RED ROOM [H.S]

44.

It seemed as if my mind was constantly dancing these days, with thoughts I couldn't get a grasp on. My mind was somewhere else, somewhere so far away that I didn't hear the door creak open and the heavy footsteps of Harry.

He found me leaning against the glass window of his balcony, the evening sounds of the night floating up into his apartment.

His jaw visibly tightened at the sight of me, his hands curling by his sides as he stared down at me. There was dried blood curled around his fists, his hair mattered and clothes wrinkled. He had a strange look on his face.

Gone as the soft look of saddens, his face was now coated with a type of anger that I hadn't seen in a while. Dark eyes carefully analysed me, watchful and cautious as if I was a wounded animal, ready to act on nothing but defence.

We stared at each other for what felt like minutes, watching the rise and fall of each other's chests as if it was the only indication that we were both alive. Maybe in someway it was. For Harry was a walking nightmare, the type of person you didn't want to see in the middle of the night. The person who's morals I was seriously questioning, and the thoughts of him having a soul vanishing in my mind.

I had spent the afternoon thinking about him, thinking about his behaviour and truely fucking surreal this situation was, and how I didn't understand how I let myself become someone trapped within it. Sure, I was far away from a prisoner, and though leaving would cause more havoc and chaos, more so from Louis than anything, I was allowing myself to become an accessory to the deep and dark world that Harry was in.

I made the first sign of life, tilting my head slightly to study him from a different angle. I noticed the bruising and swelling of his fists, the purple stains travelling up his wrist.

"Who were they?" My voice was gravelly as I spoke, and it caused Harrys eyes to narrow at me, confusion lacing the mask he wore so well.

"Who was who?" He questioned. He took a turn to lean against the arm of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. He had the look of utter defensiveness. I think he was waiting for me to blow, to be completely honest. Waiting for me to finally give up the battle of my mind and hand it over to him on a silver platter.

My eyes stayed locked on his hands that he was trying to hide as he crossed them, too afraid to look into the sinister mind of his through his darkened eyes. "The men you killed before the road trip. Who were they?"

Harry was silent for a moment. "Why are you asking a question you don't want the answer to, Sophia?"

My name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine. Low and gravelly, his voice still sent a shockwave down my body like the aftermath of a tsunami. It sounded so unholy and dirty, like a sinner praying to a God above in mockery of his work.

My eyes met the floor. "I want to know who it was. I want to know who you hurt because of your own selfish desires."

Harry's chuckle was as dark as his eyes. Slowly, he rose from where he stood, and made his way towards me. Crouching down, his index finger touched my chin whilst his thump pushed it up so he could meet my eyes.

I swallowed, though allowed the touch. He was incredibly close, so close I could feel his breath touch my cheek. He looked devilishly playful, a sign that the soft Harry had gone into hiding. The worry crept up my body like wildfire.