Fists and Knives (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 26

I woke up the next morning by getting slapped in the face. The skin on my cheek tingled.  Not ideally how I would have liked to be woken up, but then again, it seemed like I couldn’t wake up beside Harry without something strange or horrible happening the minute I opened my eyes or soon after.  I was almost offended, unsure of who might have struck me across the face, until I opened my eyes and saw no one.  No one was in the room except for myself and Harry.

Harry growled loudly and seconds later, his fist came hurling toward my face.  Hurriedly, I threw my body sideways and off of the bed.  Harry growled again. “I hate you.”

My heart sank.  “What?”

“I SAID I HATE YOU-”

Harry punched the bed over and over.  I dodged the pillow he threw my way.  Again, I was almost offended until I realized he was dreaming.  It had been so long since the last nightmare that I forgot how he acted them out.  It was upsetting watching him.  I thought we had gotten past these.

“Harry,” I called, standing up and taking a daring step toward the bed.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he mumbled, clenching his fists in the sheets.

“Harry, it’s me.  It’s Kennedy… wake up, Harry.” I reached for the his shoulder and tapped it gently.  Instantly, he grabbed my wrist and yanked me down onto the bed beneath his body.  He pulled back his fist and was ready to strike again.

“HARRY!” I screamed, trying to wake him once more.  I could see why Louis wouldn’t come to try and wake Harry up anymore.   I had been lucky the first time with just calling his name once, but this time was much harder.  As his fist raised higher and higher, I closed my eyes and cringed. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered before jamming my knee upward.  My knee hit Harry in his gut just above his male parts and he instantly moaned and collapsed onto me. 

“Harry?” I asked.  He moaned again and rolled around on top of me. 

“For fucks sake…”

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“What the hell was that for?” He croaked, finally opening his eyes and lifting his head off my chest to squint up at me.  When he saw me, his eyes widened and face paled. “Did I do that?”  He reached up and ran his thumb gently over my red cheek. 

“Your dream,” I said.

“It was like the old nightmares I had with my dad, but instead of my dad it was Arnold this time,” he explained, not taking his eyes off of my cheek.  “I’m so sorry, Kennedy.”

“It’s okay, Bear.  I’m sorry for kneeing your stomach.”

Harry chuckled, but I could tell he was still in a little pain. “It was a little lower than the stomach, babe.”

“Well you were about to punch my face in,” I laughed, but Harry wasn’t laughing.  He rolled backed away from me, off the bed and to his feet.  He looked down at his hands, horrified. 

“Harry, please don’t beat yourself up over this-“ I sputtered, mentally slapping myself for my poor wording choice.  Harry still looked completely miserable with himself. “Harry, really.”  I stood up and rushed to him, taking  his hands in my own.  It was terrifying to think about him hitting me, but I hardly blamed him.  Really, I should have gotten more upset about the incident, but I couldn’t.  Honestly, I was surprised I wasn’t more upset about it, but how could I blame him for something he didn't even know he was doing?

I pressed my lips to the back of Harry’s hand gently and grinned up at him.  “It’s not like I haven’t knowingly thrown a knife at your head before.”