COMPLETED
DISCLAIMER- I wrote this when I was 12 so it might, kind of be a fast burn. Enjoy :)
"Y-you're w-what?!" I asked, acting like a stuttering mess.
"I'm the leader of the mafia..." Harry whispered viciously into my ear, "you better run."
...
It's been a month since Harry killed Molly. I was still quite shaken up about it, even though I hated Molly, the thought of someone you once knew, knowing you'll never see them again is quite sad. She had a family, she had friends, she had a life, she was quite a bitch, but honestly so am I, sometimes. I haven't talked to Harry really, he's just been an utter jerk. We've had breakfast as usual, and I've been writing in this journal everyday, as usual. The only that changed was me and Harry. We used to talk sometimes, but now it's surprising if we even say ten words to each other. It's been a while since I've lit a cigarette for him, and I can barely remember the last time he called me sweet pea. I'm sitting at the breakfast island right now actually, eating eggs. Harry is over on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table and his shirt curly brown hair covered with a beanie. I haven't really been feeling myself lately, I've felt nauseous and sick. Maybe because the tile is still stained of blood, the sight is baffling and disgusting. I've seen so much blood since I've been kidnapped it's crazy. I almost knew exactly the smell and I can almost taste it when I see it. Metal and rust is the familiar smell that makes me sick to my stomach. The last thing Molly said, wasn't even a word, it was a scream. She didn't get her final goodbyes and I don't think it's fair. Everyone deserves a final goodbye, a victory, and she didn't get that, and it's all Harrys fault. God, I want a cigarette, I want the smoke traveling in my lungs, but I don't want to ask Harry for one. Not right now, maybe next week. I can't help but watch Harry eat. I know, I know, he's supposed to be the creepy one not me, but he's so intriguing, and that's what scares me.
-Bree
I closed the leather book, hopping off the barstool, and grabbing my empty plate bringing it to the sink.
I washed my dish with the yellow and green sponge. Once it was all clean I went to put it in the dishwasher, but someone else did it for me instead.
"Let me get that for you." Harry creeped behind me, taking the plate from my hand and setting it in the pulled out dishwasher rack.
"Thank you, but why?" I muttered, I was surprised he did that for me.
"Why what?" He crossed his arms, now he was washing his dish with the soapy water.
"Why'd you put my dish in the dishwasher for me?" I furrowed my brows, tapping my deep red painted fingernails on the granite counter tops.
"Well, I wanted to make conversation, but I didn't know how to start one; so I just started by putting your dish away for you. All I've done for a month was have sex with random girls, and kill people it gets kind of boring after a while, well the sex part; and that's coming from me, a sex addict." He blabbed on over my shoulder.
"Oh." I muttered, I didn't like talking about sex with him nor killing, it was strange.
"God, I need a cigarette." He stated my thoughts, "care to join me?"
"Are you sure?" I batted my eyelids.
"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't sure, would I?" He adjusted his black beanie shaking his head a bit.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
