keep my eyes closed; I was curious as to see how my drawing of Chris looked. But to my surprise, the teacher told us to finish up, as much as we thought we needed to. "Class will be over in ten minuets." 

I didn't know how much it would be until my drawing was done, so I just drew until Mr. Jennings told us to open our eyes. When he said it, I put my pencil down, and decided to show Chris one of my drawings for once, since it was of him, before I opened my eyes. 

When I opened them, I was sure my gasp was audible around the classroom, even though it was quite loud from other people's surprise

The drawing wasn't Chris.

I ran my fingers over the paper in shock. It was Harry, how he was standing when he was on the front steps of the school the day before. It was a beautiful drawing, I could say that and not feel conceited, because it was true. I examined how I'd drawn Harry's face, and I was amazed to see I'd drawn it exact, to the last bruise.

"Is anyone surprised?" I heard Mr. Jennings ask, but I didn't raise my hand. I was still too surprised, and I didn't really want to admit it. 

The bell rang shortly after that, and as I walked out of the classroom I almost threw away the drawing. Something made me change my mind, though, and I carefully tucked it in my folder. I treated the drawing with caution and care.

I treated it, actually, how I'd suppose you would treat Harry.

Comment what you think, lovelies! Thank you so much for reading! -<3JuliaRose<3

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