Bad. // Dark Harry Styles

So Close.

Trees slapped against my face as I ran, my breath showing up in the brisk air.

Whoever this man is, he's crazy.

I'm his? What the hell?

Control freak much.

I had to stop, I had to.
I slid to a halt and leant on a tree for support.

There was a small hole in the trees that I spotted, roughly big enough for a baby deer trying to keep up with it's mother by cutting through the trees.

I knelt down and crawled through the hole, wincing as a few rogue branches left their mark on my cheeks, but not caring all the same.

When I felt far enough in the hole, I stopped and leant back on a tree, it's cool bark supported my back, and for once during this mess I felt safe.

My breathing slowly went back to normal, and my hands no longer shook from fear, just the cool breeze that never seemed to let up. It was as if the woods knew how giddy I was that I had escaped.

I'd done it.

Maybe he wasn't looking for me, maybe he'd leave me out here to freeze.

Maybe his intention was to kill me anyway.

I couldn't stop the nagging feeling in my stomach that killing me wasn't his intention. 
If he wanted to kill me, wouldn't I be dead right now?

Although he had said he was waiting for people to stop looking for me, maybe that's when he'd do it.

After what felt like an eternity, I'd finally calmed down enough to begin thinking of ways I could get back home.
I had no idea where I was, and didn't know how far the forest went on in either direction.

Even though I'd escaped his house, I was still trapped.
He still had me trapped and he probably knew that, the only place I knew how to get to was the house.

The house I had just desperately escaped.

He'd wait me out.
He wouldn't even have to chase me, and he knew it.

Frustrated, I bowed my head into my hands and sighed, willing myself not to cry.

I'd have to go back, I'd never survive out here on my own, I could maybe make it a day, if that.

I couldn't keep walking because then I'd lose the direction of the house, and be a goner for sure.

It was settled in my mind then, I'd have to go back, sooner rather then later.

With a huff, I crawled back out of the trees and climbed up off my knees.

I had no idea how long I'd ran for, and how long it would take me to get back so I settled on a medium pace down the gradual hill the forest was on.

After a while, my legs sore and my face covered in my own blood from the trees constantly brushing against my face, I saw a bright light shining through the trees, no doubt from the house of the crazy man.

With one last deep breath, I pushed through the last layer of tree branches and stepped out onto the fresh, crisp lawn.

On the back patio sat Harry, a content look on his face as he steadily took a drag from his cigarette, when his eyes met mine, a rather large smirk set itself onto his lips.

"Hello dear, I was expecting you'd come back," he chuckled, although there was no slur to his words anymore, he'd slept off the alcohol.

It was then that I burst into tears.
After all the time I spent consoling myself not to cry, it had to happen then, of all times.

The smirk left his lips and a look of genuine concern took its place on his features. He stood and his long legs took large strides until he reached me, then placed his hand reassuringly on my arm.

Awkwardly, as if he didn't know what else to do, his thumb rubbed circles against my cold flesh, momentarily warming that spot of my arm.

"Please don't cry, please don't. I hate when people cry, makes m' feel uncomfortable."

I shrugged and brushed the tears from my cheeks, smearing blood across the back of my hand, unsure of what to say.

"C'mere, let's go get you cleaned up." he said, gripping my wrist tightly and pulling me through the back yard and into the sliding door.
He ushered me toward the couch and closed the sliding door while I sat down, grateful to be enveloped by the warm air of the house.

He disappeared for a minute, then came back with two bowls and a washcloth.
One bowl had water with steam coming from it, the other was empty.

He sat on the ottoman across from me and leaned in slowly, the damp washcloth emitting steam too after he dipped it into the water. He grabbed my chin in his hands to steady my face, and slowly began dabbing the washcloth on my face in various spots.
Occasionally, he'd dip it back in the water and I'd content myself by watching my blood swirl into the clear water.

After he deemed my face clean enough, he began picking twigs and those stupid little spikey things that get stuck on everything out of my hair.

When he was finished, and the bottom of the empty bowl was no longer empty, but covered in whatever he picked off of me, he smiled.

"Maybe you got the wrong impression of me," he started, a bit nervous. "I'm sorry if I frightened you in my drunken state."

I nodded, "Can I go home?"

He shook his head sadly, "You're already here, you can't. That's too risky for me..." He stopped and looked like he was about to say something else, but silenced himself.

"I was so close," I murmured, and the tears began to flow again.