You Still Have All Of My Heart. (Harry Styles)

11.

I felt my attacker's hand on the waistband of my running shorts, pulling on them slightly. He breathed hotly in my mouth and I tried to scream, but the knife was so close to him. "Don't make this difficult," he growled and reached down.

I shot up out if bed, smashing my head on the ceiling, a scream caught in my throat. I hadn't dreamed of the incident in two years. "Fuck," I whispered and rubbed my head, the tears already streaming down my face.

I peeked out of the curtain covering my bunk to make sure everyone was still asleep. Nobody had noticed, thankfully. I sniffed and got up to walk to the bathroom to get tissues, careful not to hit Harry's sleeping form.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I almost scoffed at myself: I seemed to always be crying these days. I needed to change that. I slapped my face a little to get myself together and wiped my eyes after I was done crying.

It was almost 6 anyway so I'd be getting up soon. I opened the bathroom door without looking and walked straight into someone's bare chest.

"Oh, sorry," Liam was standing there in just boxers, and I had to avert my eyes to keep from blushing. I smiled slightly and turned to walk away but Liam grabbed me by the wrist, forcing me to look at him. "Hey, wait. Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep, and--"

I cut him off. "I'm okay," I said it again, as if to reassure myself. "I'm okay."

"I'm...I'm sorry I woke you. I usually don't do that sort of thing." I smiled slightly up at him, with his sleepy eyes and crazy bed head sticking up everywhere, he looked like a little boy.

He patted the top of my head. "Okay. If you ever need to talk, I'm here," he said, returning my smile. He yawned, and walked into the bathroom. I walked back to my bunk and silently freaked out. What had Liam heard?

I climbed back in bed, and pulled the covers up over my head, shutting the sounds of the bus and snoring boys around me.

__________________________________________________________________

I was awoken by two hands violently shaking my bed. At first I had forgotten where I was, but I spotted Louis grinning micheviously at me from the half opened curtain. I heard the curly haired boy groan, and my heart jumped and the events of yesterday came flooding back to me.

"Piss off, Lou," Harry mumbled sleepily from his bunk.

"Harold, it's nearly 2 in the afternoon, the sun is shining and life is grand. You're not eighty. Time to get up!"

I sunk deeper into the covers but I felt Louis pull them from me. "You too, America! Get your lazy arse up and dress me!" he whined. I cringed at the nickname that Harry had given me when we were younger.

"Fine, fine, let me shower first, okay?" I grabbed leggings and a plain jean shirt and walked to the bathroom, not even glancing at the curly headed boy.

When I emerged again, Harry was finally up, eating a bowl of cereal. He caught my eyes, and stopped chewing promptly. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. And to make it even worse, the rest of the boys were nowhere to be found.

I swallowed as my stomach growled, but I was too scared to move to the cabinet. He coughed awkwardly, finally saying something. "The boys went out to lunch," he said it like it was a question. "And I didn't want to leave you all alone."

I nodded, unable to speak with the lump in my throat. I willed myself not to cry again, and walked to the fridge for a water bottle and a granola bar. I sat as far away from him as possible in the sitting room. "Taz, I wanted to--"

"No," I jerked my head up to glare at him. "Don't you dare talk to me." The venom in my voice was clear. I narrowed my eyes and he stared back at me incredulously as I took a vicious bite of my granola bar.

We sat there in silence, glaring at each other, until the boys got back. Niall and Louis bounded through the door first, Niall nearly in hysterics from something Lou had just said.

"Well, there's the sleepyheads!" Niall exclaimed, sitting down next to me. "How'd ya sleep, love?" he asked. I couldn't help looking at his clothes choice: a red shirt and green sweatpants? Jesus, these boys needed my help.

"Wonderful, thanks," I smiled at the blonde haired Irishman.

I could tell Harry was still staring at me, but I ignored him. Louis spotted Harry and instantly went for him, attacking his face like he was kissing him. I stifled a laugh, despite my anger towards the younger boy. The bus started up again, and we continued our drive to the next show, in Brighton.

The boys and I made small talk, talking about our lives and families and such. I got to know them all personally, and it put me in a good mood.

Harry, however, rarely spoke. He responded only if one of the boys asked him a direct question. It was clear to all of them that something was wrong.