redemption: harry styles

Chapter Twenty Six

My lips weren't in contact as I stared at the television in awe, eyes wide open and brows furrowed. I watched, immobilized, as words and credits rolled down the screen.

"That was it?" I barely whispered, and heard Harry jerk beside me, his soft snoring slowly finishing as he woke up. Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned, slinging his arm over my shoulder as I rapidly pushed buttons. "Are you serious? Harry," he snapped his eyes open again, muttering under his breath. "What...what did I miss?" he moaned quietly, turning to rest his head on my shoulders, closing his eyes.

"It ended?" I gasped, furrowing. "Already? Who ends a game with okay?"

Harry sighed and shifted in a better position. "I dunno, Evelyn."

My gaze flickered to Harry and I realized his eyes were closed again. "Go to bed." I told him in a suggestive tone, shrugging my shoulders slightly. "You could use the energy."

A lazy smiled was on Harry's face. "You're tired too." he guessed. "Maybe you should come with me."

I snorted quietly and shrugged Harry off so his head fell onto my lap. "No, thanks. I'd rather stay awake for the rest of my life."

Harry huffed. "You're so provocative. Admit your love for me."

I laughed humorlessly and rolled my eyes. "Sorry to crush that dirty little heart of yours, Henry, but that will never happen."

Harry hummed, unable to speak.

"Oh, please." he snickered after a few seconds of silence, and stood up stiffly. His hands pressed besides his thighs, on the couch, as he helped himself off. Harry's lean body stumbled forward and he pressed a long finger beside the light switch, turning around swiftly. "You coming?" he asked and jerked his head to the hallway.

I blinked at him. "You were serious?" I frowned and shook my head softly, snuggling into the couch. "I'm not tired."

Harry rolled his eyes, a sea of emerald and flickered the light switch upwards so the room instantly plunged into darkness. My breath hitched in my throat, just for a second.

I knew Harry, and he was a nice person--on the inside, anyway. And to me, from what I knew--but there was still that small voice in my head. The one that was on my parent's side, reminding me and constantly bagging me. You're in a locked house, in the dark, with a killer, it will brag, and though I felt a slight shiver in my cheeks and thighs, I knew Harry wouldn't do anything.

I opened my mouth to call for him, half expecting a pair of big, cold hands reaching out and grabbing my arms. Something like that did  happen, but I only felt the heat radiating from Harry's body onto mine, indicating he was standing over me. I felt his rough hands gently  tug one of my arms, pulling me off my seat. I couldn't speak--not for a bad reason, I just didn't know what to say, so I pressed my lips together as the boy led me up stairs. I squinted my eyes repetitively, only seeing the dark silhouette in front of me faintly, but nothing more. I raised my leg as we reached the stairs, silently walking up.

"My room's downstairs." I whispered finally, not wanting to break the calming silence. It was a relief to not hear gunshots and screams or Harry's booming voice, but feeling his gentle--yet rough--hand on my arm.

Harry didn't answer, just grasped the doorknob and turned it quietly, opening the door. Once he led me inside, he closed it gently. A lamp flickered in the corner so I saw the shadows crossing Harry's face as he crossed his arms over his tough chest and grabbed the hem of his long, dark shirt. I watched as he tugged the material, peeling the tight clothing off his long torso. I saw a brief image of his muscles flexing under the map of scars skimmed onto him, along with the tattoos before I looked at the ground, wanting to just sleep alone. I was hoping we weren't going to sleep.