The city's best hitman and a precious little flower meet at Le papillon blue, New York's most notorious strip club. An angel on his shoulder that hes going to drag down to hell with him, what could go wrong?
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I stood there, watching her. I was...
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Diana De Angelais
I didn't like sleeping in this bed.
It didn't smell like Harry, it didn't feel normal.
I just wanted to feel normal.
From the moment that man had broken into the bedroom, from the moment his hands were on me, and he was gripping me, yanking me from the bathroom while I screamed and begged for help, I'd been overwhelmed with panic. I had known for a while something bad was going to happen, I could just sense it. Everything had been good for a week or so. But it could never last that long.
We were laying how we always lay, I was face down, me laying on my stomach with my face buried in the crook of Harry's neck. His arms were around the bottom of my back and our legs were intertwined.
After he cleaned me up, cleaning the blood of the man Istabbed off my hands. He cleaned himself up, and I hadn't even realised just how much blood he was covered in. It was sprayed over his face, his hands and his shirt were covered.
And I thought I'd be scared, I really thought I'd be terrified of the blood. But the only thing I wanted was to be close to him again, after being completely unbeknownst as to whether or not any of them were alive.
All I heard was the occasional shot of the gun, I flinched each time, trying to keep myself calm for donuts sake, he was just as scared as me.
But as soon as I heard the open fire, that's where I just broke down.
The only thing keeping me from breaking down again was the repetitive slow and clam breath that Harry let out, the air hit my shoulder with each exhale. It was what I tried to focus on, just like that time I had a nightmare -breathe in with him, breathe out with him.
His company was the only thing that made any of this feel somewhat normal. And he understood that, because when Zayn and Louis had asked him to help clean up, he declined before they had even finished asking.
I wished my brain would take another approach.
I hated that I just shut down, I wouldn't talk, I wouldn't even fucking move without Harry having to guide me to walk towards the spare bedroom. It was like everything turned off and I was just numb.
I hated myself for it, but I didn't know how else to process it.
I just wanted to go to sleep and pretend tonight never happened. But I couldn't, because every time I closed my eyes I swore I could feel that man behind me again, with the gun pressed to my head, his hand around my mouth to stop me from screaming as the threatened to kill me.
I shifted and I leaned into him more, inhaling the scent that hadn't decorated the sheets. I breathed in Harry's scent, he was like a drug, but better than anything that already existed. I kept focusing on my breathing, trying so hard to keep it calm and steady.
