Bound (Harry Styles)

Chapter 4

(Harry looks like he's ready to kill^ XD)

It takes death to open the chambers of guilt and regret. It takes confinement of oneself to beg for the free will once given.

Harry's POV

I stir awake,

But waking up doesn't seem right, because that implies sleeping. I couldn't sleep; sleep was the last thing on my mind at the moment. I lift my head up from the hard, gritty worn wood floor. I close my eyes hoping this is all a bad dream, or just a simple nightmare that would slowly vanish when I open my eyes. My right cheek was sore, probably painted with marks and dirt from the ground. I crawl my pained and worn out body towards the oddly stained bed, I grip the sides hauling myself onto it creating small high pitch creaks.

I cover my body with the thin fabric; I'm guessing these people call a blanket.

This isn't home, tears picked my eyes

This isn't a hotel, my vision starts to blur

This isn't the place I want to die in, I shut my eyes

This isn't where I belong or is it? I refuse to let a tear fall

Like my father would say, crying is for the weak, shows people you are vulnerable and they would use that as an advantage against you. People want to point out your flaws to use them as perfect weapons against you and crying is one of the top ways. Your tears release sorrow, they release pain. They let all the stress out, that's what they all say. But crying, is really a sign of weakness, no tear shall fall.

My body suddenly gets a chill, remembering the words of my father, word my word brings back memories. Some good some bad, but I couldn't help but miss them.

"A-are you okay?" A soft voice emerges from the darkness. I squint my eyes trying to make out the small figure in the corner across from me. "Who are you..?" I sit up from the bed, the loud squeaks muffled his answer ever so lightly.

"Stanley" a sniffle, echoed around the small chamber. I pull one foot over, my bare feet coming in contact with the icy concrete floor. I grope around the wall, hoping for some source of light, but to no avail.

"I-I'm uhh" I gently scratch my head, my main priority was to find the boy behind the voice. "I'm Harry" my voice was hoarse, and my throat was itchy. The dust clouding this room was not good for neither of our lungs. But where are we?

"How did we get here?" I ask as I tug on the shackles keeping the bed in place.

"You just got here. I've been here for what seems like a couple of days now." I didn't know what to say, I have no idea what is happening outside these walls, nor can I find away to dig through Stanley's head.

"Why are we here?" I ask holding my head in my hands, waiting for an answer from the little boy to only receive a cold chill up my spine.

A loud bell erupted, echoing in the small room. The door automatically opened as shuffles of feet and the yelling of barbaric men pounded against my ear drums. My body feels completely numb, weighted down, like piles of boulders were smothering my chest. My breathing cuts short, lack of oxygen in my lungs like a plastic bag is over my face. My back feels broken, as if there were spikes poking and prodding my back as I sink down to them. That's when I notice I'm lying in my deathbed.

We sat here in silence, I could not see him through the thick cloak of darkness concealing us from one another. The small mutters from the other side of the door sparked up my attention as a pair of blue eyes looked mindlessly through the yellow glass. The harsh screeching noise from the cracking open alerted me.