Devil's Due [h.s.]

Chapter 63

Chapter 63

Waking up beside Harry always felt like a novelty to me. Especially this morning, after I'd been in somewhat of a drought from his touch; from the usually extreme physical proximity that the two of us always managed to adopt. And a big part of me was also relieved to wake up first, glad to see that he was resting.

We'd sat on the couch together for what could have been hours yesterday. With Harry holding me firmly in his lap, hands working up and down the skin of my back as he mumbled Italian against my neck and into my ear. He hadn't wanted to let go, arms tightening around my waist whenever I even entertained the idea of getting up to find him some food. It almost seemed therapeutic for him – to finally allow himself the full extent of comfort from another person. I was more than happy to be the one to do that for him.

By the time we finally did make our way into the kitchen where Harry casually stood at my side, knuckles dancing slowly up and down my arm as he watched me try to put together a meal for him, it was well into the evening. And despite his nearly two-day sleep, the crash that overtook him less than an hour afterwards was nothing short of frightening when he barely even had enough energy to drag himself back into bed.

This time, however, I had climbed in beside him, worried that maybe our fight had pushed him over the edge and was grateful for the relief that surged through me when he'd merely wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to his chest, where he murmured against my hair, "Thank you."

"Weeks..." I reminded myself quietly now, carefully turning my head to look at Harry. His arm was draped around my waist, and he was on his back, breathing softly, one leg hooked through my own.

It can take weeks for him to fully feel himself again.

Harry's head lulled to the side, and he let out a long breath through his nose as his face tucked into the crook of my neck, body inadvertently pressing closer to mine. I stilled, trying to even the rise and fall of my chest so as not to disturb him, conscious of the fact that he needed to get as much sleep as possible.

My eyes flitted down to his chest, to the bruises and marks marring the skin there. Zayn said there was a possibility he could have broken some ribs, but neither him nor anybody who had checked on him could say for sure since he refused to go see a doctor and they wouldn't drag him to a hospital anyway when he was still working through the aftermath of being drugged. He'd said there wasn't much a doctor could do for that anyway beyond prescribing rest and time off from overly strenuous activity.

Back again was that overwhelming need to commit violence as I looked him over. The want that overcame me to do to Damien, to the others, what they'd done to Harry. What I was sure they'd most likely continue to do to him if nobody stopped them.

I should have fucking shot him when I had the chance.

"You've got that look on you," came a hoarse voice from beside me.

I'd been too engrossed in my inspection of Harry to notice that he'd woken up and was now staring at me, chewing on his lip to suppress a grin. I turned my head to face him fully and his mouth twitched to the side as he looked me over, lashes fluttering.

I furrowed my brows, hoping my voice didn't come out too strained with relief at seeing him so awake and unrestrained this morning. "What look?"

"The look," Harry clarified, tightening his hold around me. He stretched out the rest of his limbs with a deep groan. I let out a small yelp as he squished me against his side. "The one you get when I tell you not to do something or to take your feet off the dash of the car." He shimmied to face me, smoothing his hands under my shirt and up the skin of my back, pressing our chests together. "The look you get when I won't tell you whether or not I like a song you've put on," he shoved a knee between my legs, leaning in to bury his face again in the crook of my neck, "which, by the way, I normally do. Just don't answer to bug you."