Target (Harry Styles Fanfic)

Chapter 10

Once he peeled the tee shirt off, I could not help but stare in awe at his god-like body. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. So much more appealing than just staring at the background of my laptop consisting of a shirtless Ryan Gosling. This is real. The beautiful man who kidnapped me. 

His back muscles flexed as he tossed the article of clothing aside. He now faces me, giving my eyes a wonderfully enticing frontal view of his torso. My enthralled orbs travel over each and every tattoo attractively marring his figure. The swallows, the butterfly- they're enchanting. As my eyes drop over the rest of his abdomen, my breath catches in my throat. A fresh wound tarnishes his flawless body. Oh my. 

I stood, wanting to say something comforting or just comfort him in general. The abrasion must have been inflicted from wherever the hell he utilized the gun. Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion of my concerned demeanor. Confidence overcoming my entirely shaking body, I cautiously move towards him. Not going to lie, this tight dress does not make maneuvering around very easy. Maybe that's its purpose.

 I now stand wary, directly in front of him. I inspected his tan torso. Up close, around his chest, there was unique scarring that marked his taut skin. They were small, round, and slightly pinker than the rest of his skin. Clearly, not from the penetration of a knife. Burn scars maybe? I wonder who the stranger was that did such a malevolent deed. Not desiring to linger long on those painful scars, I then traced my eyes down to the gash from today. Somebody had stitched it up. Looks like a knife laceration. Incredibly painful, small blood droplets oozed from the slit. Who would do something of such sinister nature? The Shane guy? This is terrifying. 

"A-are you okay?" I stutter, my eyes still on the stabbed area. To think that someone actually pierced that perfect physique of his... NO! Don’t feel sorry for him Daph.

I caught glimpse of his facial expression. Eyes glowing with appreciation, dimples displayed as a smile played up on his perfect lips. 

"Yes." he answers, amusement in his voice. I continued studying his perfect yet scarred body. So many marks, each containing a story. Stories I probably never want my ears to hear, ever.

My breath shifted to an unsteady rhythm, taking my index finger and lightly circling around the stitched injury. His body stiffens at my touch. Hilarity no longer present in his gaze. I continue skimming the skin surrounding the bloody tear, hoping to assuage him. He has yet to protest my daring movements, so I furthered them. My eyes sustain their locked enchantment with his own. Placidly, my free hand met his abdominal muscles, slowly inching up to his scarred chest. Once my fingertips grazed the burn marks, his large hands gripped both of my wrists, firmly. His gaze no longer tranquil. Body even stiffer than before, frozen in its spot. Green eyes darkening and widening in not anger but… panic? His current emotion baffles me. His breathing also increasing to an astonishing rate. Oh my.

“No. No touching.” He sternly commands. I look in not horror but still dazed confusion at what just took place. The tone in his voice had so many mixed emotions and signals. He felt relief as he continued tightly holding my wrists away from his frame. I was only trying to comfort him. Why is he acting like this? As the famous toffee candy commercial always declares, “The world may never know.” Though, at this rate I could care less about how many licks it takes to whatever the fuck about a Tootsie pop. Having no idea to what is exploding in his mind now, I try tugging my arms away from his rigid grip. Reluctantly he releases my aching wrists. I vigilantly pull away and back up to the edge of the bed. For some reason I cannot fathom, that specific experience was far horrifying than any other with Harry. That including his violent slap-me-across-the-face Harry or I-have-a-gun-and-I-know-how-to-use-it Harry. It was as though I could feel pain coursing through his veins. An indescribable feeling of empathy for the teenage boy in front of me. That’s all he is in the long run, just a teenage boy. What terrible doings has created the monster in front of me? Something behind those burn scars entails a ghastly story. I’m not going to find out though. My inner sub conscious mentally scolds me for commiserating the wicked and troubled man I have found myself to be unwillingly involved with. No questions asked, I must escape.