Poisonous grey h.s

19

HARRY STYLES

Hate. something I have learned how to do since I was old enough to walk. My history is rooted in it, most likely the only emotion I'm good at showing. My family love was never ice skating on cold winter days, going out to ice cream with my parents, playing with my siblings. My family's idea of love was harsh, consisting of hours of training, fighting, and days locked away.

So I never learned how to love without violence, it was always easier to resort to hate. That hate is a raging fire right now as a hand is latched to my neck, my eyes staring into someone who I thought and hoped was long gone.

"You look a little caught up Harry, cat got your tongue" Joan's words are mocking, cynical. Never in my life would I have thought I would hear it again, and the sound makes my ears beg to bleed. "How the hell are you here Joan?" I have a question.

"Well death wasn't exactly on my agenda brother" His grip is tight on my throat and I hate the feeling of the power he holds over me. Joan has always been one for short taunting replies however his reaction time was never the best.

I allow the corner of my lips to fill into a small smile, making my eyes soften and forcing my body to relax under his grip. I know this will throw him off and when he observes what I'm doing his hand falters the hold he has on me. His once smirk is now a questioning gaze and I know that I have him right where I want him.

I wait for a second before bringing my arm up to grab Joan's now loose hold, I easily pull his arm down by the top of his elbow. He tries to bring his gun upwards but I quickly grab it and flip him around so my arm is holding him against my chest while the other is pointing the gun to his head.

A low growl escapes his lips, clearly upset by me outsmarting him as he tries to shake himself from my grip. "How are you here Joan? And what the hell are you doing?" the question hisses out of my teeth. I'm still shocked by his reappearance, I truly thought he was dead there's almost no way he couldn't be. I made sure to check.

I looked all over for Joan after what happened, even if I was sure there was nothing to find. I remember it all, the sirens, the gunshots. They're all still fresh in my mind, but a question I'm asking myself now is why is he back now?  I currently know he's not dead but why did he decide to come out of his hiding right now. Another question, how the fuck did he even find me?

I keep things as private as I possibly can, barely telling people my real name and always making sure to cover my tracks no matter if I'm doing something illegal or not. I know I had the incident at the museum that started this whole shit show but you couldn't even see my face. Was he the one who tipped us off to the police? Has he been watching us this whole time?

There are so many questions flying through mine but I know he's never going to give me all the answers, nor do I currently have the time considering a very important puzzle piece is bleeding out inside of the old rusted cabin. 

My attention is pulled back to reality when I feel Joan struggle against me once more."I asked you a question" I'm trying to speed this up , I'm not even sure how it will end however I don't want the team coming out here because as soon as they see Joan I'm not gonna be able to get a single answer out of him.

"I guess it just wasn't my time, you know mom always believed in miracles, God's gifts and what not." His words have my mind daring to spiral and I know he's doing it on purpose, bringing up her so I'll let my guard down.

I push whats hes said out of the way and continue, "Why are you fucking here?" I try to keep my voice contained, not wanting everyone to hear what's going on and come rushing to me. Joan lets a malice laugh fall from his lips before speaking.