Eucatastrophe ~ h.s.

This isn't how I planned any aspect of my life to occur.

The plan was simple: Finish university with a 4.0 GPA, Get a well-paying corporate job that's more intense than the assistant job I've now, Find a man that loves me for me, Get married at a gorgeous ceremony, Have beautiful children, Grow old with the man of my dreams and watch our kids mature right before our eyes, and Then fall deeper and deeper in love with our time together.

That Night wasn't supposed to happen. My life wasn't supposed to turn out like this.

*Contains: Language, mild sexual content, and a bit of violence. Content could be triggering for some.*


6. ✗ five ✗


After Harry so kindly dropped me off at my home, I spent the rest of the afternoon into late evening showering and napping away all of my problems. The shower healed some, but brought forth many more problems and more tears. The nap, whilst allowing me the rest I truly needed, brought nightmares so horrid that I awoke crying. I don't know which I'd rather, the nightmares or the crying in the shower.

You never think that something like this could actually happen to you until it does. We were always taught about the possibility of this happening, but I never thought that it could happen to me. In uni, we had a whole day dedicated to Sexual Assault Awareness, what to do and how to prevent it. All that I could remember now was that it wasn't my fault and that I needed to talk to someone instead of bottling my emotions up.

When I had left the hospital this morning the doctor gave me the number of some therapist in town, someone who works with patients like me. When I first received the number I stuffed the card deep into my pocket, hoping to forget it. As much as I want to forget, my mind didn't. So I promised the doctor that I would give the therapist a call, though I wasn't sure if I really would or not. All that could help now was a bit of TV to keep my mind off the incident.

I had since settled myself in front of the TV in my living room, trying to focus on Jamie Oliver cook some recipe that I can never prepare, but can religiously write down in hopes of preparing it one day. That's something that calms me, watching cooking shows and writing down recipes that I can dream of cooking one day. Whether I'm sick or just upset, cooking can help.

"Then you're going to add your rice into the mixture, allowing the-" Jamie's instructions are cut short by someone knocking upon my door, then ringing the bell. I curse to myself, wondering whom on Earth it could be at this time of day. It's about eight in the evening, and no one ever visits so that puts me off as well.

"Coming!" I shout, pausing my programme and shuffling over to the door. I pull at my oversized jumper as I stand up on my tiptoes to peer out the peephole. You've got to be kidding me. I exhale deeply and rest my forehead against the wood of the door before me, hoping if I'm quiet he will just go away.

"Shay, I know you're at the door, I can hear you breathing." I clamp my mouth shut to settle my heavy breathing and shake my head to myself. "I can imagine that you haven't eaten yet, so I brought Chinese take away." I lean my head against the door and exhale deeply. I love Chinese take away more than anything in the world. He probably figured that out from all of those times I would order it for late nights at the office. "If you won't let me in, at least let me give you the food." He sounds as if he's pouting on the other side of the door, which makes me feel guilty, so I open the door.

"Come on in." I mutter, stepping back away from the door.


I admire Harry on his day off. This has to be one of the first times I'm seeing him in something other than work clothes and blazers, aside from this morning. He's wearing these black skinny jeans that are tighter than anything I've ever tried to wear; surprisingly they look very lovely on him. He wears a black button down, with the top three buttons undone to show what's beneath. I have to make myself stop staring at the ink on his broad chest.

"Shay?" I blink out of my gaze upon his outfit and shut the front door, locking it once again.

"I was just watching a bit of TV." I explain, leading him into my living room and dinning area. I only have a table for two pushed along one of the walls, mostly because I never have guests and I never eat at the table.

"Jamie Oliver?" I peer over my shoulder at Harry, to see him admiring the telly, a smile on his lips. I can't really read what his emotions are at this point in time. "I love Jamie Oliver."

"Really?" I smile for what seems like the first time in a long time. Harry doesn't sway me as the cooking channel type, more like the fashion channel or the news. He sets the food bags down onto my counter beside my kitchen sink and starts opening the bags with a shrug.

"You seem so surprised."

"I am." I admit. "You don't seem like you have enough time to watch TV, let alone catch up on your cooking programmes." Harry smirks over at me, pulling out the tubs of food and setting them atop my counter.

"I'll have you know that I have perfected his recipes for the entire course of his Food Revolution programme." I take out two glasses from the cupboard and shake my head.

"You have perfected them or your cook has?"

"What makes you think I have a cook?" He does have a point. In all my times of being over at his place, I never once saw a cook. There's one maid that came by once every week to clean, but even she doesn't stay long, perhaps only a few hours.

"I'm sorry for assuming. But I still can't believe you." Harry looks over at me with a cocked eyebrow. I like messing with him, and right now it feels like we're back to our fun work relationship before anything happened.

"Name one recipe and next time you're over I'll cook it for you." I think about it for a moment, not being able to come up with one on the top of my head. There are too many to choose from.

"How about you just pick and I'll watch you prepare it." Harry extends his hand over to me and smiles largely.

"Deal." I suppress a laugh that wants to escape my lips and shake his hand lightly before turning back to our food. After a couple seconds I bring into the laughter and fill the glass to the top with water. "What are you laughing at?" Harry asks.

"I don't know, you crack me up Mr. Styles." I sigh deeply, turning around to lean against the countertop. "I feel as if I haven't laughed in years rather than days." I say, my smile slowly turning upside down into a frown.

"You know, you don't have to call me Mr. Styles. I enjoy being called Harry." I roll my eyes and stare up at him. Even in times of emotional distress, he still only wants me to call him Harry that's his main worry.

"The day I call you by your first name and not the name I usually do, is the day you know you should be worried about me." Harry stares down at me, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and slowly nodding his head.


"Shay, do you remember me?" He snarls, pinning my arms down above my head and snickering so loudly that his voice echoes through my head. I turn my head to the side avoiding having to look him in the eye or having his face close to me. But I feel his hot breath on my neck before he begins to kiss the skin unwillingly. I try to scream, but nothing comes out aside from a squeak.

"Stop!" I cry out, trying to kick his body off mine, but it's as if my legs aren't allowing me to move. It's like they are glued to the concrete below me. And it's as if the man weighed two tons.

"Awe, don't be like that gorgeous. We had loads of fun the last time we saw each other. Although you were a lot quieter, could have had something to do with you taking a small rest." His lips begin to assault my neck again whilst his free hand starts to roam my body. I shiver at his touch, the thought of his hands on me making me want to vomit.

"Let me go!"

"Do you know what the best part is?" He asks me, moving his free hand to my face. He squeezes my chin to the point where it actually hurts, turning my face so that I have to look deep into his eyes. His eyes are dark as night, almost black. His breath is fowl of cigarettes and alcohol, whilst his teeth appear to be yellowing with lack of brushing. "The best part, my dear Shay, is that I'm coming back and there's nothing you can do about it." I squirm in his grasp, allowing tears to cascade down my cheeks.

"Please stop!" His hand slips from my face, roaming south in a slow manner.

"I could come back today, or tomorrow, even within the next hour." I stare up at him as if in a trance that I can't pull myself from. "Or I could be hovering over you right now." Suddenly his face begins to change. His dark orbs begin to grow light with fluorescens of green in them, until the entire iris is a forest green color. His hair grows down to his shoulders, where the chestnut curls hang loosely.

"No, let me go."

"Shay." He sings out, his voice changing to that of the man I feel oddly comfortable being around. "Shay." I squeeze my eyes shut, tears streaming down my cheeks and pooling around me.

"Shay, wake up!"

I scream, someone's hands grabbing me and pulling me into a sitting position. I slap the person away, my hand coming into contact with skin creating a loud smack. I jump away from the person and open my eyes, coming face to face with a startled and clearly worried Harry.

"Shay!" He shouts, shaking me out of sleep entirely.

"What?" I utter, my bottom lip trembling as I feel the wetness drip down my cheeks. I quickly wipe what appear to be tears off my cheeks with my shoulder because my hands are currently restrained. Harry stares over at me from across the couch, one hand grips around my wrists whilst the other holds onto his cheek. "Oh my God, did I hit you?"

"Yeah, but it's fine." He mutters, lightly rubbing his cheek before detaching his hand from around my wrists. "I'm more worried about you. One second you were fast asleep and the next you were thrashing about, tears pouring out from underneath your eyelids, and then you were shouting at no one in particular." Harry stops to take a deep breath, his eyes roaming me for a few moments in pure silence. "Shay, I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to, it was just a nightmare."

"Yeah, but-"

"Mr. Styles," I warn, staring over at him, "I think it's time you go." I say, standing to my wobbly feet. I pick up Harry's coat, which has been thrown onto one of my couches before making my way to the front door. I wait patiently for him to join me, and when he does I open the door and toss him his coat. "I'm going to need a few more days to myself. Just have Melissa take over for me whilst I'm gone."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" He asks, stepping out of my flat. "I mean, you should take as much time as you need off, but maybe someone else should take over." I shake my head.

"She's my intern, she can do the job." I say as I close the door. "Goodbye Mr. Styles."



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