Devil's Desire [h.s.]

Chapter 11

a/n: small double update

tw: mention of old characters who none of you probably remember

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Chapter 11

Harry and I trained almost every day for the next two weeks. The sessions, which started small, ultimately built into something bigger. At first, he'd been reluctant to teach me anything beyond simply defending myself, but after some lilting persuasion, he caved. He always seemed to recently.

It was almost comforting in a way. To have some semblance of a routine in this chaotic new way of being that we'd been thrust into. I would do my therapy with Zayn in the mornings, my sessions with Harry immediately afterwards, and then we'd come back to my mother's house where Zayn and Harry would slink off to discuss Damien—next steps—while I met with Angela. And without fail, Harry always came back from these daily meetings looking frustrated and on edge.

"Would you stay here?" Harry asked me one morning. The two of us were sitting on the grassy hill, facing the lake. My hands were in his lap, and he was fiddling with my fingers almost unconsciously.

"Stay here?" I asked, brows twitching together as I turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." he trailed off with a small sigh, shrugging a single shoulder. "Would you stay here? In France?"

My gaze lingered on his before dropping down toward the ground. "Forever?"

For a moment, Harry was silent. Then he quietly said, "Yeah. Maybe forever. Or... we could try to go somewhere else, if you want. I could see about getting us fake passports. Maybe Spain, where Morgan was? Or Portugal?"

I knew Harry wouldn't like my answer. I'd discussed it as much with Zayn, which was why I also knew why Harry was asking this. Zayn and Morgan were insistent on going back, to finish what him and Harry had started, to clear away the last of what they needed to free themselves of the entanglement of this mess. So that we could all go home, could live our lives as normal and not on the run.

Harry, on the other hand, had an entirely different point of view. He was rallying for the complete opposite. The last thing he wanted to do was go back and try to sort this out. It'd taken weeks for him to leave my side long enough to even shower on my own, he certainly wasn't going to go months—which was how long Zayn estimated it would take to dismantle everything without too much of a commotion.

"Living forever with my mother sounds like a nightmare," I snorted, lacing my fingers through his.

"We can get an apartment," Harry said suddenly. "Or I'll buy a house."

I'd been back looking at the lake and suddenly whirled toward him, a grin of both confusion and amusement on my face. "Here?"

Harry nodded. "Here."

Knowing this conversation had been impending only made my nightmares worse as of late. Waking up to an image fresh in my mind of the barrel of a gun pressed to my temple, a man grinning as he pulled the trigger, stars in my eyes forceful enough that my vision dotted black when I'd bolt up in bed gasping for air. Harry, my ever-saviour, would be there instantly, arms wrapping around me as he dragged my trembling frame into his lap, the blankets bunched at our waist. He'd soothe me with soft words against my skin, kisses up my neck, and a hand cupping the back of my head to hold me close.

He wouldn't fall back asleep those nights. I'd wake hours later to him idly stroking my hair, his body half-braced against the headboard, looking lost in thought. Almost pained. Then, when he'd notice I had woken back up, he would force a smile and coax me back to sleep.