Take Me Home • h. styles ✔

9 | Bruised and Scarred

HARRY

     A vivid stream of light exploded in my face, blinded by its brightness. I tried closing my eyes once more, but the twinge of pain somewhere on my chest disrupted my moments of slumber. Feeling displeased with my sleep, my eyes slowly adjusted to the bright beam. Giving up from the pleading of the light that begged to win me over, my eyes had no choice but to open and began to survey the place.

     Once my eyes fiddled with the light, they laid their focus first on the rubbish bin, overflowing with scrunched paper and scraps of compost that were sloppily thrown to their spots. A long, wooden table on my right next to a door was adorned with several photographs encased in golden frames, seeing people showing off their best smiles for the shot. There were snapshots of a little girl with three more people, which I supposed that they were her parents and her sister. Apart from what I had seen and the vintage-looking television set in front of me, everything was surprisingly plain – the walls were painted with creamy white, but its simple beauty was stripped off with long dents that travelled down to the floor. A brown clock was situated by itself in my front, making minute sounds that filled up the room, indicating that time was slowly passing by.

     The pain was becoming more apparent, and my hands found themselves on my shirt, hastily removing it to help me find the source of my growing agony. As I had lifted my clothes, I was stunned to see a piece of cotton resting on my tummy, securely placed with a long strip of tape. As I found the will to finally move the rest of my body, a sudden upshot of sweltering pain confided its presence somewhere on my leg, forcing me to return to my previous position.

     Where was I?

 

     Niall?

 

     I was alone again, and this time, I had no idea where I was. The fear of being on my own was beginning to take control over my mind. That feeling of isolation was starting to get back and invade my thoughts. I began to take deep breaths, trying to ease the tension that hastily crept up to my being.

     Harry, relax. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

 

     At a snail’s pace, I began my attempt to get out of the bed. Little by little, I shifted the positions of my legs, trying my best to take no notice of the throbbing pain that did not renounce to make me feel its distress. Letting out short grunts from the abrupt attacks of misery, my feet found finally situated themselves on the cold, marbled floor. With my hand holding on the wound on my abdomen, I held on to the table beside the door for support. As much as each step was a burden to go through, I decided to undertake in overlooking the existence of the pain, as I slowly skipped towards the only available exit.

     “Niall?”

     With only the flat, smooth walls as my pillars for support, I carried on my agonizing saunter inside the house. My eyes kept their focus on the path to a space of what seemed to be a living room.

     “Niall? Where are you? It’s Harry!” I shouted over the empty place, clearly enough for my friend to hear me, to know that I was here.

     I reached the end of the hallway, and I had nowhere else to go. In front of me were a set of traditional, archetypal of tables and chairs, assembled placidly in front of a fireplace. The place seemed to be fully empty, not even a single hint of sound diverging from the total silence that filled up the house.