It's been one month. One month and twelve days, being held hostage. Anger boys inside me, erupting through my heart. How could my family lose hope and stop looking for me? After weeks of staring at my school picture on the television news report, the idea of Tessa Woods had disappeared. Now, to the world, Tessa was just dust, and there was no hope to ever find her. Not only has my family and friends lost me, but I lost myself.
"Please, take me home," I beg and beg, morning to night, trying not to lose any of the faith that I still have left inside me.
"I want to," He sighs. My heart patters in excitement. "But he doesn't want me to. He doesn't seem to like you."
"What?" I ask, my eyebrows furrowing in pure confusion.
"Who is he?" My voice softens in a questionable tone, and his eyes nearly budge out of his head after realizing what he just said.
"Him."
"You're not helping me, here." I await patiently for an answer. There has to be someone who hired Harry to hold me hostage. Wait, this makes absolutely no sense. I witnessed Harry murdering someone last month, before I was held hostage. That couldn't have been planned. It doesn't make sense. None of this makes any sort of sense. The puzzle pieces just don't fit.
"You could leave."
What? He's letting me escape? I know I have begged for such a long time, but I just was not actually expecting him to let me go; just like that.
I leap towards the hotel bedroom door. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He growls, pushing my back against the door roughly. I gasp in pain. His fingers wrap around my neck, squeezing tightly, causing me to choke.
"H-Harry," I cough and he releases me.
"Don't you ever fucking try that again," His eyes darken as he pulls away. What just happened?
He gave me the opportunity to leave and never come back, then he chokes me. Something is very off about Harry. It always seems as if he's manageable at one point, but then the next point he flips out and is violent. Sometimes, during the nights, I hear soft and angry whispers erupting from his mouth. He wasn't talking to me, and no one else was in the room.
Wait, the puzzle pieces are finally setting themselves together. Things are starting to make sense. Maybe, Harry is a schizophrenic. It all makes sense now and explains why he talks to himself often, and his mood changes.
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serial killer / hs
FanfictionI cannot escape I cannot hide I lock my thoughts and fears inside. I look again, and now I see The evil eyes approaching me. My legs are ripped; my arms are torn My conscience weak; my soul is worn I think aloud, "Why must this be...
