redemption: harry styles

Chapter Five

My eyelids fluttered open, and I immediately sat up.

The handcuffs were still enclosed around my wrists, somewhat loose but irritating. The skin around my wrists were red and sore, even cut because of how much I was yanking at it to pull them apart. Harry could've took them of, dammit.

I sighed and searched around the windowless room, but there was nothing in the closet, under the bed or in the drawers. The door was tightly sealed.

I jerked when I heard a clatter and a curse. The sound of glass shattering into millions. My heart was beating rapidly at the sudden loud noise, and I suddenly felt grumpy that I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, despite the situation. The annoyingly blue light flashed '3:48 AM' repetitively, signaling the time right now. I stifled the urge to groan when I heard a laugh. An unfamiliar laugh.

"...such an idiot," I heard his voice growl loudly, making my skin crawl. "You're cleaning this--" Harry choked, coughing repetitively,"--up right now."

I heard a loud thump and the same voice chuckled whilst another groaned. "Fuck," I heard Harry breathe. His voice was muffled through the thick wooden doors, but he was talking quite loudly, as if he was frustrated. "I can't even stand up!"

"We're going to stir shit up tomorrow and he's getting high," a voice spoke calmly, and I stiffened. How many people did he have over? At this hour?

I heard Harry cough again, "Shut the fuck up, and help me up, or I'll sleep on the ground." There was a few grunts and I guessed Harry was standing up.

"Bloody hell mate," a voice grumbled, "your eyes are bloodshot. Go get some rest."

Harry sniffled, "No. The game didn't end yet." Harry mumbled and the sound of chatter began again, this time quieter. I couldn't hear them anymore.

"What the fuck are you doing?" a familiar voice screamed. "That is, like, the worst goal keeper in the whole world, and you bloody missed! What the hell is going on?"

"I'll demonstrate how the keeper 'saved' it," It sounded like somebody stood out of their seat, before another thump was heard, as if somebody fell to the floor. "He didn't even hit the fucking post! He just...fell!"

"There's no where for me to sleeeeep," Harry whined, his voice raspy.

"Harry," someone's voice sounded annoyed and deliberate, "she's in your other room, dickhead. Just go to the one upstairs. Now," there was a few footsteps, the sounds getting louder by every thump.

The door burst open after a faint click and I hid myself beneath the duvet, shoving myself onto the wall.

"I have to sleep here because I still didn't clean up the mess," Harry moaned, stumbling into the room. I peeked over the covers and squinted my eyes, looking through the thickness of my eyelashes. An instantly familiar silhouette trailed behind him.

"Where did you hide her body?" the same voice asked.

"I told you, I haven't taken care of it yet," Harry snapped.

"It's a large bed," someone snickered, "you'll fit. Just leave your girl for tonight. Don't wanna break her on the first night, right?"

Zayn screamed again, "For fuck's sake! Play bad at the last minute, yeah?" and the voice told him to "shut the fuck up."

The door closed, leaving me alone with Harry. I watched intently as he, painfully, crossed his arms over his chest and tugged his shirt upwards and over his head.

From the top of his band boxers, a few tattoos peaked over his v-line. His arms had many, but I didn't know he had this much. His collarbones, his toned chest, his abdomen were all fixed with dark tattoos. Some held writing; I caught one that wrote, 'I CAN'T CHANGE' and, as he turned his back to me, I watched his muscles flex, every tattoo visible on his tanned skin.

One however caught my attention immediately. The small resemblance of my tattoo; the medium sized figure eight at the back of his neck. Random swirls and patterns outlined the tattoo, a few small arrows pointing towards it. The sentence, 'I WILL SUCCEED' written under it. Probably in finding me or something, not in life I was certain.

His big hands gripped the cold metal below him, slowly unbuckling his belt. He ripped it off him and threw it on the floor. I stiffened, clamping my eyes closed. Fortunately, he didn't take his pants off. Unfortunately, I felt the bed dip, and tried to cover my traces of sliding away from him. Harry grunted and sighed, flipping himself on his stomach before shoving his face in the pillow.

After a minute or two, Harry faced me. "Are you awake?" His voice was deep and raspy, as if his throat was hurting, or he had been screaming. I swallowed, watching his dark green eyes through the darkness. Every muscle in my fragile body tensing. My jaw was hurting from clenching it for so long. "I know you're awake."

It was strange how someone who killed and fled; a fugitive, was so young. He looked a year or two older than me, and he was a criminal. Heartlessly killing.

There must have been something to make him this way.

Slowly, I nodded, only because I was afraid he'd grab my face and yell at me or something. Harry bent his elbow, using it for support as he hoisted his body upwards. One hand reached out to me and I bit my tongue from crying out. Gently, he pushed a piece of hair away from my face and behind my ear. I closed my eyes at the sensation, but I didn't relax immediately. Harry moved his face forward, breath hitting me softly, alcohol evident on his breath, before he quietly pressed his plump lips onto my forehead. My heart fluttered and I sighed. He ran his slender fingers through my hair and held my waist before laying his head down on the pillow.

He was drunk

"Harry," I whimpered, using this time to dominate his clouded thoughts. "Can you get these cuffs off?" He sighed, but I pushed ahead. "Please? They hurt. I can't sleep."

Harry slipped out of the duvet and returned with a pair of keys he retrieved from some where high in the closet. I wondered how I had not seen it before as he unlocked the handcuffs.

The cuffs broke, falling onto the bed with a clink. I rubbed my wrists as Harry placed it on the bedside table. "You still can't get away," he mumbled into the pillow. "Liam locked the door."

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