I couldn't move.
I was frozen in Harry's arms, unable to barely even breathe as his husky scent invaded me, overwhelming my senses and making it harder to focus. The mere fact that his hands were clamped around my midsection and his face was buried in the crook of my neck had me struggling to keep my thoughts on the right track.
I attempted to make sense of his words, and a part of me wanted to soothe him, knowing that he was holding onto me out of a pain that I knew well. The pain of losing someone. I had lost countless people in my lifetime: my mother, my father, my ex-boyfriend... Harry. I had never lost a sibling though, especially one that I had fought so hard to get back.
Harry had put everything into getting Gemma back into his life. She was the reason he had betrayed me in the first place. She was his end of the deal - but he never got her. He had been tricked, more or less. I briefly wondered if he had ever attempted to get her back.
When Harry was younger, his sister Gemma had been kidnapped. As a result, he had turned bitter and angry, and the only way that he found he was able to cope was by being in a gang where violence was deemed "okay" and he had power over people, unlike the situation with Gemma. Recently, though, he'd found out that she was studying in London, but upon further investigation he realized that his father was the one who had kidnapped Gemma.
Harry had always despised his father for walking out on his mother, and for walking out on him. He knew that if he went to see her, all hell would break loose, not to mention the fact that Harry knew how close Gemma and his father's bond was. He wouldn't destroy that. Gemma was the only person he had ever allowed himself to love... except for me.
I attempted to clear my head once more as I held Harry. His entire form was shaking against me, and with each tremble from his clammy skin I could feel my heart vibrate with the movement. I knew that by holding Harry, I was hurting myself. By keeping him together, I was slowly unraveling. But every thought of betrayal and pain was forcefully shoved away as a horrible sob emitted from him, and I found myself holding onto him tighter, clutching at the thin material along his back.
I knew how horrible it felt to fall apart, to become so vulnerable, and I knew that someone like Harry wouldn't cope well with the fact that he of all people was literally tearing at the seams right in front of me.
We stood there for what seemed like hours as Harry cried into my skin. I could feel his hot breath against my neck, his tears sliding down into the folds of the loose t-shirt I had changed into before I'd come with Louis here. I could practically feel Harry breaking, and the pain of it made me gasp, suddenly pulling away from him. I couldn't take the immense feelings swirling through me. I was going to snap if I tried to keep it together any longer.
Harry didn't lose his balance. He kept his head bowed for a few long moments before wiping a hand across his face. When he finally looked up, the only sign that he had been crying was the redness of his eyes and the puffiness of his cheeks, yet his face was a mask of nothingness. His lips were set into a thin line, his eyes black. I opened my mouth, prepared to defend myself against an argument I could practically see happening, but the words caught in my throat as Harry abruptly moved.
I followed his movement, watching as he turned to a massive bookshelf set against a wall. He began to rapidly throw books from the shelves, and I watched on in confusion before finally I saw what he was getting at. Hidden behind a few ancient volumes was a pistol. The shiny material of the gun glinted in the light.
A gasp escaped my lips as he moved towards the front door. I knew exactly what he was doing. I hurried to stand in front of him, my back pressing against the wooden frame from his close proximity. "No, Harry," I sad quickly, shaking my head. I made an effort to stare up at him rather than the weapon in his hand, though my eyes itched to glue themselves to it.
