Anarchy [h.s]

Chapter 8 ✶ I hate Harry

"Even flow, thoughts arrive like butterflies.
Oh, he doesn't know, so he chases them away."

Song of the chapter:
Even Flow by Pearl Jam

The blood running through my veins halts to a complete stop making me a walking corpse when my skin pricks with the cold metal of a weapon. With Even Flow by Pearl Jam humming in the background, the barrel of a gun is shoved further into the side of my skull.

My pathetically panicked eyes inevitably land on Harry who stands behind the one table that separates us. One stupid slab of wood is in the way of him being able to reach me, not that he would even try.

His whole demeanor shifts, his eyes darken with rage and the muscles laying under his tan skin tense up. His nostrils flare as the realization that he's lost at his own game slowly settles in his brain.

"Well?" Louis sighs out in boredom as if he's just desperately waiting for something interesting to happen.

I guess my life hanging on his fucking pointer finger isn't exciting enough for him.

Harry takes in a deep inhale fighting against his own instincts, the muscles in his arm flex protruding the veins from under his skin. "Fine." He slowly lowers the gun he had aimed at Louis.

Louis keeps his arm around my chest firmly holding me in place with the gun comfortably pressed on my head.

Harry flicks his eyes to me then to the deadly weapon that hasn't moved from my skull. "Louis." His voice carries a subtle layer of panic which then blossoms worry in my own chest.

He knows this man behind me has no problem killing a random girl.

He tries to bury his anger but his trembling body clearly displays his fury. "Lower your gun." His words are forcefully relaxed.

"No." Louis responds nonchalantly without putting much thought into it, like he's just ordering coffee on a Monday morning. "I don't appreciate the accusations you threw at me, Harry." He sprinkles sadness into his voice in a way to mock the situation. "It hurt my feelings."

I stay quiet, letting Harry hold the fragile responsibility of keeping me alive.

"What would you think if one of my guys tried to kill you huh?" Harry tries walking the conversation down the logical path, actually making a good point. "They don't move without asking you first and you know it."

"I came here to apologize for their actions. I thought we agreed that we could help each other when needed." I feel him shift his weight from one foot to the other as if he's truly having casual small talk with an acquaintance. "Why would I want you dead?"

"You tell me." Harry pulls a calm mask over his face, but every time his eyes flick to mine a glimmer of anxiety shines within the green of his irises.