Fists and Knives (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 6

Harry found the keys to what he called “the emergency car” and gave them to me after ordering me to crank the vehicle.  My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing in the car as I waited for Harry to come out of the house.  It was nerves, I guess.  I kept thinking about the kitchen and wondered if it would be safe to tell Clark about what happened.  Or should I just quit after this and never tell anyone about it?  What would telling anyone even do?  You can’t try and explain to someone that a boxer was violent… that would be like accusing a magician of being deceiving.  I could probably call Garfield and get him to pick me up in the middle of the night to take me home… I’m sure he would understand why.  He was the first person to mention Harry’s anger to me anyway.

When the passenger side of the car opened, Harry slid into the seat and used his hands to lift his heavy booted foot into the car.  He was wearing black jeans and a black beanie, which was nearly covered by the hood of his black jacket.  Once he turned slightly to face me, I could see he was wearing black frames on the bridge of his nose too.  The lenses were missing.

“That’s your disguise? Glasses?” I asked. “Wow.  Marcus’ guys won’t ever know it’s you.  Especially with that massive boot," I said sarcastically.

Harry glared at me. “Drive.”  He pretended to ignore my critique of his attempted costume, but I knew he was listening because he eventually took the huge boot off and slipped on his other Converse shoe.  He winced slightly as he tried to put his foot down without the boot on, but I didn’t say anything.

“Do you know where The Cave is?” He asked me once the city lights came into view.  I shook my head and he sighed, clearly bothered by my lack of knowledge with the fighting arenas of the city.  “Left here,” he instructed.  I turned the car. “And a right.”

It was a little surprising how calm Harry sounded as he gave me instructions through the city.  If I had just met him, I wouldn’t have suspected he would ever hold me at knife point.  He started to adjust his fake glasses and his hood as I pulled up on the street in front of a club.  The neon lights spelled out “The Cave,” flickering any time someone walked beneath them.  I watched Harry climb out of the car, struggling just a little bit with his gimp leg, and then close his door.  My heart pounded once when someone opened the driver’s door for me. 

“Oh, no.  I’m not getting out,” I tried to explain.

The young, yet rough-looking chauffer raised an eyebrow at me.

Harry tapped on his window and motioned for me to roll it down.  I obliged and looked at him pleadingly.

“Get out of the car.”

I widened my eyes. “This wasn’t part of the deal.  You told me to drive you-“

“And now I’m telling you to get out of the fucking car,” he said, his voice just loud enough for me to hear.  The chauffer shifted impatiently and I could see other cars lining up behind ours in the rear-view mirror.  I gulped and stepped out of the car.  I wasn’t even in the club yet and I felt out of place.  Harry hadn’t told me to change clothes, so I was still comfortable in a pair of yoga pants, black Vans, and Clark’s white tee.  My burnt hand was wrapped in a large bandage.  I hadn’t showered all day and my hair was still tied back into a ponytail with my red bandana. Scurrying out of the street and onto the sidewalk near Harry, I kept my eyes down because I didn’t want to see anyone judging me.

I stuck close to Harry’s body as we approached the club door, passing the people who had been standing in the roped-off line for more than a couple of minutes, if not hours.  Their eyes shot daggers of jealousy and irritation as I skipped the line and approached the door with Harry. “We’re here for the fight,” Harry informed the bouncer before starting to walk through the doors.  The bouncer stuck a hand out in front of Harry’s body and shook his head.