ERODA

~Chapter 47~

HARRY STYLES

Anna stands in the doorway of her room with wide eyes and looks as if she doesn't know what to do or say. When she finally gets the courage to speak up, it comes out in a shaky, unsure breath.

"Harry, y-you don't have to-"

"Yeah I do," I cut her off and slide past her so that I can walk into her room and sit on her bed. "I need to tell someone," I say as I look down at my hands while twisting my rings.

I've never told anyone much about my past. Not Niall, not Jenny, Liam, Lana, or Zayn. None of them know what I am about to tell Anna. Truly the only person who knows my entire back story is Pig.

Anna walks over to me slowly and carefully as if one wrong move could set me off. After everything that I've put her through, I understand. She hesitates before sitting down beside me, with a reasonable amount of space between us.

I'm not sure what made me want to tell her this part of my life. I guess it's my guilty conscience, or what's left of it I suppose. It's not like I'm telling her the entire story with every detail or anything, but I'll tell her the basics so she understands.

I want her to understand.

The thing is, I don't know why I care about her understanding. Maybe it's the fact that in the back of my mind, I know she's going to die one way or another, so it doesn't matter what she knows about me.

Or maybe I just need to get this out there to someone. Sometimes it eats me alive, the thoughts and memories, everything. And I have nobody to talk to about it, maybe I just need her for that.

Why Anna? I have no clue. She's done many things to piss me off. But she's here and I'm here, so why the hell not?

I take a deep breath, looking up from my hands where I was turning my rings on my fingers out of nerves. I look at Anna's face and just now see how worried she actually looks. I don't blame her, I probably look psychotic right now.

I'm sweating bullets, my breathing is coming in deep slow breaths as I try to calm myself before telling her what I am about to tell her.

To anyone else, sharing a small portion of information about their past like this might be easy and not a big deal, but for me personally, it's huge. I can't just sit here and blab it out, I have to mentally prepare myself for this.

I was never good at being vulnerable.

"What I'm about to tell you can't leave this room," I say before looking up at her dark blue-green eyes as she waits patiently for me to speak. Her eyebrows knit slightly, most likely subconsciously, and then she nods for me to continue.
"My father used to call me that." I finally start off with a small explanation of why I had that awful nickname so much.

I open my mouth to speak again, but I'm not sure where I can even start. As I sit there, running through the memories, vivid flashbacks begin to fill my brain. So clear that I can almost hear the voices and smell the scents of everything that happened all those years ago.

As I walk through the halls of the gloomy place that I call home, I hear yelling and screaming coming from the opposite side of this place. The screams are so loud that they echo through the walls.

My heart drops out of fright at the sound that I hate to hear. I should be used to it by now, but I don't think any sane person could ever get used to the sounds of people being tortured inside of their own house.

It's my 13th birthday today. That makes it my 5th birthday without my Mum.

I miss her.