"I fink you assume too much," she sneered, purposefully skewing her words, mocking me, "You know nothing about me."

"On the contrary I believe that I know a great deal more about you than you do yourself." Her paper still filled my mind, her voice narrating the passages.

"Oh dear Professor, please enlighten me."

"You're proud, crass, and crave attention-."

"Sweetheart, you're basically quoting every therapist I've ever been to. Try again."

"But you're far more vulnerable than you lead others to believe-."

"It's like I'm listening to a broken record. Bored now," she yawned, turning her back and heading towards the door.

"You blame your father for your mother's death," I called, my voice harder than I had intended, echoing throughout the thankfully empty hall, "You hate him for his alcohol addiction. You believe that if he'd spent more time at home and less time at the bar that he would have seen the signs, that he would have realised how sick she was-."

"Stop," her normally confident voice faltered over the word and her jaw locked. For the first time since I'd met the girl, Ren Grace seemed uncomfortable and her pause encouraged my ego.

"You're wrong though. She was suffering from Stage IV Breast Cancer," I continued, refusing to halt in spite of the ghosts haunting the darkening blue eyes across from me,"No matter how much money your father spent or how much treatment she received it wouldn't have made a difference."

I could see the emotion building behind her usually faultless mask, but I didn't stop. I stalked forward until I was less than a meter away. No mercy! My mind was screaming at me to stop, for me to look and see what my words were doing to her but I couldn't. I was deafened by my pride, it had taken full control.

"You cannot prevent the inevitable, Miss Grace. At best, you can merely prolong it."

"Stop. Fermes ta putain de gueule!" She cried, her words tumbling out so quickly that it was all but impossible to distinguish what she was saying, "You know nothing about my mother. You have no idea what I went through, what she went through. Elle était ma mère. Je n'avais que 13 ans! Aucun enfant ne devrait jamais perdre sa mère! Mon père aurait pu faire quelque chose. Je sais qu'il aurait pu, mais il était bien trop égoïste pour poser sa putain de bouteille et désaouler. Il détestait rentrer à la maison et la voir dans son état! Elle ne tenait même pas debout quand il l'a enfin emmené au médecin! Elle n'a pas tenu une semaine!"

"Don't you dare pretend that you know anything about me," She hissed, angry tears barely held at bay. My ears were still ringing, her voice echoing over and over again in my mind. Had she been speaking another language?

"Are you deaf now too? Dis quelque chose!""

"You speak French?"

"Mon Dieu!" She shrieked, raking her fingers through vibrant violet hair, "Je te déteste! Tu n'es qu'un salopard d'ignorant!"

"Wha-?"

"Je vais tuer Caleb," she muttered, storming away, "Ce putain de gosse! Pour qui il se prend? Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!"

"Vas te faire foutre," She yelled before slamming the door to the hall behind her.

What the bloody hell just happened?

Harry Styles

Dumbly, I stared at my computer screen. I couldn't remember how long I'd been sitting there. It couldn't have been more than an hour and a half. I'd managed to finish maybe a page and a half in my Interactive Seminar paper. I had the entire semester to finish the assignment as I was supposed to report and analyse not only my performance in the classroom, but also that of my students and their response to my authority— whether positive or negative.

I couldn't focus, though. I'd been replaying her words over and over again in my head all day. I'd never seen her so upset before. I'd seen her angry, sure, but this was something beyond that.The look in her eyes when I'd brought up her mother was enough to bring me to my knees. I don't think anyone had ever described Ren Grace as broken, but in that moment I could see all of the tiny fractures and cracks that she'd somehow managed to pieced back together. I was missing something, a crucial piece to her puzzle. I'd forced myself into her life, stealing glances into a past that she obviously wasn't fond of.

I knew that I should regret stealing her paper, but I didn't. I regretted tearing into old wounds. I regretted pushing her so far. I even regretted yelling at her. The more I learned, though, the bigger the mystery she became. She spoke French. Since when did she speak French? Out of all of the times she'd yelled at me since we'd met, which had been quite a few, she'd never lapsed into another language. Where the hell had the French come from? Her patronisation of my accent and nationality made it obvious that she was a red blooded American, so where did that piece fit into place?

Would I ever figure her out?

The buzz of my mobile vibrating against the wooden desk top brought reality crashing back down around me. Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I picked up the device and slid the bar to answer.

"Hello?"

"Fido, here Fido! Who's a good boy?" Jasmine's voice cooed through the receiver.

"Amusing."

"Lighten up, Harry. It's a joke. You should try laughing every once in a while. It helps you live longer."

"And if I want to die tragically young?" I yawned, blankly staring at the large clock across the room. It was already late, at least half past six. I'd stayed behind in the hall for another ten minutes or so after Ren had stormed out. What time was that? Half past two? I'd been in here for nearly four hours. Had it really been that long?

"You would have offed yourself already instead of trying to bone my sister," Jas's voice cut through my thoughts.

"What?"

"You. Ren. Suicidal sexcapades."

"What makes you think that she's not my poison of choice?"

"Because if she was, you'd go out fucking. She and I both agree that tit would be the best way to go. Just imagine, your like mid orgasm and-."

"I'd prefer if you spared me the imagery, Jas."

"Your loss," she grumbled, rustling noise filling the background as well as the clang of... maybe pots?

"Anyway, Cujo, my dads want to know when you'll be here. Dinner will be ready in an hour and I'm fucking starving so you'd better hurry your sexy ass up."

"Dinner?"

"I told you about it this morning, remember? I told you about how they went to see this guy who's supposedly an expert in family shit. He recommended a big family dinner at least twice a week and since they seem to think of you as the son they never had, your attendance is mandatory."

"Jas, I'm sorry but I really can't tonight, tell Caleb and John I'm sorry-."

"Oh no you don't. I'm already dealing with one whacked out best friend. No get out of jail free cards tonight."

"Have you heard from her?"

"Yeah, she called me two hours ago totally tripping. I swear it was like I could hear her blood boiling over the phone. She kept yelling about how she was going to kill you and my dad. What the hell did you do to her, anyway?"

"What? No, nothing. I mean I may have said a few things, but what was she saying—?"

"She kept going off in French and I could barely keep up! I mean we spend a month or two in our house there each summer, so I know a lot but I'm not fucking fluent! I mean I don't understand—."

"Jas—."

"Everything that comes out of her mouth. She used to talk in her sleep a lot when we were younger; she was always calling out in French, but she hasn't done it in so long. I'd almost forgotten—."

"You knew?"

"Yeah, Fido, keep up. She like grew up in the French Quarter or something, I forget. I'm not really interested in anything south of the City, but my dads took us back once, the food was good."

"Jasmine—."

"Anyway, that's not the point. Get your grumpy, tweed covered ass here in ten or I'll cut your balls off, filet them, and then shove them down your throat."

"You do have a vivid imagination."

"Styles," she warned and the image of a petite blonde wielding a rather large pair of scissors filled my mind.

"Alright, I'll be there in a bit, but you're going to finish explaining."

"Here's an idea. Man up and just ask the girl. She's not going to chop your dick off before she gets to try it out. I, however, am not that hedonistic, though. So, play your cards wisely and you might just get what you want."

"Comforting."

"Are you coming?"

I groaned, rubbing my temples. I felt sorry for Caleb, he certainly had his hands full, "I'm packing up, I'll be there in a bit, but the traffic in this city—."

"So jump the curb and make the little people run. It's actually really fun."

"Remind me never to ride with you."

"I don't hear papers rustling and zippers closing. Get your ass over here."

"Alright Jas, I'll be there soon."

"That better be British for like right fucking now."

"Goodbye, Jasmine." I ended the call and rested my forehead against the cool surface of the table. I'd had no idea just what I was getting myself into when I'd met Caleb four months ago. He'd been so kind and passive. I hadn't been expecting all of the baggage that came along with him and the opportunity he presented.

Buzz.

Without looking, I slid my forefinger across the screen, unlocking the mobile and bringing up the message.

Jasmine McKenney: Quit doing that weird mopey thing and get your ass over here. They just broke out the good Scotch.

Harry Styles: Have a glass ready.

Jasmine McKenney: No promises, Fido. Better hurry.

Sighing, I saved my paper and packed up my laptop, heading towards my bike in the lot out back. The McKenney's home was just outside of the opposite side of campus—it was definitely one place I was dreading returning to. I'd barely made it out of the house last time. I'd had to scale the the fire escape and even then I'd only just been able to make it out without the McKenney's notice. Why the fuck had I even agreed to go back? It was a suicide mission. And yet... I needed to see her. I didn't know for sure that she would be there. I could only hope, though, and that was motivation enough. The second that I set foot outside of the library, the constantly contested city traffic was there to greet me. It would take at least an hour to make it to their townhouse at this point. I could cut through the commons but security would have a fit about the ruts in their precious lawns.

"Will you ever get that stick out of you ass?" Ren's voice taunted me, aquamarine eyes dancing with mischief. She'd been angry when she'd seen her paper but it was nothing in comparison to the outright furry that I'd set off with my pride fueled rant.

Bracing myself, I put on my helmet and kicked the bike to life. The engine roared in response and I tore out of the car park.

"...Ride like a bat out of hell."

"It's a rush."

Her voice filled my mind and impulse took control. I didn't think. I flew. Something sparked inside of me and I couldn't help the wild grin that spread across my face.

Stick: removed.

Adrenaline burned in my veins as I raced across the campus. Students leapt out of the way, various voices screaming at me, yelling at me for being "foolish" or "reckless". I didn't care. I could just imagine Ren riding along behind me, howling with joy as the wind whipped her hair around her face making her seem even more etherial. was this how she felt every day? Free? Limitless?

The feeling subsided just as soon as it emerged, though, urging me to let off of the gas. Reckless actions always produced consequences. I'd plowed through a pedestrian area during one of the most congested times of day. People were getting out of classes and heading to dinner. They were everywhere, but I hadn't cared. I'd just raced through them, not waiting for them to jump out of the way. I could have hurt someone back there.

But I didn't.

Shaking my head, I pulled to a stop outside of the McKenney's, kicking out the stand and ditching my helmet.

What the hell just happened?

"Bloody hell," I groaned, raking trembling fingers through the front of my hair before lifting the knocker. Quickly, I tried to force my body to relax. My blood was still humming with adrenaline and dread. Even through the closed door, strains of music slipped through. I couldn't remember if Caleb and John had installed a sound system through out their home. It had to be a new addition.

"Harry!" Johnathan McKenney cheered, flinging the door open, flooding the darkened stoop with warm light. The music flew past me into the darkening night, a haunting composition full of longing and loss.

"Interesting choice," I mused, motioning toward the still obscured source of the sound, "I've never heard this version. What album is it on?"

"What?"

"The music."

"Oh! No, that's just Dari. She gets in these moods you see and nothing seemed to help. She was always drumming her fingers against the tabletop and the counters. One day, Caleb brought home a piano. We'd had no idea that she could play. She does have a gift, though. We tried to get her to go to Juilliard, but she refused. I'm still trying to convince her to transfer."

"That's Ren?" So, she was here.

"Yes, she's in the parlour. Actually, why don't you go and get her. Dinner will be ready in a bit."

"I really don't think that's wise—."

"Go on, she doesn't bite."

"That's what you think," I grumbled, reluctantly moving forward and pushing the french doors apart.