VIRULENCE | H.S |

~ 38 • H ~

A/N: hey bff's <3 i missed you! PLEASE don't forget to comment and VOTE!

oh...and...happy red day to all my fellow swifties!

enjoy some chaos ;)

WHAT TO LISTEN TO:
I Knew You We're Trouble (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift
Robbers - The 1975
Everything Has Changed (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

Chapter Thirty Eight - Harry's POV

His breath is in my ear as he whispers those words deep into my brain. "Harry, Harry, Harry...What'd you get yourself into this time, son?"

I swallow deeply, trying to manage the words I need to successfully flow out of my mouth, while also attempting to veer out the profuse feelings of damp blood filling my socks and shoes directly under my feet.

It's utterly disgusting. But it seems that we have more pressing questions to be answered at the moment.

My dad is here.

And he just killed "small-time", Callander-based, Douglass.

This isn't...This isn't usually what my dad involves himself with...not someone so "small-scale", right?

But Douglass isn't small scale...is he?

Why is he here?

An odd metal taste fills the tip of my lip, and as I draw out my tongue to taste the specimen, I am met with the realization that I did just get hit, hard, by Douglass.

It's blood.

My blood.

I lick up the rest of the blood on my lip and bring my hand to wipe off the excess that is dripping from my forehead, hoping and praying that it wasn't enough of my own blood to mix with the overflowing blood coming from Douglass right below me.

That wouldn't be good.

I pull back after briefly fixing myself, all while attempting to maintain a strong front, and look my father deep in the eye to assess his persona. While doing so, I pick up on a multitude of things, but one aspect of him is the clearest...His abnormally large pupils.

My father's pupils are completely blown out, almost covering his entire retina, leaving him looking not only lifeless, but purely evil. It's uncomfortable to see, and it transports me back to all the times he used to come home and meet me on the top of the stairs with that same exact expression.

One that craves danger, and mass uproar.

Now that I'm an adult, I know what correlates to the reasoning behind that cold and demonic appearance. It's not rocket science to connect the dots, and with the events that just unfolded, it simply harmonizes my theory even more. My father's pupils are so widened, presumably from the satisfaction of the sullen kill, as well as the fact that he has an obscene savior complex.

He's a sociopath.

I nod to him, and swallow, staring directly at him, just as he is with me. "How did you manage to find me?" I ask, carefully still grinding the gears within my brain, and understanding that with all those nights he shared that same look, he surely engaged in activities just like this.

It's not that I didn't understand the brutality of the job he was involved with. After all, my father is ruthless. His career is one that is centered around dirty business dealings and ridding those who wrong him, as well as wrong others.