Stories I Never Finished

You Don't Know My Name

"I wanna rip him open and play with his heart."

"What, like... metaphorically?"

Psychotic eyes gave him a strange look, "meta—what?"

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Under a sky filled with blackened hate and clouds of swirling grey, Ashton Irwin sat close to the window of a cold room; one of many along the walls of the dark black and grey cluttered space within a home earned by nothing more than drugs and money.

He could hear thunder roll through far away clouds, rain pouring upon the earth with a soft soothing sound—the only ounce of serenity he had left to gaze toward. Leaning his head against the glass, he let the chill of outside seep through into his skin; soft breath slightly fogging the pane as he kept silent.

Beside him at a simple black kitchen table big enough to fit four sat a cold man by the name of Zayn. He was broad, strong, and brimming with violence; eyes darker than the night sky and a heart broken by the world many years ago.
Often, he would be watching Ashton; keeping a stern eye on the twenty-three-year-old for a chance to find him doing something worth snitching about.

In the end, Ashton spent his days in the corner of any room he found himself in; listening to music and dreaming of a chance to escape.

Across from him and Zayn sat two other men. One was nothing unlike Zayn, maybe a different spectrum of style—from casual blacks to a heavy tech-wear vibe—, but nothing too outlandish. His name was Liam, and again Ashton didn't like his presence either.

The last man, however, was Ashton's nightmare. Harry Styles, though more commonly known as Blade for those beyond his small circle of people, was a vicious kind of man; a malicious person with cold green eyes void of life. He was manipulative, always knew what to say and how exactly to say it, he would have you believing you were crazy within five minutes should you ever find yourself trapped under his interrogation.

Ashton had the displeasure of calling Harry his boyfriend. Five years he had been trapped with the thirty four year old, and five years he had suffered under the shadow of Harry's violence within a growing crime-riddled city falling to its knees.

"Miranda's taking the kids this weekend." Liam's dark eyes were glued to his mobile phone, it's dim light casting a shadow against his skin within the darkness of the room, and Ashton didn't doubt he was texting some poor girl in the hopes she'd fall for him.

"Forever or just a week this time?" Zayn commented, taking humour from a dark history.

"Prob'ly forever when Sonia tells her about that gun she found." Liam's voice was bitter, riddled with anguish as he continued to type on his phone.

Zayn snorted but said nothing more about it for a moment, choosing instead to take a sip from the chilled green bottle of beer he held within his hand.
Ashton refused to glance at any of the grown men in their thirties, keeping his gaze beyond the frosting window in the hopes maybe if he stared long enough he would appear right outside in the freedom of isolated night.

"You could probably steal your kids back." Zayn suggested and Liam shook his head, blunt nails scratching over the stubble of his beard as he read something he was sent.

"I'd rather not deal with a shitty three month old, thanks." Came his heartless response. "She wanted 'em, she can keep 'em."

Ashton's thoughts paused for a moment, his eyebrows subtly furrowing as he realised what Liam had spoken, though he easily fought the urge not to speak; knowing it was best to be quiet when it came to Harry's friends.