Kidnapped: A Harry Styles Fanfic

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"Ahhh!" I sat up screaming from the numb memory of Justin. My vision blurred as I look around at my surroundings. What happened? Where was I? Why the hell did the back of my head hurt so much?

I slowly raised my hand to the back of my head, feeling a web of dried blood entangled roughly.  It felt disgusting, and I honestly think that something had hit my head. Well, that could be the only explanation for my splitting headache.

 Sighing, I thought for a moment as all of the memories come flashing back at once. Harry, gun, kidnapping?

I blink a few times to see a small and drab  basement. I was attempting to act as calm as I truly could. I mean given the death certain situation, right? As I continued to survey the room, I noticed a cement flooring, a bed with blankets and pillows, and a door with a toilet. 

All those things were necessities to live. So they don't want us to die right? Not yet anyways. That reminds me where is Curly? I crane my neck around to see a mob of curly frayed disarray, much like mine. I crawl slowly over to him and looked at his scarily still unconscious figure.

His eyes are closed he sprawls across, is he alive? My mouth hangs open slightly as a press my fingers against his neck for a pulse. I mean they couldn't have killed the pop star. He was the sole reason that I was kidnapped even in the first place. However, I would never ever hold that against him, it was in no way his fault.

I felt the steady beat of his heart, and I could feel myself visibly relax in relief.  While smiling and realizing that he was dead. A hand shot out of no where to pull mine of his neck.

Harry's eyes shot open quickly, and glared with deep hatred at me. What? He should calm down, I was only trying to make sure he wasn't dead. 

Suddenly, my eyes open in realization as to what it looked like I was trying to accomplish.

"I-I-i-i- wasn't," great I was stuttering. I mentally face-palmed myself. I quickly ripped my hand out of his and scooted a few feet away from him. I just awkwardly sat, and stared for a few moments before he spoke.

"What the fuck were you doing?" he asks as he sits up and stares rudely at my screwed up appearance My shirt was loosely jumbled up, and the back felt stiff-no doubt from all the dried up blood.

I was appalled by the way he was speaking to me, doesn't he realized I'm in the exact situation that he was. Why did he feel the need to be so harsh?

His dark green eyes finally met mine, I was upset that he felt like he could speak to me like that.

"Checking to see if you were still alive!" I raise my voice, my anger getting the best of me.

"That's sounds okay, sorry," he mumbles, "I am a little on edge. I don't want to die."

His eyes welled up with tears as a pit formed in my stomach. My eyes began to water as I was once again reminded of how terrible this all really was. I thought back to all the appliances and things that were located in the basement. Thus, showing that as long as we behaved and neither one of us played hero, no one should die.

"I know but I don't think we are meant to die," I sigh.

"What do you mean?" he asks puzzlingly.

"Well, we have blankets and a bathroom. We are alive now so I bet they will just ransom you off."

"How can you be so calm?" he asks, he has a really strong British accent that would make me go weak at the knees. There was no denying that he wasn't extremely handsome. It also did not help that I was a sucker for accents. However, I was not in the best place to try flirting. I still felt the need to calm him.